“What do you think you’re doing, you little brat? Unfreeze that card! I haven’t finished shopping yet!” my mother-in-law screamed when I locked down my savings.
Raisa was sitting at her desk, scanning quarterly reports, when her phone gave a soft vibration. She glanced at the screen automatically and saw a bank notification.
At first, she didn’t pay much attention—usually it was a salary deposit message or some pointless advertisement. But then her eyes snagged on the text, and Raisa went rigid.
**“Debit: 50,000 rubles. Card **4287.”
She read it again. And again. Like the words might rearrange themselves into something less horrifying.
The card ending in …4287 was the one—the card—kept at home in the dresser, hidden in the farthest drawer under folded linens. That was her emergency fund. Two hundred and thirty thousand rubles, to be exact. Money she’d been putting away for three years. Without that cushion, she didn’t feel safe.
Everyone in the family knew the card existed. Raisa never pretended otherwise—she’d openly said she kept a financial safety net. But there was one ironclad rule: nobody touched that card without her permission. Those savings were for real emergencies: illness, losing a job, a sudden repair. Not for shopping. Not for entertainment. Not for “I just felt like it.”
She snatched up her phone and called her husband.
The rings dragged on like torture. Finally, Mikhail answered.
“Hello?”
“Misha, fifty thousand was taken from my card!” Raisa tried to keep her voice calm, but it shook anyway. “Do you know anything about this?”
A pause followed—too long to be innocent.
“Raya, I’m busy,” he said. “I’ve got an important meeting in five minutes. We’ll talk this evening, okay?”
“No, not okay!” Raisa snapped, not caring that coworkers were looking at her. “Misha, did you take the card?”
“Raya, I really can’t. Tonight I’ll explain everything.”
Click. Dial tone.
Raisa stared at the phone as anger rose hot in her chest. So he had taken it. Otherwise he would’ve been confused, alarmed, asking questions. A normal person wouldn’t brush it off. But Mikhail had dodged and fled behind a “meeting.”
She checked the time: three in the afternoon. Two hours left in the workday, but she already knew she couldn’t focus on anything. Fifty thousand rubles—gone. Someone had taken it without asking.
She walked to her supervisor, blamed sudden illness, and left for home.
On the way, her mind kept spinning through possibilities. Could the card have been stolen? But how? It was at home, in the bedroom, in the dresser. A break-in didn’t make sense—the building had cameras, the door was fine. That meant only one thing:
Someone from inside the circle.
But who?
Raisa lived only with Mikhail. No one else had a reason to be there—unless you counted…
She squeezed her eyes shut as her stomach clenched.
Her mother-in-law. Galina Yegorovna sometimes dropped by when Raisa wasn’t home. Mikhail had given his mother a key. She’d come “to help”—clean a little, cook something, straighten the place. Raisa hadn’t argued. If she wanted to feel useful, let her.
But taking the card? Taking money?
Raisa barged into the apartment without even removing her shoes. Mikhail was sitting on the couch, scrolling on his phone.
“You’re home already?” he asked, surprised. “Early today.”
“Where’s the card?” Raisa stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed.
“What card?”
“The one that’s missing fifty thousand. My card. Where is it?”
Mikhail set the phone aside and stood.
“Raya, let’s talk calmly—”
“I am calm,” she cut in, though her hands were trembling. “Just answer. Did you take it?”
He paced, rubbed his face like he was buying time.
“Look, it’s… there was a situation…”
“Yes or no?” she said sharply.
“…Yes,” he admitted quietly. “I took it.”
Raisa closed her eyes and took a slow breath.
“Why?”
“My mom needed it,” Mikhail shrugged. “She was at the pharmacy buying medicine. It was expensive. She called me—asked for help.”
Raisa lifted her gaze, very slowly.
“Your mom ‘needed it’—so you took my card?”
“Well, yeah. I thought you wouldn’t mind. She’s my mother. It was urgent,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Where is it now?” Raisa marched to the dresser and yanked open the drawer. Empty. The card was gone.
“Raya, don’t get mad…”
“Where is it?” she repeated, turning back.
Mikhail hesitated, eyes sliding away.
“With Mom.”
Raisa froze. She stared at him for a few seconds, trying to process it—then the meaning landed like a punch.
“You gave her my card?” she said. “With my savings on it?”
“Well… yes. She said she’d return it tonight.”
“Tonight,” Raisa echoed, her voice sounding unfamiliar even to herself. “So you handed someone my card—with over two hundred thousand rubles—and you’re relying on ‘she promised’?”
“Raya, she’s not some stranger! She’s my mother!”
“For me she’s a stranger!” Raisa shouted. “That’s my money! My savings! I worked three years for it! You had no right to even touch that card—let alone give it away!”
“But she needed medicine—”
“Medicine for fifty thousand?!” Raisa shoved her phone toward him with the notification on-screen. “What kind of medicine costs fifty thousand, Misha?”
Mikhail looked away.
“Well… not only medicine. She bought a few other things too. Things she needed.”
“What things?”
“I don’t know. Groceries, probably. Maybe clothes.”
Raisa laughed—thin, cracked, almost hysterical.
“Groceries and clothes. With my money. Without my permission. Fantastic.”
She spun toward the door, grabbed her bag without even checking what was inside.
“Where are you going?” Mikhail blurted.
“To your mother,” Raisa said. “Before she spends the rest.”
“Raya, wait! Don’t go in there like this. Mom will get offended…”
Raisa turned back and looked at him for a long moment—heavy, cold.
“I don’t care about her being offended. She should think about my feelings while she’s spending someone else’s money.”
The door slammed.
Raisa ran down the stairs without waiting for the elevator. Inside, everything boiled—rage, humiliation, betrayal.
How could Mikhail do this? Take her card and hand it to his mother without even asking, like Raisa’s savings were some family piggy bank anyone could dip into. Three years of discipline. Three years of saying no to herself. For security. For peace.
And he handed it over in one day.
Galina Yegorovna lived in a neighboring district, about fifteen minutes away on foot. Raisa walked fast, barely noticing the cold spring wind. She reached the building, climbed to the third floor, rang the bell, and waited—counting seconds.
The door swung open. Galina Yegorovna stood there: a sturdy woman in her sixties with a permanently displeased expression.
“Raisa? What happened?”
“Give the card back,” Raisa said curtly, stepping inside without an invitation.
“What card?” her mother-in-law snapped, closing the door.
“Mine. The one Mikhail gave you.”
Galina Yegorovna folded her arms.
“Oh, that one. I told him I’d bring it back tonight.”
“I want it now.”
“But I’m not done shopping!” Galina protested. “I still need to go to the store—buy groceries!”
Raisa stepped closer until they were nearly face to face.
“I don’t care about your shopping. Hand over the card. Now.”
“How dare you talk to me like that?!” Galina flared. “I’m your husband’s mother! You should show some respect!”
“Respect?!” Raisa’s voice broke into a shout. “You took my money without asking, spent fifty thousand, and now you want respect?”
“I didn’t take anything—Mikhail gave it to me!” Galina shot back. “A son helping his mother is normal!”
“He gave you someone else’s card. Someone else’s money!”
“If you’re his wife, then it’s all shared!” Galina jabbed a finger at Raisa. “What, you’re stingy? Your husband can’t help his own mother?”
Raisa exhaled slowly, forcing herself not to explode.
“Galina Yegorovna, give it back. Those are my emergency savings. I put that money aside for three years. You had no right to touch it.”
“I’m not giving you anything!” Galina snapped. She turned toward a cabinet as if to fetch the card—then changed her mind. “Mikhail gave it to me, so I have every right to use it!”
“You have no right.”
“I do! I’m his mother! It’s simple—he wants to help me, he gives me money. And you don’t get to forbid him!”
“It’s not his money. It’s mine.”
“So what?!” Galina waved a hand. “You earn more than him anyway. It won’t kill you to share!”
Raisa went still. So that was it. Mikhail had been discussing her salary with his mother—telling her Raisa made good money, more than he did. And now Galina Yegorovna felt entitled to reach into Raisa’s pocket.
“Give me the card,” Raisa said quietly, but with steel in her tone. “Last time I’m asking nicely.”
“And if I don’t?” Galina lifted her chin defiantly. “What are you going to do? Run to Misha? He’ll be on my side!”
“You won’t give it back?” Raisa pulled out her phone. “Fine.”
She opened her bank app and tapped a few times. Galina watched, confused.
“What are you doing?”
“Blocking the card,” Raisa said calmly, pressing the final button.
A confirmation appeared: **“Card **4287 has been blocked.”
Galina went silent. For two seconds she just stared—then the meaning hit her.
“What did you do?!”
“I blocked my card,” Raisa said, slipping the phone into her pocket. “Now it’s just plastic. Frame it if you want.”
“Unblock it right now!” Galina screamed. “I need to go to the store! I have to buy food!”
“Use your own money.”
“But there’s still a hundred and eighty thousand left!” Galina grabbed Raisa’s arm. “That’s money!”
“My money,” Raisa said, pulling free. “And I decide what happens with it. Mikhail had no right to hand my card to anyone. And I absolutely have the right to protect my own property.”
Galina started pacing, waving her arms.
“Unblock it! I’m your mother-in-law! I’m your husband’s mother! You have to listen to me!”
“I don’t have to listen to anyone,” Raisa said, heading for the door. “Especially not people who steal from me.”
“It’s not stealing! Mikhail gave it to me!”
“Without my permission,” Raisa said, turning back. “Galina Yegorovna, the fifty thousand you already spent—keep it. Consider it a buyout.”
“A buyout? From what?”
“From you. From Mikhail. From this marriage,” Raisa said, opening the door. “Forget my name. Forget my address. We’re not family anymore.”
“What?! Have you lost your mind?! Mikhail won’t let you get away with this!”
“Then let him move in with you—since he loves helping you with my money,” Raisa threw over her shoulder and walked out, slamming the door behind her.
Galina was still shrieking, but Raisa didn’t listen anymore. She went down the stairs feeling a strange lightness. Yes—fifty thousand was gone. Yes—it hurt. But at least everything was finally clear.
Mikhail had betrayed her. He’d taken her card, handed it to his mother, and never even asked. He’d chosen his mother’s wants over his wife’s boundaries. That wasn’t family. That was exploitation.
Raisa returned home. Mikhail was on the balcony, smoking nervously. The moment he saw her, he rushed forward.
“Well? Did you get the card back?”
“I blocked it,” Raisa said, walking straight toward the bedroom.
“What? Why?!”
“Because your mother refused to give it back voluntarily.”
Raisa opened the closet, pulled out a large bag, and began packing Mikhail’s things—shirts, pants, socks, underwear.
“What are you doing?” Mikhail stopped in the doorway, stunned.
“Packing your stuff.”
“Where to?”
“Out of here. To your mother. Anywhere you want—I don’t care,” Raisa said, not even looking at him.
“Raya, are you serious? Over some money?”
Raisa stopped, stood up straight, and looked him in the eyes.
“Not over money. Over betrayal. You took my card without permission. You handed it to someone else. You let her spend my emergency savings. That’s not a marriage, Misha. That’s using me.”
“My mom isn’t a stranger!”
“To me she is!” Raisa snapped. “I saved that money for three years. I denied myself everything. And you gave it away in a single day—while knowing perfectly well that no one touches that card.”
“I didn’t think—”
“You did exactly what your mommy wanted,” Raisa cut in. “Without considering my opinion, my feelings, or my interests.”
Mikhail lowered his head.
“I’m sorry. We’ll return the money. I’ll tell her—”
“No,” Raisa said, zipping the bag. “Don’t return anything. Let your mother keep the fifty thousand. It’s my farewell gift.”
“Farewell gift?”
“I’m filing for divorce,” Raisa said evenly. “Tomorrow.”
Mikhail went pale.
“Raya, you can’t just—”
“I can,” she said, carrying the bag into the hallway. “Take your things and go.”
“But this is my apartment too!”
“It’s in my name,” Raisa reminded him. “I bought it before the marriage with my own money. You’re just registered here. So pack up.”
“Raya, let’s talk like adults—”
“Adults don’t steal,” Raisa said, opening the door. “Adults ask permission. Adults think about their spouse, not just their mother. You chose differently. Now live with the consequences.”
Mikhail stood in the hallway, pale and lost. Raisa waited. Five minutes passed in silence. Then he picked up the bag and walked out.
“You’ll regret this,” he said quietly.
“No,” Raisa shook her head. “I’ll only regret not seeing who you really were sooner.”
The door closed. Raisa was alone.
She went into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water. Her hands were still trembling, but inside she felt an odd calm. The decision was heavy—but right.
That evening she ordered a new bank card through the app and permanently shut down the old one. Fifty thousand was gone, but one hundred and eighty thousand remained. She transferred everything to a new account, added extra security. No one would ever get access again.
The next day she took time off work and went to a legal consultation. The lawyer listened, then shook her head.
“A classic situation. The husband and the mother-in-law consider the wife’s money ‘shared,’ but treat their own as personal. It’s good your apartment was purchased before the marriage—that simplifies everything.”
“How fast can I get divorced?”
“If both parties agree—about a month. If he fights it, it can drag to three months.”
“He’ll fight it,” Raisa sighed.
“Then prepare for court dates. But in your case it’s clean: the property is yours, no shared debts, no children. The court will be on your side.”
Raisa signed the agreement, paid the fee, and left the office determined to see it through. No bargaining. No reconciliation attempts. Mikhail had shown his true face—there was no going back.
A week later, Mikhail began calling nonstop. First he apologized, swore he’d never touch money without asking again. Then he switched to threats—promising to tell everyone how greedy and cold Raisa was. Then he swung back to begging and pleading.
Raisa didn’t budge. In her world, Mikhail no longer existed.
Galina Yegorovna tried too. She sent long messages about how Raisa had “destroyed the family,” how she’d “insulted a suffering mother,” how she’d “violated every moral law.” Raisa read them with a crooked smile and blocked her.
A month later, the court finalized the divorce: the marriage dissolved, the apartment remained with Raisa, neither side had claims against the other. Mikhail received the divorce certificate and deregistered from the apartment. Raisa received what she’d been craving without even realizing it:
Freedom.
The first month afterward, she came home to silence, cooked for one, watched movies alone. It felt strange. A little sad. But slowly, she started to value it.
No one invaded her space. No one demanded money. No one handed out her bank cards behind her back. She could live at her pace, spend her money how she chose, and plan her future without someone else’s mother hovering over every decision.
She continued rebuilding her savings, setting money aside each month. Half a year later, her balance was back where it had been.
Sometimes she thought about the day everything collapsed—the phone call, the fifty thousand, the confrontation at Galina’s door. And every time she reached the same conclusion:
She’d done the right thing.
Yes, she could’ve forgiven him. She could’ve tried to save the marriage and hoped he’d change.
But why? Why live with someone who didn’t respect boundaries? Someone who believed he could control another person’s money without permission? Someone who always placed his mother above his wife?
Raisa didn’t want that life. She didn’t want to keep checking whether her card was still where she left it. She didn’t want to fear that tomorrow Galina would show up with new demands. She didn’t want to be a cash machine for someone else’s family.
So she chose herself—her money, her freedom, her peace.
And she didn’t regret it even once.