“Nina Arkadyevna,” Marina said calmly, “you forgot to pay.”
“Oh, come on,” she smiled. “We’re family! You don’t think I’d take money from my relatives, do you?”
Marina always had a strong-willed character. Even when she and Vadim started dating, she was the one who initiated the wedding. She knew what she wanted in life—and pursued it straight ahead without looking back.
Even before marriage, Marina baked at home: fragrant pies, delicate pastries, gingerbread cookies with decorations that delighted both children and adults.
A little later, when the first romance after the wedding settled down, she decided to consult her husband:
“Vadim, you know, I’m thinking about opening my own bakery. Before, I lived alone in the apartment. There were no obstacles between me and cakes, but now we live together, and it’s not quite convenient for either of us.”
There wasn’t enough room in the kitchen anymore, and the orders were growing. It was time to expand.
“You understand that for something this important, you need money. Lots of money.”
“I understand. I have some savings. I was thinking about renting a small place where I could both bake and sell. At first, most sales will be from orders anyway. Gradually, I’ll bake for walk-in customers. And then, I hope, it will get better and better.”
While Marina was gathering courage, checking equipment prices, calculating every order to the gram, and saving every ruble, one evening Vadim casually mentioned it over tea at his mother’s place. He said it without much thought, almost boasting:
“Marinka’s planning to open her own bakery. She decided to seriously get into business.”
Nina Arkadyevna, who was stirring sugar into her tea at that moment, froze and squinted as she asked:
“Your own bakery?”
“Yes. She said it’s time to expand,” Vadim continued, not noticing how his mother’s eyes narrowed.
“And where is she going to get the money for this?” Nina Arkadyevna asked sharply, not bothering to filter her words. “Or did she take out loans? Or, God forbid, did she convince you to get involved in this?”
Vadim frowned.
“Mom, come on. She’s been saving for a long time, even before the wedding.”
“Ah, so she’s a lone wolf, huh,” Nina Arkadyevna nodded curtly, then immediately changed her expression. “And what about me? I just think that for a woman, family and children are important, not these business things of yours. Look at her—she’s never satisfied. First pies, now a business… And what about family? What about you? Did she even ask you?”
Vadim shrugged. Maybe he didn’t like his mother’s tone, but he didn’t like arguing with her even more. So he just stayed silent.
The next day, Nina Arkadyevna herself called Marina. Without greetings or pleasantries, she bluntly asked her daughter-in-law about her plans for the future:
“Marin, I heard you’re planning to open a bakery. Just don’t overestimate yourself. Our neighbor Tanya wanted to open a tailoring shop and was in debt up to her ears after six months. Her poor husband is still paying off the loans.”
Marina listened carefully to her mother-in-law, then coldly replied:
“Thank you for your concern, Nina Arkadyevna. But I’ve carefully calculated the risks. I have a plan and support.”
“I hope you don’t mean Vadim? Is he your free ATM?”
That was too much. Marina snapped shortly:
“I don’t have time for this conversation. Goodbye.”
And she hung up.
She was shaking—not from fear, but from rage. Her business, her lifelong dream, her daily hard work—and all of it was being crushed by one phone call?! Just because she ‘shouldn’t’ want more than a kitchen and a dusty shelf with napkins in the cabinet.
But Marina understood perfectly well that change almost always causes dissatisfaction in those who have long been stagnant themselves. And now, despite everything, she was sure: she would definitely have her bakery.
Against her mother-in-law’s disapproval, Marina opened her bakery six months later. A small but cozy place on the outskirts of a residential area. Nearby was a school, a market, and a bus stop—an ideal busy spot.
On the very first working day, just after lunch, the bakery door swung open, and on the doorstep appeared her mother—Olga Anatolyevna, with her trademark smile and a shopping bag in her hands.
“I’m here for my favorite buns,” she said cheerfully.
Marina glanced at her mother gratefully. Olga Anatolyevna took a couple of honey gingerbread cookies and a cheese pastry to go with her tea, then proudly told the young student who Marina had hired as a sales assistant:
“Remember this, dear. This is my daughter, and she’s a real smart one. She does everything herself, everything!”
Marina prepared for the official opening day as if it were a wedding. Even more.
Balloons hung on the door—pink, cream, and gentle turquoise. Above the display was a colorful sign: “Marina’s Cupcake,” just like on her Instagram, where she had been blogging for about five years. There, people knew her and awaited not only cupcakes but also signature cakes, wafer rolls with custard, and even savory brioches.
Outside, a huge plush bear wearing a hat and white apron stood, with “Try a mini cupcake!” written on it. In one paw, it held a basket with tiny pies, and in the other, business cards. Passersby stopped, tried the pies, and took photos with the bear. Some immediately came inside for the “bigger version” of the pies.
Soft melodic music played inside. The display cases were full of fresh pastries, and the aroma of baked goods literally pulled people in to buy everything.
“Can I have the pies put in a container?” moms with children asked.
“Can I get coffee with the pastry?” students inquired.
“Miss, will you have Easter cakes?” elderly ladies wondered.
Marina smiled. She stood behind the counter, wearing an apron, and felt—this was her moment. The one she had been striving for so long.
And in the evening, when the doors were closed, she sat down to rest on a small couch in the corner before going home. Vadim came in with a bouquet of multicolored roses and a broad smile:
“Sorry, couldn’t get away from work earlier. How did it go?”
He kissed his wife and handed her the bouquet, and Marina looked at him and replied:
“I thought it would be worse, but… almost everything sold out!”
And at that moment, she didn’t care at all what anyone would say—whether Nina Arkadyevna or someone else. It was proof that a woman can do anything if she only wants it.
A week passed. Marina worked like a bee: got up early, prepared batches of dough, handled supplies, consulted customers, took orders. The display was perfect—apple pastries, poppy seed rolls, mini baguettes, and fragrant twisted poppy buns.
There was no sign or word from Nina Arkadyevna. Marina, contrary to expectations, was not upset—in fact, she was glad. The calm without her mother-in-law’s comments, reproaches, and lectures felt like a rare luxury. But the calm didn’t last long.
The next week, on Wednesday morning, just as Marina laid out freshly baked garlic buns, the door opened with a melodic chime. Nina Arkadyevna appeared on the doorstep. Arm in arm with her was a lively woman with a chemical perm and a large gold pendant on a chain.
“Here she is, my golden daughter-in-law!” the mother-in-law proclaimed cheerfully and nudged her friend in the ribs. “I told you, Valya, we have our own bakery. Everything homemade—bread, pies, cookies—for every taste!”
Valya nodded, looking around.
“It’s really cozy… and it smells so good!”
“We’ll take some buns, bread, and something for tea. We’re not going empty-handed!” Nina Arkadyevna declared and, without waiting for Marina’s reaction, headed to the display case.
They took a long time choosing, smacking their lips, sighing, and encouraging each other. They took two loaves, several poppy seed buns, cottage cheese ones, cinnamon buns, almond cookies, and a bag of mini cupcakes. When it was time to pay, Marina politely announced the total, but Nina Arkadyevna pretended not to hear.
“Valya, imagine—all this is made by Marina’s hands. She bakes and runs everything herself. She’s just gold, not a girl!” she said loudly, ignoring her daughter-in-law.
“Yeah, good for her, of course,” Valya nodded and reached for the bag.
“Thanks, Marina!” Nina Arkadyevna shouted, and they headed for the door.
“Nina Arkadyevna,” Marina said calmly, “you forgot to pay.”
“Oh, come on,” she smiled. “We’re family! You don’t think I’d take money from relatives?”
Marina wanted to say something, but a vision of her mother flashed before her eyes—her mother who had recently bought buns to support her daughter’s work, not to take advantage of the situation.
The next day, the same thing happened. Only the friend was different—Svetlana, with a huge leather purse and manicure “like Alla Borisovna’s.”
Then came Tatyana Pavlovna, then Rimma with a pug on a leash—every morning Marina witnessed the same scenario. Nina Arkadyevna came with a new companion, chattered, filled their baskets, and left as if nothing happened, leaving behind only the lingering scent of powdery perfume and an empty cash register.
By the end of the week, Marina was sitting in the evening doing the bookkeeping, and her hair started to stand on end from the numbers. According to the records, in just six days of “family visits,” the mother-in-law’s free shopping caused a loss of nearly ten thousand rubles.
The next morning, after pouring herself strong tea, she decided to talk to her husband before work.
“Vadim, we need to talk. Preferably today.”
“Did something happen?”
“Yes. Your mother opened a social aid branch at my bakery. If she keeps bringing her friends to get free pastries, I’ll have to take measures.”
“Really? I didn’t know, honestly.”
“I don’t care if you knew or not. Talk to your mother. Otherwise, I’ll stop letting them in. I’m barely making ends meet now. I need to establish myself here and pay rent. Or is your mother trying to show in a subtle way that I’ll fail?”
The next morning, on her way to the bakery, Marina called her mother.
“Good morning… Mom, I need your help. Vadim’s mother has gone too far. For a week now, she’s been bringing all her friends to the bakery for free pastries. But they don’t pay. At all.”
“What do you mean they don’t pay?” Olga Anatolyevna asked sternly. “Seriously?”
“Absolutely. Every day a new ‘guest,’ and every day the cash register takes a hit. The day before yesterday it was Tatyana, yesterday Rimma, and today I expect someone new.”
“Not today,” Olga Anatolyevna cut her off sharply. “Tell me, what time do they usually come?”
“Around ten in the morning. Like clockwork.”
“Great. I’ll come then too. Let’s see what she does when I’m there.”
Exactly at ten, the bakery door opened again. As if on cue, Nina Arkadyevna appeared on the doorstep, arm in arm with Valya—yes, Valya again. Apparently, she had run out of friends.
“Well, Marisha, we’re back! Craving your buns, aren’t we, Valyusha?” the mother-in-law shouted loudly so all customers could hear, not noticing Marina’s back tensing.
“Of course,” Valya agreed. “Your pies are so soft… And the cupcakes flew off the shelves! My husband said we should buy them every day.”
Marina was about to say something, but a cold, firm voice sounded behind them:
“How unexpected! And you’re here too, Nina Arkadyevna.”
Everyone turned. Standing in the doorway was Olga Anatolyevna. In a strict coat, with a black bag and cold determination on her face.
“Oh, Olechka Anatolyevna!” Nina Arkadyevna waved her hands in confusion. “And you here! What a nice surprise. We decided to support our daughter’s business. We’re family now, after all.”
“Hmmm… I see. Well, what do you recommend?” Olga Anatolyevna raised her eyebrows, while Marina barely held back laughter.
“The loaf is just lovely! These buns with cottage cheese too!” praised the mother-in-law.
“Well, daughter, wrap these up for me to take home. I didn’t get anything for lunch today,” the mother turned to Marina, then again to Nina Arkadyevna. “Have you chosen what you’ll take?”
“Yes, we’re taking a bit of everything,” she showed the bag at the cash register filled to the top with pastries.
“Well, since you’re all done, pay first,” Olga Anatolyevna stepped back, letting the women go ahead.
“Pay?!” Nina Arkadyevna hesitated. “Yes, of course. We’ll pay now.”
At that moment, Valentina tugged at her jacket sleeve and whispered quietly:
“You said last time we were free.”
“That won’t happen again!” Olga Anatolyevna, standing behind, exclaimed loudly. “Take out the money.”
The mother-in-law, boiling with anger, pulled out several bills onto the table and quickly left with Valentina.
“Marina, dear, please put six more poppy seed buns and a box of shortbread cookies for me,” Olga Anatolyevna kindly said after the ladies with their purchases left the bakery.
“Thank you!” Marina smiled, handing the bag to her mother. “I didn’t know what to do with them.”
“Call if you need to come back. And don’t let anyone push you around. Chin up!” Her mother gently tapped Marina’s nose, turned around, and disappeared behind the door.
Since then, the mother-in-law never came to her daughter-in-law’s bakery again. But her friends still dropped by. Once, Valentina leaned over the cash register and quietly whispered:
“Sorry, I didn’t know you hadn’t made an arrangement. Your bread and pies are really excellent. I’ll keep coming and recommend it to others.”
Marina smiled and realized she was doing the right thing. Ahead, many people would try to break her will. But she would not give up so easily.