But one question from the daughter-in-law quickly put her in her place.
Timofey’s phone started ringing just as Alyona was ladling soup into the bowls.
He looked at the screen and immediately got up from the table.
“It’s Mom,” he said, though Alyona already understood.
He went out to the hallway. Alyona sat down, took her spoon, and began to wait. The soup was chicken, with homemade noodles she’d rolled out the night before after work. Timofey liked it just that way.
From the hallway, his voice could be heard—quiet and guilty.
“Yes, Mom. How much? Okay, I’ll look. No, don’t worry. I’ll transfer it today.”
He returned, sat down, and picked up his spoon. The soup had already grown cold.
“Her washing machine broke,” he said without looking at his wife. “Completely. The repairman said there’s no sense fixing it. She needs a new one.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five. That includes installation.”
“Timofey, you sent her thirty just last month. For the health resort.”
“That’s different. The health resort was for her well-being, but the washing machine is about daily life. How can someone live without a washing machine? Wash by hand at sixty-two?”
Alyona said nothing. Timofey finished his soup, took his phone, and went to the other room. A minute later, Alyona heard the notification sound of a bank transfer.
They’d been married for six years. Got married when Alyona was twenty-seven and Timofey was thirty. They rented a two-room apartment in a residential neighborhood on the seventh floor, overlooking a school stadium. They dreamed of owning their own place.
Timofey worked as a design engineer in an oil and gas company and made good money, about one hundred forty thousand. Alyona was a speech therapist at a children’s development center and earned fifty. In the evenings and on Saturdays, she tutored privately, bringing in an extra fifteen thousand or so.
Valentina Petrovna, Timofey’s mother, lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment on the other side of town. Timofey’s father left the family when he was seven, and since then his mother had raised him on her own. Timofey never forgot that.
When Alyona first met her mother-in-law, Valentina Petrovna, she seemed like such a lovely woman. Always neatly dressed, chatty, and never without a fresh pie. Sometimes she’d ask her son for money—maybe for medicine, a new kettle, or a gift for a friend. Five thousand, seven thousand rubles—Timofey would send the money with no arguments. Alyona thought that was perfectly normal. His mother was alone, her pension was small. It made sense for a son to help out.
But over time, the amounts started to grow. First it was fifteen thousand a month. Then twenty-five. Then Valentina Petrovna wanted new windows, a new kitchen, then she needed dental work, then a trip to a sanatorium. Timofey would transfer the money each time, without question. Some months, it was forty, fifty, even sixty thousand rubles—almost half his salary.
Alyona began to notice. Not because she saw the transfers—she didn’t. But she could see the difference in their budget.
They’d been hoping to buy an apartment for four years now. They agreed to save separately in their own accounts, then put their money together. Alyona did her best to set aside ten or fifteen thousand each month, and she added more from her private students whenever she could. After four years, her account had 620,000 rubles. Timofey always said he was saving thirty thousand a month, maybe more.
“I’ve got almost nine hundred thousand already,” he’d say when Alyona asked. “Just a bit more and we’ll have enough for the down payment.”
But the promised year kept dragging on. A few months passed, then a few more, but they still didn’t have enough money. Every time, there was a new reason: no year-end bonus, he had to help his mom, the car broke down.
A couple of years ago, they had planned a vacation to Kaliningrad. Alyona spent months planning the route, reading about the Curonian Spit, and even found an affordable guesthouse in Zelenogradsk. But a week before their flight, Timofey said they’d have to cancel.
“Timofey, why?”
“There’s no extra money right now. We’re redoing Mom’s kitchen. Seriously, Alyona. We’ll go another time.”
But they never went. Not that year, not the next.
The renovation in their rented apartment—the one they hoped to at least freshen up—was postponed, too. The landlord allowed them to replace the wallpaper and linoleum at their own expense. Timofey said it wasn’t worth investing in someone else’s place. Alyona agreed, but the stain on the bedroom wall from an old ceiling leak remained.
And in the last year, Timofey started talking about Alyona’s spending.
“Alyona, how much do you spend on manicures?”
“Two and a half thousand.”
“Every month?”
“Once every three weeks.”
“See, that’s unnecessary spending. You could do your nails yourself. And you buy coffee at work every day. That’s another three thousand a month right there. Let’s try to save, okay? We’re still working toward our apartment.”
Alyona stopped getting manicures. She stopped buying coffee. She didn’t buy a new jacket for the fall, kept wearing her old one. She took on two more students on Saturdays, so now she worked six days a week. She counted every thousand rubles. It seemed to her that if she just saved even more, they’d be closer to getting their apartment.
But the apartment never got any closer.
At the end of October, Timofey came home late. He sat in the kitchen, silent for a long time, absentmindedly turning a fork in his hands.
“Alyona. I need to talk to you.”
“Go ahead.”
“I did the math and we’re short for the down payment—about four hundred thousand. But I found a way to speed things up. Let’s take out a consumer loan for four hundred, add it to our savings, and buy the apartment this spring. I can pay it off quickly—my salary’s good.”
Alyona set her cup down.
“A loan? Tim, what about your nine hundred? You said you had nine hundred thousand in your account. With my six hundred twenty, that’s a million and a half. That’s enough for the down payment on a two-bedroom.”
Timofey looked embarrassed.
“Well… it’s not exactly nine hundred. It’s less. I gave some to my mom.”
“How much less?”
“It’s not important. Let’s just take the loan and be done with it.”
“Alright. Go ahead and take it.”
“That’s the problem,” Timofey looked away. “The bank won’t approve me. I already applied. Three banks. All of them said no. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s some glitch. Or maybe it’s the company—I know we’re having audits right now. How about you do it? Take the loan in your name. I’ll make the payments.”
Alyona looked at her husband.
A man officially earning one hundred forty thousand at a major oil and gas company, turned down for a four-hundred-thousand loan by three banks. For some reason.
She remembered how six months ago, he was getting calls from unknown numbers and kept declining them. How he never left his phone lying around anymore. How every time a bank notification came, he’d swipe it away quickly.
“Timofey,” she said slowly, “what happened to your savings?”
“Alyona, I told you, I gave some to my mom.”
“How much?”
“I don’t remember exactly.”
“And why are the banks rejecting your applications?”
“I don’t know. I’m telling you, it’s probably just a glitch or something.”
“Timofey. Do you have other loans?”
Timofey stayed silent.
“Tim. Show me all your accounts. All of them. And any debts—before I sign anything.”
He got up from the table.
“So you don’t trust me? I’m your husband! You want me to account for everything to you?”
“I want to know what I’m taking out a loan for in my own name. That’s normal.”
“No, it’s not normal!” Timofey raised his voice. “Normal wives trust their husbands! You’re acting like a prosecutor!”
He stormed into the room and slammed the door. Alyona stayed at the kitchen table. She wasn’t scared. She was deeply uneasy. That feeling when you realize things are much worse than you thought, but you still don’t know how bad.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang.
Alyona opened the door. Valentina Petrovna stood there, dressed in a coat with a bag on her arm.
“Hello, Alyona. Timosha called me. Said there was a fight. I came to sort things out.”
Valentina walked in without waiting for an invitation. Timofey came out of the room and hugged his mother.
“Thanks for coming, Mom.”
They went to the kitchen. Alyona lingered in the hallway, taking a towel from the rack, and overheard her husband whispering to his mother:
“Mom, it’s all because of her. There’s no money because she spends too much. And now she won’t take out the loan. I keep explaining it’s faster this way. But she refuses.”
Alyona froze, towel in hand. “Spends too much.” Her—who hadn’t gone for a manicure in six months. Who worked six days a week. Who wore her old coat.
“Oh, Timosha,” sighed Valentina Petrovna. “I told you—nothing good will come with a wife like this.”
Alyona hung the towel back in its place and walked into the bedroom. She took her folder with documents from the dresser. She had already ordered a statement from her savings account at the bank back in September so she could see how much they had for the down payment. She wanted to show it to Timofey. She didn’t get the chance.
The bedroom door opened. Valentina Petrovna stood on the threshold. She came in without asking, stopped in the middle of the room by the bed, and took a look around: the stain on the wallpaper, the open closet, and Alyona standing there holding her folder.
“Well, Alyona. Let’s have a talk, woman to woman.”
“Alright, let’s talk.”
“Timosha told me everything. You’re suspecting your husband of something. Demanding reports, making him show you accounts, making him show you debts. What’s that about? Who do you think you are, trying to control your husband? He’s a man, he decides for himself what to do with his money.”
Timofey was standing in the bedroom doorway behind his mother, silent.
“Valentina Petrovna,” Alyona said. “Timofey is asking me to take out a loan for four hundred thousand in my name. I just want to understand why.”
“Why do you care? He said it’s for a flat. Then it’s for a flat. Don’t you trust your husband?”
“I want to see his accounts.”
Valentina Petrovna crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin.
“Why do you always stick your nose where it doesn’t belong? My son’s money is none of your business!” The mother-in-law stood in the middle of the bedroom like she owned the place.
Alyona didn’t argue. She looked at her mother-in-law, long and hard. Then she turned her gaze to her husband, who was standing in the doorway staring at the floor.
Then she looked back at her mother-in-law.
“Alright, Valentina Petrovna,” she said calmly. “Your son’s money isn’t my business. I agree. Then please explain something to me. Why should I be the one taking out a loan your son needs? If his money doesn’t concern me, then why should his debts become mine?”
Valentina Petrovna opened her mouth. And closed it.
The room fell silent. Outside, someone could be heard bouncing a ball against the wall at the stadium.
The mother-in-law slowly turned to her son.
“Timosha. What debts?”
Timofey didn’t answer. He stood leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, his face gray.
“Timosha,” Valentina Petrovna repeated, her voice now completely different. “What debts? What is she talking about?”
Timofey walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. He covered his face with his hands.
“Mom. Alyona. I…” He was silent for a long time. Then he took his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it and handed it to Alyona. “Here. Take a look.”
Alyona took the phone. A banking app was open on the screen. Then another. Then a third. Four consumer loans at three different banks. Two credit cards with two hundred thousand limits, both almost maxed out. A microloan for fifty thousand taken out in August. One of the banks showed a payment overdue by two months.
Alyona did the math in her head, silently. The total debt was about one million three hundred twenty thousand. The monthly payments were almost eighty thousand.
“Timofey,” she said quietly. “And your savings? Your nine hundred?”
“They don’t exist, Alyona. They never did. I… I started saving the first year, managed to set aside about a hundred thousand. But then mom needed new windows. Then a kitchen. Then dental work. Then a trip to a health resort. I just kept giving, and giving. Then, my salary couldn’t cover it anymore. Mom asked for more, and I didn’t have enough. So I took out my first loan—for mom’s kitchen. When I couldn’t pay it back, I got another loan to cover the first one. But mom still needed more. I couldn’t tell her we were out of money.”
Valentina Petrovna was standing in the middle of the bedroom, staring at her son. Her face turned confused.
“Timosha. You took out loans? For my kitchen?”
“Yes, mom. For the kitchen. For the windows. For the health resort. Even for the washing machine you asked for today. I paid for it with my credit card.”
“I didn’t know that…”
“You never asked, mom. You just called and told me how much you needed.”
Alyona sat on the bed, holding his phone in her hands.
“And now?” she asked. “Why do you need four hundred?”
Timofey was silent for a long time.
“To pay off overdue debts. It’s been two months. They’re threatening to hand it over to collectors. The banks won’t lend me anything anymore. My credit history is ruined. I thought you could take it on. You’d be approved—your credit is clean. I’d pay off the overdue debt, refinance. And for mom… I’ll figure it out somehow. I really thought no one would ever find out.”
Alyona placed the phone on the bedspread.
So this is how it was. She’d saved for four years. Stopped getting her nails done, stopped buying coffee, worked Saturdays. Gave up on the Kaliningrad trip. Wore an old jacket. All the while, he told her there was almost nine hundred thousand in his account lately. He claimed it wasn’t enough only because he didn’t get a bonus. And for the past six months, he even said there wasn’t enough money because she was spending too much. He told his mom all this just half an hour ago. In her kitchen. While she stood in the hallway with a towel.
It wasn’t even the debts that hurt most. Those could be paid off. What really stung was something else. For four years, he watched her cut back on everything. And stayed silent. It was easier for him to let her feel guilty than to simply say “no” to his mother. It was easier to put a loan in his wife’s name than to upset his mom once.
“Timofey,” Alyona said. “I’m not putting any loan in my name.”
“Alyona…”
“No. Not for four hundred, not for a hundred. Not for anything.”
She stood up.
“Now you’re going to tell your mom the truth. Right now. While I’m here. That there’s no more money left. And that you won’t be giving her any more.”
Timofey lifted his head and looked at his mother. Valentina Petrovna stood by the wardrobe, holding onto the door.
“Mom,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t give you money anymore. Not at all. I owe one million three hundred twenty thousand. I have no idea how to pay it back. I can’t give you anything else. I’m sorry.”
Valentina Petrovna stared at her son. First, her face was confused, then it started to change.
“What do you mean, you won’t give?” she asked. “Timosha, how am I supposed to live? My pension is sixteen thousand!”
“Mom, you lived on that before I started helping you. You managed.”
“She’s the one who put you up to this!” The mother-in-law turned to Alyona. “It’s you! You turned him against his own mother! I raised him by myself! I never slept at night! And now you begrudge me a piece of bread! Ungrateful!”
“Mom, it’s not Alyona,” Timofey stood up. “It’s me. I lied to you about having money. I lied to her too. This is all my fault.”
“Timosha, you can’t be serious. Not even five thousand a month…”
“No, mom. Not even five. Not until I pay off my debts.”
Valentina Petrovna stared at her son for a long time. Then she walked past him into the hallway, put on her coat without buttoning it, and turned at the door.
“So this is how you treat me. I’ll remember. I’ll remember you both.”
The door slammed. The bedroom was silent again.
Timofey sat back down on the bed.
“Alyona. Are you going to leave?”
Alyona looked at him. Then at the stain on the wallpaper behind him. Then at her folder with the discharge papers, lying on the bedspread.
“I don’t know, Timofey. I really don’t know yet.”
She didn’t leave. But that night, she slept on the couch in the living room.
In the morning, they talked in the kitchen for a long time. Alyona said she wouldn’t leave if he did three things: go to the bank and try to restructure his overdue debt, sell the car and pay off at least part of what he owed, and completely stop lying to her. About anything—money, his mother, whatever it is.
“What about us?” Timofey asked. “Our apartment?”
“Nothing, Timofey. There will be no apartment for now. My money stays mine. Your debts stay yours. We won’t have any joint loans. Ever. Not until you pay off everything yourself.”
“You don’t trust me anymore.”
“No, Timofey. For now, I don’t. And that’s your doing.”
He nodded.
That same day, Alyona moved her six hundred and twenty thousand rubles to a new deposit at another bank. Separate, in her name only. She changed the password. She told Timofey about the account but didn’t give him access. He didn’t ask.
A week later, Timofey sold his Mazda—the one he’d gotten three years ago after selling his old car and topping up a bit. He got nine hundred thousand for it. He paid off the microloan, both credit cards, and the most expensive personal loan. He still had three loans left, totaling four hundred and twenty thousand. At the bank where he was behind, they agreed to let him change the payment schedule. Now, he owed about thirty-five thousand each month.
He started taking the metro to work. He began bringing homemade lunches in containers. At first Alyona looked at the containers in surprise, but she eventually got used to it.
Valentina Petrovna didn’t call her son for three weeks. Then she called briefly, just to ask how he was. She didn’t mention money. A month later, she called Alyona.
“Alyona, this is all your fault. He would never have refused me if it weren’t for you.”
“Valentina Petrovna,” Alyona replied calmly, “without me, he’d still be paying collectors right now. He took credit for your kitchen. For the sanatorium, too. For your washing machine. You just didn’t know about it.”
Her mother-in-law was silent.
“He never told me anything.”
“He didn’t tell me, either, Valentina Petrovna.”
Her mother-in-law hung up. After that, she called Timofey every Sunday for a five-minute chat. She never asked for money again. As Timofey later told Alyona, his mother had found a part-time job as a school security guard near her home. She said it was boring to sit at home alone.
Alyona kept working six days a week. She didn’t give up her private students on Saturdays. But now, everything she earned from those lessons went straight into her own savings account. She started going for manicures again—every three weeks. And she was once again buying her morning coffee at work.
Timofey quietly continued to pay off his loans. On the first day of every month, without being asked, he sent her a screenshot from his banking app over messenger. The remaining debt. Four hundred twenty thousand. The next month, three hundred eighty-six thousand. A month after that, three hundred fifty-one thousand.
Alyona would look at these screenshots. She never replied—no hearts, no words. She just marked them as read.
At the beginning of March, another screenshot arrived.
“Outstanding balance: 279,400 rubles.”
Alyona glanced at the number, closed the message, and got ready for her Saturday student. Eight-year-old Gosha, who struggled with the letter ‘r,’ was expecting her at ten.