“Can I ask one question?” Valeria placed a bowl of borscht in front of her mother-in-law and looked at her sternly, maybe even too sternly. “Why do you come here every single day? Is this some kind of free canteen or a club called ‘Humiliate the Daughter-in-Law’?”
Nadezhda Petrovna, a lady of sixty-four with a face that always expressed bewilderment, as if the world around her was completely unacceptable, measured Valeria with a glance. The wrinkles around her lips twisted into an angry bow.
“First of all,” she began, without touching the borscht, “I’m his mother. Secondly, if you cooked properly, I wouldn’t have to come. And thirdly,” she leaned closer, “I want to make sure you’re not poisoning my son.”
Igor, Valeria’s thirty-eight-year-old husband, sat between them like cheese in a sandwich. Cheese that’s starting to melt and trying to quietly slip off the bread.
“Mom, what are you doing again?” he mumbled, picking at the bread. “The borscht is fine.”
“Oh, ‘fine’!” his mother mocked. “Everything’s ‘fine’ with you two! Her miserable job — making pennies at school, her clothes, and that borscht… Did you boil it on a cabbage stalk or what?”
Valeria exhaled. She always exhaled when she needed not to say something extra. But today, the sigh didn’t help.
“Well then don’t eat it. Nobody’s holding you here. The door is over there, Nadezhda Petrovna. Or did you come again to tell me how my predecessor made thicker borscht and had a happier husband?”
Igor flinched, as if someone had turned on an electric stove under his chair.
“Lera, come on, don’t start…”
“Uh-huh, here we go!” the mother-in-law snapped. “Oh, look who’s queen of the pots! By the way, Katyusha worked and kept the house in order, and didn’t disgrace her husband!”
Katyusha. The notorious Katyusha. Igor’s ex-wife. Legendary, omnipotent, almighty. She left on her own, with understanding and dignity. But Nadezhda Petrovna regularly canonized her.
“Well, why don’t you go eat borscht at her place, if you’re such a fan?” Valeria threw back, feeling a boil inside her. Just like that borscht.
Igor turned red but — classic — only said:
“Okay, enough. Mom, let’s not talk about Katyusha.”
The mother-in-law stood up, fixed her stretched-out sleeves, and looking at Valeria, said venomously:
“If you had money, and not those teacher’s pennies of yours, things would be different. But here you sit — no money, no sense. And by the way, I think about your future! I can’t run around here forever, saving you from your mistakes!”
“You’re saving us?” Valeria repeated, leaning on the table. “Can I have a list of services? Because I seem to have missed something…”
“Mom’s right,” Igor unexpectedly chimed in. “Lera, you know how hard it is now. Loans, prices… Mom means well.”
Valeria was silent. Just looked at him. And at some point, she clearly realized — nothing will change. Ever. At all.
In the evening, when Nadezhda Petrovna finally left, slamming the door so hard a can of beans fell off the shelf, Valeria sat in the kitchen, turning over one single question in her mind: “What am I even doing here?”
Her phone vibrated. A text message:
“Valeria Sergeevna, please call urgently. Notary. Regarding your aunt Zoya’s estate.” Aunt Zoya… To be honest, Valeria didn’t even immediately remember when she last appeared. She lived in Pskov. Alone. A bit strange. Well, ‘strange’ — an old lady with quirks, but quite harmless.
She called back. The voice was dry, official:
“Valeria Sergeevna? This is notary Orlov. Regarding your aunt Zoya’s inheritance. She left you all her property.”
“Excuse me… what?” Valeria repeated, wiping the wet countertop with her hand absentmindedly.
“All her property. Including a bank deposit. Fifteen million rubles. We await you for paperwork.”
Valeria sat down. Then stood up. Then sat down again.
“Sorry… how much?”
“Fifteen. Million. Rubles, of course. Oh, sorry. Yes, rubles exactly. That’s right.”
She stared at the wall for a minute. Then another. Then Igor barged into the kitchen — with a satisfied face, carrying a bag from ‘Pyaterochka’ (a grocery store), cheerfully saying:
“Listen, mom called… says maybe it’s time for you to go on maternity leave? Why are you struggling for pennies at school…”
“Uh-huh…” Valeria replied, looking through him.
The news spread faster than COVID.
The next morning, Nadezhda Petrovna was already standing at the door with a smug look and a bag.
“Well, my dear daughter,” she sang in a sweet voice that made you want to break the windows, “congratulations! You know, I always felt you’re our luck! Oh, even the borscht isn’t that bad anymore. By the way… we need to discuss how to properly manage this… uh… money. So that it works, you see?”
“What money?” Valeria asked dryly, fully aware that the show was just beginning.
“Oh, darling,” the mother-in-law waved her hands. “You’re rolling in money now! Igor told me. So… we need to open an account in my name. It’ll be safer. You never know…”
“Uh-huh,” Valeria nodded, gripping her cup so tightly her knuckles turned white. “You never know…”
Igor, sitting in the living room at that moment, pretended to be busy fixing an old remote control. His eyes darted over the floor as if searching for a lost conscience.
“Don’t be afraid,” Nadezhda Petrovna continued, pacing the kitchen like a steward in a warehouse. “The money is in the family. All for the family. I’m not doing this for myself! I’m doing it for you.”
Valeria stood up. Calmly. Slowly.
“Igor. Tell me honestly… Do your mother and father also get to open accounts in my name? Just in case? The money is for the family, right?”
Igor choked.
“Ler… what are you… Mom means well…”
“Means well?” Valeria smirked. “Then let her ‘mean well’ by sitting down and writing an IOU that she’ll return the money. I’ll see about that.”
The mother-in-law straightened.
“What’s with the tone? Do you even understand who you’re talking to?!”
Valeria looked at her. Very closely.
“I do. A person who for the last five years told me I was nobody. And now suddenly forgot all about it.”
The mother-in-law froze. Then sat down. Right on a stool. And said a phrase that hung in the air like a foul smell on a stairwell:
“Well, so what? Now we’re family. And family is sacred.”
Igor was silent. Very deliberately.
And for the first time in a long time, Valeria thought — maybe it’s really time to see what life looks like without this ‘sacred family’?
When Valeria left the building with a suitcase, the neighbor Rimma Ivanovna, standing by the trash bin with her usual fierce expression, squinted:
“Leaving, Lerochka? To the seaside?”
“Yeah,” Valeria nodded. “To Antalya. Via Kostroma.”
The suitcase was funny — old, still her mother’s, with a lock that only closed crookedly. But it fit all the most important things: a pair of jeans, three t-shirts, documents, and a toothbrush. The rest… the rest stayed where Igor and Nadezhda Petrovna remained. Let them enjoy it.
She moved in with Kristina. A friend — gold, not just a person. Divorced, an accountant, with a nervous tic that appeared after fifteen years of marriage to a perfect specimen of the ‘couch potato with beer’ breed.
“Make yourself at home,” Kristina said, showing Valeria the room with a sofa that unfolded on the third try. “And we’ll practice living without men. I’ve been doing it for three years. Catch up.”
“Trying,” Valeria exhaled, throwing the suitcase in the corner.
And so there seemed to be freedom. But something told her — this series won’t end that easily.
The calls began that evening.
Igor.
“Ler, why are you like a child? We argued, it happens… Mom got angry, you got angry… Let’s talk properly. Come back. We need to talk.”
“We?” Valeria asked dryly. “Do you mean you and your mom, or me?”
“Don’t start…” he said, clearly tired. “Look, you know we’re family. We have to solve these issues together. The money didn’t just fall on your head.”
Valeria was silent. Her hand reached for the ‘hang up’ button but curiosity won.
“Excuse me… who did it fall on?”
“Well… Ler, don’t be offended, but it’s family money. You’re part of our family. So the money is for the good of the family.”
“Great. Then one question: when I worked for your family, cooking, cleaning, washing, visiting your mom to change lightbulbs — was that considered communal too? Or was that ‘your duty’?”
Pause. So long you could hear him scratching his head.
“Ler, you know… it’s different.”
“Of course, different. This isn’t borscht, this is millions.”
The next day, someone rang Kristina’s door.
At the threshold — Nadezhda Petrovna. Uninvited. With a bag and a face expressing a sacred right to other people’s things.
“Oh, you’re here after all,” she said, inspecting Kristina like a cockroach under a magnifying glass. “My dear, let’s not pretend you can run away from family. We’re adults. Let’s calmly discuss financial matters.”
Kristina shrank into the doorframe and hissed:
“Valer, you’re having a family reunion here. I’m just a spectator. No fighting, okay? The carpet’s new.”
Valeria crossed her arms:
“What matters, Nadezhda Petrovna?”
The mother-in-law sat right down on the sofa, uninvited, and laid out her cards:
“So. You’re a rich woman now. Good for you. Lucky. But. Money must work. I consulted…” — she sneezed — “with economists. Well, with my friend Lyudmila Semyonovna, her son works at a bank.”
“At what?” Kristina asked interested.
“At security. But he knows all the affairs! So… we need to invest this money. I suggest — buy an apartment for Igor. The boy is struggling. A car — that’s needed too. And also invest in business. My nephew Sashka wants to open a tire shop. Great business.”
“You’re a genius,” Kristina snorted. “Can we draw up a will for the tire shop right away?”
“Miss, I’m not talking to you,” the mother-in-law snapped and turned to Valeria. “You have to understand… this isn’t your personal money. It’s for the family. You’re part of our family. So it’s for everyone.”
Valeria slowly stood, went to the window, and looked down. The yard was like any yard. A man was dragging a watermelon, an old woman yelling at her granddaughter. Everything as usual. Only her life was turning upside down at that moment.
She turned:
“Nadezhda Petrovna. For five years you told me I was nobody. That I’m not a wife, but your son’s mistake. That I’m a daughter-in-law with broken firmware. And now you’re here telling me how to spend my money?”
The mother-in-law jumped up sharply.
“Because now you’re our hope!”
“Too late. Your ship with hope sailed away. Without you.”
That very evening Kristina brought two bottles of Soviet champagne and said:
“To a new life. Without mother-in-law. Without husband. Without tire shops.”
“I’ll gladly drink to that,” Valeria nodded.
The phone vibrated again. First a call from Igor — ignored. Then a text from him:
“Are you really planning to keep all that for yourself? After everything my mom has done for you?”
A second later — another message. From an unknown number:
“Your loan debt of 274,000 rubles requires urgent repayment. Contact: lawyer Antonov A.V.”
Valeria sat down. A loan? What loan? She never took loans.
She called.
“Yes, good evening. Are you Valeria Sergeevna?”
“Yes. What loan?”
“It was taken out in your name a year and a half ago. A consumer loan. The money was withdrawn immediately. You authorized payment to Igor Nikolaevich.”
Spots swam before Valeria’s eyes.
“Sorry… I didn’t sign anything.”
“I understand. But we have a contract with your signature. And video identification.”
“What identification?”
“You were filmed on camera when you supposedly signed the documents. I can send the recording.”
She watched the recording five minutes later. There she was. Sitting in the mother-in-law’s kitchen. Sheets in front of her. Nadezhda Petrovna pushing papers and explaining something. “Just sign here to arrange insurance, dear, it’s nothing.” And she, stupidly, signed.
The voice on the phone added:
“In case of non-payment… well, you understand, court next.”
Kristina looked at Valeria like she’d just announced she’d had a shrimp’s brain transplant.
“Valer, what is this?”
“This is…” Valeria grabbed her head. “This is… shit. Excuse my French.”
Two days later — another blow. The notary announced that Nadezhda Petrovna filed a lawsuit to contest the will. Claiming Aunt Zoya was not of sound mind, was misled, and the real heirs are… drumroll… Igor and his mother, as “closest spiritual relatives.”
Valeria sat staring at the wall, understanding — they just want to crush her. To smear her. To zero her out.
And then she did what even she didn’t expect from herself.
She picked up the phone. Called. And coldly, without hysteria, said to Igor:
“We’re getting divorced. I’ll file the papers tomorrow.”
And added:
“And you know what? You won’t get any money. Not a penny. Not for the tire shop, not for a new remote.”
She hung up.
And for the first time in many years, her chest felt light. Even frighteningly light.
The day Valeria filed for divorce was unbelievably sunny. The sky was blue like a new plastic folder from a stationery store in which she carried the papers. Men on the bench near the registry office smoked and discussed how much it cost to replace thresholds on a Zhiguli car. What thresholds replacement, for God’s sake, when her whole life was a global teardown?
The lady at the window nodded:
“Uh-huh… Divorce… With kids or without?”
“Without,” Valeria sighed.
“Well… at least something good,” the lady muttered, stamping the papers.
And the domino effect began.
Igor called, wrote, then started calling Kristina. Writing that Valeria was destroying the family, that mom was in hypertensive crisis, that they loved her, that it could all be solved peacefully.
Then came the surprise. A court summons. Nadezhda Petrovna demanded to declare Valeria legally incapacitated. Reason: “psycho-emotional instability, affective outbursts, manic episodes.” In plain words — cuckoo went nuts.
“Are they serious?!” Kristina almost choked on her coffee. “You have manic episodes?! Where?! Why did I miss that?!”
“Apparently, when I refused to give them money,” Valeria smirked.
The court was a circus with trained idiots. Nadezhda Petrovna came in a mourning headscarf. Igor — looking like a widower with a living wife.
Nadezhda Petrovna sobbed:
“She… she’s aggressive! She attacked me with a knife! Screamed I would poison everyone! She’s hysterical! She’s unstable! And Aunt Zoya… the deceased… was under pressure! We… we just want to help her! Let the money be managed by the family. For good. So she doesn’t cause trouble…”
The judge grimaced discreetly.
Valeria’s lawyer — young, bald, with bold eyes — dryly said:
“Honorable court, we have certificates. The client is healthy, doesn’t wave knives. Psychiatrist examination passed, report attached. Also attached is a statement of who and how withdrew money from the loan in her name — here’s the card, here’s video from the ATM. Let’s look carefully: withdrawn by Mr. Igor Nikolaevich, who conveniently forgot there are cameras on ATMs.”
“That’s… not me,” Igor croaked.
“Uh-huh,” the lawyer nodded, “Sherlock Holmes in a ‘Sportmaster’ suit, just like yours.”
After the trial, Igor tried to stop Valeria on the street. He panted, flailed, grabbed her elbow:
“Ler, come on… let’s not do this. Everyone makes mistakes. Mom got hot-headed… You too… you’re nervous. But we’re family! Let’s just… forget it. And live normally. Like people.”
Valeria looked at him. For a long time. Like for the first time in her life.
Here he was. Husband. Five years. The person for whom she carried heavy bags, washed, ironed, cooked, brought medicine to his mother. And him? “Lera, get up, get tests done, screw in a lightbulb, Lera, we’re family…” But as soon as money smelled in the air — immediately “for the family’s good.”
“You know,” Valeria said calmly, “I suddenly realized one thing. I never had a family. I had a project. Called ‘Try to deserve love.’”
“Ler, what are you…”
“Done. Project closed. Consider it unprofitable.”
And she left. Just left. Without looking back.
Igor stood there like a wet rag. Aimless. Penniless. And wife-less.
Two months passed.
Divorce officially took effect. The attempt to contest the will failed — the notary and judge confirmed: all legal. The loan was assigned to Igor — by court decision. For Valeria — zero. Clean. Free.
You know what’s funny? Nadezhda Petrovna later tried to make friends. Yes, yes. She called, sent sweet messages like:
“Oh, don’t be mad, daughter, life happens…”
And the final one:
“I need you. Igor’s totally useless now. Without you, he couldn’t even learn to peel potatoes…”
Valeria looked at that message. For a long time. Then blocked. Everywhere. Both Nadezhda Petrovna and Igor. And their nephew Sashka, and his tire shop. And everyone who ever called themselves her “family.”
Now she has a one-room apartment. Her own. With a crooked floor, but hers. A kitten she found by the entrance. A job — a new school where no one remembers her by her married name. And money. Sitting in the bank. In her personal account. Not “family’s.” Not “mom’s.” Not “tire shop’s.”
And for the first time in many years, Valeria woke up in the morning thinking that she was a free person.
And you know… That feeling was worth more than fifteen million.