“Here, write this down,” Pyotr Petrovich put a sheet of paper with neatly written numbers on the kitchen table. “Your salary is too big for one woman. You’ll transfer it to me—I’ll manage it better.”
Olga froze, gripping a paring knife. She blinked several times, trying to process what she’d heard. Her father-in-law, who had unexpectedly dropped by “for tea” while Andrey was out, was looking at her with the air of a man stating something entirely ordinary.
“Are you… serious?” Her voice sounded hollow.
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Pyotr Petrovich pursed his lips. “Come on, write down the card number.”
A mix of absurdity and insult hung in the air. Olga set the knife on the table, wiped her hands on her apron, and slowly exhaled.
Just two years ago, when she and Andrey got married, everything had seemed so right and happy. Olga remembered their talks about the future—they dreamed of traveling, building a house outside the city, getting a dog. Andrey worked at an auto shop then, but he was thinking of opening his own garage. Olga was an engineer at a large construction company, and when she was offered a promotion to chief engineer, Andrey was genuinely thrilled for her.
“You’ve earned it,” he said, raising a glass of champagne. “I’m proud of you.”
They bought a used car and rented a bigger apartment. The first year was full of mutual understanding and support. Pyotr Petrovich stopped by rarely, mostly on holidays. He politely asked how they were doing, praised Olga’s pies, and seemed pleased with his son’s choice.
The changes started subtly. At first it was small remarks. “Why such an expensive washing machine?” her father-in-law asked, examining the appliances in their new place. “Why replace the furniture? This will serve a while yet,” he grumbled when Olga showed him a sofa catalog. “Why are you riding in a company car instead of something simpler?” he wondered when the company driver came to pick Olga up.
After they took out a mortgage on a two-room apartment in a new building, Pyotr Petrovich started coming more often. His interest in the young couple’s finances grew more intrusive. He asked how much Olga made, how much they spent on food, clothes, entertainment. He advised them to save, to put money aside, to “tighten their belts.”
Olga noticed how her husband, who had once been proud of her career, more and more often agreed with his father. Andrey began to say they were “spending too much,” even though their combined income allowed them to live comfortably without excess. But the real shock came today, when Pyotr Petrovich showed up with a card number and his unbelievable proposal.
“Does Andrey know about your… plans?” Olga asked, trying to remain calm.
“Of course,” Pyotr Petrovich nodded. “My son and I discussed everything.”
Olga’s heart skipped a beat. Her husband had discussed her salary with his father and hadn’t said a word to her? The door banged—the front door opened, and Andrey walked in.
“Dad’s already here? Perfect,” he smiled, taking off his jacket. “What are you talking about?”
“About how your wife needs to stop showing off with her job,” Pyotr Petrovich replied. “Everything in a family should be shared; a woman shouldn’t earn more than a man. It’s not right.”
Olga turned to her husband, expecting him to object, but he only gave a noncommittal shrug.
“I’m telling her to quit this company,” Pyotr Petrovich went on. “An acquaintance of mine needs a bookkeeper for his shop. The pay is lower, but there’s less stress. Better for the family.”
“You didn’t think I would actually quit my job, did you?” Olga stared intently at Andrey.
“Olga, Dad’s got a point,” he finally said. “You work too much, you’re constantly on edge…”
A sharp pang went through her chest. Her opinion had stopped mattering in this family. Decisions were being made behind her back. Olga suddenly saw clearly that she was turning into a prop in her own home.
At that moment the phone rang. The director’s name flashed on the screen.
“Sorry, I need to take this,” she said and stepped out of the kitchen.
There were problems with a major tender; the documentation had errors, and only Olga could fix them. She spent another hour in the bedroom on the phone, answering questions and directing the team. When the situation was resolved and the contract saved, she felt a surge of pride and relief. At work they valued her, trusted her, and listened to her opinion.
When she came back to the kitchen, she found her husband and father-in-law bent over a sheet of paper.
“…Two hundred thousand for initial expenses for the garage,” Pyotr Petrovich was saying, doing some calculations. “And at least half a million for Kolya’s car so he doesn’t have to take a loan.”
They were planning how to spend her money. Her salary, earned through years of work and constant improvement. Andrey’s younger brother, Kolya, barely worked at all—he scraped by on odd jobs and lived with their parents.
“Don’t you want to discuss this with me?” Olga asked, folding her arms.
The men looked up like they’d been caught red-handed.
“We’re just considering options,” Andrey smiled awkwardly.
“You’ve got plenty of options, I see.” Olga came up to the table. “Andrey, tell me plainly: whose side are you on?”
“What kind of silly question is that?” Pyotr Petrovich cut in. “He’s on the side of the family, of course!”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Olga snapped, keeping her eyes on her husband.
Andrey hesitated, glancing from his father to his wife.
“Olga, Dad just wants to help,” he said at last. “He has more experience with financial matters…”
Olga finally grasped the reality. It was clear—there was no longer any respect for her as a partner in this marriage. They’d turned her into a source of income, not a person whose wishes and plans mattered.
“Andrey,” Olga said quietly but firmly. “I’m giving you one last chance. Either you tell your father right now that my salary belongs to me and that you and I decide how to manage our family budget, or our marriage is over.”
“What are you talking about?” Pyotr Petrovich flared. “How dare you make ultimatums?”
Olga didn’t so much as glance at him. She kept looking at her husband.
“Why are you getting worked up?” Andrey laughed nervously. “We were just discussing things… Dad’s right that everything should be shared in a family. We’re one family, and—”
“No, not one,” Olga interrupted. “I thought you and I were a family. Turns out you and your father are the family. And I’m a wallet with legs.”
She turned and went to the bedroom. She took a suitcase from the closet and began to pack her things. Her hands trembled slightly, but her head felt astonishingly clear. It was as if everything that had been happening in recent months had finally come together into a sharp picture.
A stunned Andrey appeared in the doorway.
“Are you really leaving? Over such nonsense?”
“Not nonsense—betrayal,” Olga replied, still packing. “You discussed my salary with your father behind my back. You planned how to spend it. You suggested I quit the job I love. All of it without a single word to me.”
“Olga, don’t be rash,” Pyotr Petrovich appeared in the doorway. “Women always shout first and calm down later. We’ll talk tomorrow with clear heads.”
“You’ve already decided everything without me,” Olga zipped the suitcase. “There’s no place for me in your plans. Only for my salary.”
“You can’t just walk out!” the father-in-law protested.
“I can,” she straightened. “And I am.”
Olga rented an apartment not far from work. Before she left, she put a short note on the table: “My dignity is worth more than your desire to please your father.”
That evening the phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Andrey called, his mother called, even the younger brother. As she learned later, Pyotr Petrovich phoned all the relatives, complaining about “an ungrateful daughter-in-law who ditched the family for her career.”
Olga didn’t answer. She felt a strange mix of emptiness and relief, as if she’d dropped a heavy backpack she’d been hauling uphill for a long time.
A week later Andrey called. He said he “understood everything,” but “maybe they should think about reconciling.” Olga asked him point-blank:
“Does your father still think my salary should go to him?”
“Well, he just wanted what’s best…” Andrey began.
“Then nothing has changed,” she said, and ended the call.
A lawyer prepared the divorce papers. Andrey didn’t stand in the way, though his father pushed for a division of property. There wasn’t much to divide—the mortgaged apartment was in both their names, and Olga gave up her share in exchange for Andrey taking over the loan payments entirely.
Six months later, Olga was standing in line at a supermarket in a shopping center. She spotted Pyotr Petrovich at the register across the way. He saw her too but immediately turned away, pretending not to recognize her. Olga felt a curious indifference. The man who had once made her tense and anxious was now just another passerby.
That evening she sat with a cup of tea on the balcony of her new apartment. A lot had changed in six months. Without constant domestic stress, she could focus fully on work. The tender she had saved that fateful day brought the company a multi-million contract, and the director gave her a substantial bonus.
Olga bought a pool pass and started saving for a trip to Barcelona—the very one she and Andrey had once dreamed about. Only now she would go alone or with a friend.
Her phone rang—a new client’s number flashed on the screen. Olga smiled and answered. The voice on the other end was polite and respectful. They discussed the project details and set up a meeting.
“My life belongs only to me,” she thought, taking a sip of freshly brewed coffee. And there was no bitterness or regret in that thought. Only the calm confidence of a woman who has finally found herself.
Now no one would tell her that her job or her salary is “too big for a woman.” The price of her dignity had been high—a marriage lost, the shared future that never happened. But she didn’t regret anything. It was worth the price.