Four hundred and eighty thousand rubles.
That was the price of my chance to taste fried meat again instead of living on mashed food. And that was the exact amount my son Dima was demanding from me right now, standing in the hallway, smelling of tobacco.
“Mom, you don’t understand! This is life or death!” Dima kept nervously tugging at the zipper of his jacket. “My car is finished. If I don’t get back on the route tomorrow, they’ll fire me. I have a mortgage. Lena is on maternity leave…”
I stood there clutching my bag to my chest. Inside it was the printed treatment plan from the clinic. For three winters in a row, I had worn the same old down coat. I hadn’t even allowed myself an extra chocolate bar. I had been saving for dental implants. I covered my mouth with my hand even when I was simply talking.
“Dima,” I said, feeling the familiar ache in my gum on the left side. “This money is for my surgery. My appointment is the day after tomorrow.”
“Your teeth can wait!” my son snapped, his voice rising into those hysterical notes that had always made me give in. “Mom, what’s wrong with you? Our family is falling apart, and you’re thinking about beauty?”
My husband Viktor came out of the kitchen. We had been married for thirty years. He was wiping his hands on a towel and looking at our son with that wise, solid expression I had once mistaken for reliability.
“What’s all this noise?” he asked in his deep voice.
“Dad, I crashed the car. My fault. No insurance. There’s a guy I know selling a Kia, almost new, for five hundred thousand. I need the money urgently, by morning, or it’ll be gone. I asked Mom to lend it to me, but she…” Dima waved his hand toward me. “She says her teeth are more important.”
Viktor turned his heavy, assessing gaze on me.
“Vera,” he said softly, the way people speak to a foolish child. “Well, he does have an emergency. The boy needs saving. Without wheels, he’s nothing.”
“Vitya, I saved for three years,” my voice trembled. “My stomach already hurts because I can’t eat properly…”
“I know about your stomach,” my husband brushed me off. “You can get simple bridges for now. Removable ones. Cheap and practical. What difference does it make to you? You’re not out looking for suitors. But Dima has a family to feed.”
Something inside me tightened with fear that maybe they were right. Maybe I was selfish. Maybe I was clinging to pieces of paper while my own child needed help.
“Let him take out a loan,” I forced myself to say, feeling like a traitor. “Or buy a Lada for two hundred thousand. Why does he need a half-million-ruble crossover if he has no money?”
“Mom, are you serious?” Dima scoffed.
“Vera, don’t start,” Viktor frowned. “The money is in the bank, yes, in your account, but we saved it together. Consider this a family decision. I’ve decided we’ll help our son, and you’ll wait. It won’t be the first time.”
He said it so easily.
“You’ll wait.”
As if waiting, enduring, and swallowing pain were my only purpose in this house.
“No,” I said.
Dima’s face flushed red. He slammed the door and stormed out of the apartment, throwing one final sentence behind him:
“Thanks, Mommy! I’ll tell the grandchildren their grandmother chose her teeth over feeding them!”
Viktor stayed silent the entire evening.
He turned on the television loudly, refused dinner, and showed with his whole body just how deeply I had disappointed him. I went to bed and curled up under the blanket. The toothache pulsed in time with my heartbeat. I felt ashamed. I felt sorry for Dima. I kept thinking, “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I can wear removable dentures for a while. At least my son will keep his job…”
Sleep would not come.
Around two in the morning, I got up to drink some water. I crept down the hallway, trying not to make the parquet floor creak. The kitchen door was slightly open, and cigarette smoke drifted out. Viktor was smoking by the window and talking to someone on the phone.
“Dima, calm down,” my husband said in a smooth, coaxing voice. “I told you, I’ll handle it.”
I froze in the dark hallway.
“Yes, she’s being stubborn now. But that’s just for the moment. You know your mother. She’ll cry, make some noise, and then she’ll forgive us. Where is she going to go?” Viktor chuckled. “Tomorrow morning, while she’s at work, I’ll transfer the money through the app. I know the password.”
A pause.
“What implants does she need, son?” His voice turned condescending. “She’s nearly sixty. Who is she going to flash those teeth at? The pots and pans in the kitchen? Simple crowns will be more than enough for her. She’s not walking down a runway. But you need a proper car. That’s it. Don’t worry. Your old man will sort everything out.”
I stood in the corridor with my back pressed against the cold wallpaper.
“The pots and pans.”
So that was who I was to him.
Not a beloved wife. Not a woman. Just an attachment to the stove. Domestic staff with an expiration date. And apparently, in Viktor’s eyes, my expiration date had already passed.
I was not supposed to be healthy. I was not supposed to smile. I was supposed to keep serving and stay convenient.
“She’ll cry and forgive us.”
He was completely sure of it. He thought I would be afraid of a scandal and swallow this humiliation, just as I had swallowed his dirty socks under the sofa, his forgotten anniversaries, and his indifference for years.
I did not rush into the kitchen. I did not scream. I did not smash plates.
I quietly returned to the bedroom.
My phone was lying on the bedside table.
The account was in my name, but Viktor had the banking app installed too.
I logged into my personal account.
Opened the payments tab.
Found the clinic’s bank details in the contract I had brought home that day. I entered the full amount, down to the last kopeck. In the payment description, I wrote:
“Full prepayment under contract No. 45-B dated 24.10. Treatment for Pakhomova V.I.”
Then I pressed “Transfer.”
A confirmation code arrived by text message.
“Transaction completed successfully.”
The money was gone, and it could not be taken back.
Now it was no longer my money. It was not family money either.
It belonged to the clinic.
I placed the phone face down on the table.
And fell asleep instantly.
I woke up to the smell of coffee.
Viktor was in the kitchen, clattering cups and whistling something cheerful. He was in a wonderful mood. Of course he was. He felt like a hero and a generous father — at my expense.
I walked into the kitchen.
He turned around and smiled.
“Good morning, Verunya!” he cooed. “Will you make pancakes? I’m starving.”
“Good morning,” I replied.
My voice was dry.
He came over and kissed me on the cheek. I did not move away, but I did not respond either.
“Listen, I’ve been thinking…” he began, pulling out his smartphone. “We need to settle things with Dima. While you sleep, things get done.”
He winked at me and tapped the bank icon on his phone.
I poured myself a glass of water.
I drank slowly, sip by sip.
Silence filled the kitchen.
“Vera?” His voice changed. It became high and confused. “Vera, where… where is the money?”
I turned to him.
“At the clinic,” I said calmly. “I paid the bill. My surgery is tomorrow at ten in the morning.”
Viktor went pale.
“You… what did you do?” he whispered. “You transferred it? All of it?”
“All of it. Down to the last kopeck.”
“Are you stupid?” he shouted so loudly the glass in the cupboard rattled. “I promised Dima! He already made arrangements with the seller! Do you understand what you’ve done? You set up your own son and betrayed the family for the sake of your teeth!”
He advanced toward me, big and furious, accustomed to seeing me shrink under his shouting.
But I straightened my shoulders.
“I didn’t betray anyone, Vitya,” I said, and something in my voice made him fall silent. “I protected what belongs to me.”
“To you?” He gasped with outrage. “Who needs you and your mouth? You should have stayed home and cooked porridge!”
“Exactly,” I nodded. “I heard your conversation last night. About the pots and pans. About how I have no one to smile for.”
Viktor stopped short. His eyes darted nervously.
“You were… listening?”
“I heard enough. You were right, Vitya. There’s no need to smile at pots and pans. And apparently, there’s no need to smile at you either. You wrote me off. You decided my health was a whim, while the desires of a grown man were a necessity. Well, from now on, I’ll smile for myself.”
“Go to hell,” he breathed, sinking onto a stool. “Selfish woman. Dima will never forgive you for this.”
“And I won’t forgive him for wanting to take away his mother’s health for a leather interior. Let him buy a Lada. Or let his father, so generous and noble, sell his own car and buy his son a new one.”
Viktor froze.
Sell his Toyota?
His beloved treasure?
That idea had never even crossed his mind.
It is very easy to be kind with someone else’s money. It is much harder with your own.
“You really are a witch, Vera,” he hissed. “Thirty years pretending to be a normal woman, and all this time you were…”
“A living person,” I finished for him.
I picked up my bag.
“I’m going to work.”
Viktor said nothing.
He still had no idea how he was going to explain to his son that “Dad had not handled it.”
I stepped out of the building.
The autumn wind struck my face, tearing the last leaves from the trees. It was cold, but I felt light.
For the first time in three years, nothing hurt.
I knew there would be a scandal at home that evening. Silence. Offended looks. Calls from my daughter-in-law full of accusations. Maybe Viktor and I would become strangers, two neighbors living in the same apartment.
But I would smile.
Not at pots and pans.
At my own reflection.
And that smile would be worth every single ruble.