Natalya stood by the kitchen window, watching the summer yard where children were running between the swings, their screams coming through the open window sash. The heat had promised to be unbearable since the morning. The air conditioner was humming at full power, but the coolness did nothing to relieve the stuffy feeling that had accumulated over the years.
Five years ago, Natalya thought she was marrying a man who would become her partner. Back then, Sergey worked as a manager at a small construction company, earned well, and made plans. Plans, as it turned out, were the only thing he managed consistently.
In the first months after the wedding, Sergey’s company began losing contracts. Then he was moved to a fixed salary without bonuses. Six months later, the company shut down completely. Since then, Sergey got by on odd jobs — sometimes as a driver, sometimes as a loader, sometimes as a consultant in a furniture store. He never stayed anywhere longer than six months before finding reasons to quit or being fired.
Meanwhile, Natalya worked. She worked methodically, persistently, without breaks to find herself or long reflections on whether the job suited her. As an accountant at a trading company that supplied electronics. Her salary allowed not only to pay the utilities for their two-room apartment but also to save a little, buy what was necessary, and occasionally allow herself something extra.
Sergey still considered himself the head of the family. He was the one who decided which furniture to buy, which TV to choose, where to go on vacation. Natalya paid, and Sergey made the decisions. This strange family arrangement had established itself naturally, and Natalya hadn’t noticed for a long time how deeply she was stuck in this system.
But the worst was her mother-in-law.
Valentina Ivanovna made it clear from day one that she didn’t like her daughter-in-law. Not the character, not the appearance, not the manners. Too independent, too straightforward, earning too much. Valentina Ivanovna never voiced the last point aloud, but Natalya clearly understood — the mother-in-law thought it was wrong that her son depended financially on his wife.
“Sergey needs a gentler woman,” Valentina Ivanovna would tell her friends when she thought Natalya wasn’t listening. “One who supports him, not competes.”
Competes. Natalya still didn’t understand what exactly this competition was about. That she got up at seven in the morning and went to work? That she brought home a salary? That she didn’t sit at home waiting for her husband to solve all the problems?
Sergey never took his wife’s side. When Valentina Ivanovna made another cutting remark, he just shrugged.
“You’re an adult, don’t take the bait,” Sergey would say. “Mom is just worried about me.”
Worried. About a thirty-three-year-old man who couldn’t hold a job longer than six months.
For every holiday — his mother’s birthday, International Women’s Day, New Year — Natalya bought gifts. Expensive perfumes, beautiful bouquets, paid for dinners in cafes. Valentina Ivanovna accepted all this silently, as if it were her due. Not once — not even once in five years — did she say thank you.
“She’s your mother,” Sergey explained when Natalya timidly hinted it would be nice if the son himself participated in gift-giving. “You understand, I’m having a hard time with money right now.”
Sergey always had money problems. But somehow he always found money for beer with friends or a new phone.
Yesterday’s visit was the last straw. Valentina Ivanovna showed up unannounced, as usual. She rang the doorbell, came inside, and looked at the kitchen with a critical eye.
“Sergey, dear,” the mother-in-law said without even greeting Natalya. “I brought you your favorite cutlets. I know they don’t pamper you with homemade food at home.”
At that moment, Natalya was washing the dishes after lunch — lunch she had made herself, having gotten up at ten on her day off. Her hands, covered in soapy foam, froze over the plate.
“Mom, thanks, but Natalya cooks great,” Sergey said, though without much conviction.
“Great?” Valentina Ivanovna smirked. “Sergey, I see how much weight you’ve lost. And anyway…” She lowered her voice, but not enough to keep Natalya from hearing. “How do you live with her? She’s not feminine at all. All work, work, work, counting money. And what about family? What about coziness? What about caring for your husband?”
Sergey was silent. Didn’t argue, didn’t defend, didn’t explain to his mother that thanks to that very “money” they lived in a decent apartment, went to the summer house, bought food and clothes.
Natalya put the plate in the dish rack and quietly went to the bedroom. She lay down on the bedspread and stared at the ceiling for a long time. Voices could be heard through the wall — Valentina Ivanovna was telling something about the neighbors, Sergey occasionally agreeing.
Strangely, Natalya wasn’t angry at that moment. Just tired. Tired of explaining, proving, trying to earn at least basic respect. Tired of being blamed for working and earning money. Tired of being a bad wife because she was unwilling to put up with rudeness.
Valentina Ivanovna left an hour later, leaving behind the smell of cheap perfume and a sticky unpleasant feeling. Sergey peeked into the bedroom.
“Are you upset?” he asked. “Mom doesn’t mean it badly.”
Natalya didn’t answer. What could she say?
In the morning, Sergey acted as if nothing had happened. He got up at nine — by then, Natalya had already been at work for an hour and a half. He had breakfast, scrolled through his phone, then went to the kitchen where his wife was preparing dinner for the next day.
“Natalya,” Sergey said, handing her his phone. “Look, what do you think?”
On the screen was a golden bracelet with small stones. The price made Natalya blink — twenty-eight thousand rubles.
“For Mom’s birthday,” Sergey explained. “I think this will do. She likes gold.”
Natalya slowly wiped her hands with a towel. Outside, children were screaming, a lawnmower hummed somewhere, and inside the apartment was such silence that only the refrigerator’s hum could be heard.
“You want me to pay for it?” Natalya asked.
The question sounded calm, almost indifferent. Sergey didn’t notice the catch.
“Well, you earn the money,” her husband said. “You’ll help, right? It’s hard for me to spare that amount now.”
It’s hard for me now. Not “us,” but “me.” As if twenty-eight thousand rubles were pocket money that could be spent on another whim of the mother-in-law.
“Sergey,” Natalya said slowly. “What will your mother say when she finds out I paid for the bracelet?”
“Why should she know?” Sergey shrugged. “The main thing is that the gift is from her son.”
From her son. Who works as a driver two days a week and earns pennies. Who hasn’t once in five years of marriage bought his mother a gift with his own money.
“What if I refuse?” Natalya asked.
Sergey finally looked up from the phone and stared at his wife. There was confusion in his eyes, as if Natalya had suggested something utterly unreasonable.
“You’ll refuse?” the husband repeated. “Natalya, it’s my mother. She’s turning sixty soon. Are you really stingy?”
Stingy. There it was — the key word. Natalya was stingy because she didn’t want to spend twenty-eight thousand on a gift for a woman who had tormented her for five years and never said thank you.
“Sergey,” Natalya sat down at the table opposite her husband. “Tell me honestly. How much have you spent on gifts for your mother over the past five years?”
“What a strange question,” Sergey frowned. “I don’t keep track.”
“I do,” Natalya said. “Want numbers?”
Her husband was silent, but something wary appeared in his eyes.
“One hundred and twenty thousand rubles,” Natalya continued. “Just gifts. Plus paying for cafes, flowers, taxis when your mother didn’t want to take public transport. In total — about one hundred and fifty thousand over five years.”
The numbers hung in the air. Sergey was silent, fiddling with his phone.
“And you know what’s the most interesting thing?” Natalya spoke quietly but enunciated each word clearly. “Your mother has never thanked me. Not once. In five years.”
“She… well, she’s not used to showing emotions,” Sergey mumbled.
“But she’s used to demanding them,” Natalya replied. “And you’re used to it too. Demanding.”
Sergey put down the phone and rubbed his face with his hands. The kitchen was quiet, only the air conditioner monotonously hummed, trying to cope with the heat. Outside, the children had already gone home — lunchtime was near.
“Natalya,” her husband began, “don’t make a mountain out of a molehill. It’s a gift for Mom. Once a year.”
“You can even go into debt — I don’t care. I won’t spend a single ruble on my mother-in-law,” Natalya said calmly, not even raising her voice.
The words sounded so ordinary, as if she had just said the milk was finished or the trash needed to be taken out. No hysteria, no tears, no attempts to prove anything. Just stating a fact.
Sergey froze. In five years of marriage, his wife had never said anything like that. Natalya might get upset, stay silent, go to the bedroom, but refusing directly and categorically — that never happened.
“You… you’re serious?” the husband was confused.
“Absolutely.”
“Natalya, well, it’s just…” Sergey tried to make a joke. “What’s wrong with you? Did someone cast a spell on you or something?”
Natalya looked at her husband with a long gaze — the kind you give someone you see for the first time or the last time.
“Are you upset because of the money?” Sergey continued when he realized the joke didn’t work.
“No,” Natalya interrupted. “Because of the lack of respect.”
The wife got up from the table and headed for the door. She didn’t slam it or storm out — just put a full stop to the conversation. Sergey remained sitting in the kitchen, staring at the phone with the image of the golden bracelet.
In the evening, a strange atmosphere settled in the apartment. Not a quarrel — quarrels are noisy, with explanations and attempts at reconciliation. This was something else. Cold, dense silence that couldn’t be broken by a casual remark about the weather or a request to pass the salt.
Natalya cooked dinner, Sergey sat in the living room, flipping channels. When the wife called him to the table, he came, ate, thanked, and went back to the TV. No one tried to start a conversation first.
“Of course, she’s upset,” Sergey muttered before going to bed while Natalya silently prepared clothes for tomorrow. “As usual.”
No answer followed. Natalya went to sleep, turning toward the wall, and her husband felt that an invisible boundary had grown between them.
The next days passed in the same spirit. Natalya got up at seven, had breakfast, left for work. Came back, cooked dinner — simple, without frills. Ate, washed dishes, went to the bedroom. No talks about weekend plans, no news discussions, no questions about how the day went.
The wife did everything minimally. Cooked just enough for one meal, leaving no leftovers. Washed only her clothes. Bought exactly enough groceries for a day or two. As if she stopped thinking about the family’s tomorrow.
On the third day, Sergey began to realize what was happening. In the morning, he opened the fridge — almost empty. Wanted to take a clean shirt — all were dirty. Asked his wife when she planned to go shopping — got the answer that she had already gone, bought cottage cheese and apples for breakfast.
“And for me?” Sergey asked confusedly.
“Well, you go yourself,” Natalya answered calmly.
On Saturday, the husband went to the store. For the first time in a long time, he independently chose groceries, stood in line, carried heavy bags. At home, he tried to make scrambled eggs — they got burnt. Natalya didn’t offer help or advice. She just sat with a book in the living room as if her husband didn’t exist.
“Natalya,” Sergey called when he couldn’t stand the silence anymore. “Can we talk?”
The wife looked up from the book, looked at her husband, and nodded. But she didn’t start talking — she waited.
“I overdid it,” Sergey said, sitting down in the chair opposite. “Sorry. I just don’t know how to be harsh with her. You see? Mom’s been alone all her life, after Dad died. And I… well, I can’t upset her.”
Natalya closed the book but left her finger between the pages — a sign the conversation would be short.
“Sergey,” the wife said, “your mother has been upsetting me for five years. Every holiday, every visit, every conversation with you about her. And you’ve never thought about whether it’s okay to upset me.”
“But you’re strong…”
“That’s no excuse.”
Sergey was silent. Different replies spun in his head, but all seemed unconvincing.
“I’m not asking,” Natalya continued, looking him straight in the eyes. “I’m demanding. If you want to be with me — learn to separate your mother from our family. Boundaries, Sergey. Every family must have boundaries.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Then you’ll make a choice,” Natalya replied. “And I’ll make mine.”
The husband understood — the jokes were over. In front of him sat a woman who no longer intended to adapt, tolerate, and pretend everything was fine. The very Natalya who once attracted him with her independence and firmness of character had returned. And now those qualities were directed not in his favor.
“Okay,” Sergey said after a long pause. “I’ll think about the bracelet. Maybe find something simpler.”
“It’s not about the price,” Natalya replied. “It’s that you automatically expect my money for your decisions. Want to buy a gift for Mom — buy it with your own money. Or don’t buy it at all.”
The wife got up and headed to the door.
“What about family?” Sergey shouted after her. “We’re family!”
Natalya turned around.
“Family is when everyone’s interests are equally considered,” the wife said. “But with us, your interests and your mother’s interests are more important than mine. That’s not family, Sergey. That’s something else.”
There was no divorce. Sergey really thought it over, then gradually began to change. Not immediately, not drastically — rather, cautiously feeling out new rules of the game.
On Valentina Ivanovna’s birthday, the husband gave her a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. With his own money, earned from a weekend side job. The mother-in-law was displeased with the modesty of the gift, but Sergey didn’t make excuses or apologize for the first time in his life.
A new rule appeared in the apartment — no guests without prior agreement with the wife. No “default” spending on gifts or entertainment for the husband’s relatives. No decisions for the family without discussing them with Natalya.
Sergey understood the main thing — his wife was no longer “convenient.” The woman who silently carried the family chores and finances was gone. Instead, there was a partner whose opinion had to be respected.
And strangely enough, Sergey even liked it. He felt he was living with an equal, not with a free housekeeper who also brought home the salary.