Yana pushed open the apartment door and immediately caught the low hum of voices coming from the kitchen. Her husband, Igor, was in there with his mother—Valentina Stepanovna—who had shown up that morning and, as usual, made the kitchen her base camp.
“So what’s with the TV?” Igor was asking.
“It’s ancient,” his mother complained. “The picture is awful, the sound cuts out. It should’ve been replaced ages ago.”
Yana slipped off her shoes and stepped into the kitchen. Valentina sat at the table nursing a cup of tea; Igor was poking at his phone.
“Ah, Yana’s here,” Igor said, brightening. “We were just talking about Mom’s TV.”
“What happened to it?” Yana asked, already tired.
“It’s practically dead. We need a new one,” said Valentina Stepanovna.
Igor set his phone down and fixed his gaze on Yana.
“You always cover things like this. Buy Mom a TV. We don’t feel like dipping into our own money.”
Yana paused mid-motion, halfway out of her coat. He’d said it as casually as if he were asking her to pick up a loaf of bread.
“I don’t feel like it either. Do you?” she asked evenly.
“Well, you have a good job and make solid money,” Igor said. “My salary’s small.”
Yana frowned, studying him to see if he was serious. He was. His expression radiated the serene confidence of a man convinced he was right.
“Igor, I’m not a bank,” she said slowly.
“Oh, come on,” he waved it off. “It’s just one TV.”
Yana pulled out a chair and sat. Her mind ran through the last few months. Who covered the rent? Yana. Who bought groceries? Yana. Who paid the utilities? Yana again. Plus the medications for Valentina’s blood pressure and aching joints. And that renovation loan his mother had taken out—she’d stopped paying after three months, and Yana had picked up the installments.
“Remember something?” Igor prodded.
“I remembered who’s been paying for everything in this family for the past two years.”
Valentina inserted herself with a sigh.
“Yana, you’re the lady of the house; the responsibility is yours. Is it really so hard to buy Igor’s mother a TV? It’s a purchase for the family.”
“For the family?” Yana echoed. “Where is this ‘family’ whenever there’s a bill to pay?”
“It’s not like we do nothing,” Igor objected. “I work, and Mom helps around the house.”
“What help?” Yana blinked. “Valentina comes over for tea and to list her ailments.”
The mother-in-law bristled.
“What do you mean just to talk? I give you advice on how to run a family properly.”
“Advice on how I’m supposed to support everyone?”
“Well, who else would?” Igor asked, genuinely puzzled. “You’ve got steady work and a good income.”
Yana studied him. He truly believed it was normal for his wife to haul the entire household on her back.
“And what do you do with your paycheck?” she asked.
“I save it,” Igor said. “For a rainy day.”
“For what kind of rainy day?”
“You never know—crisis, layoffs. You need a safety cushion.”
“And where’s my safety cushion?”
“You have a reliable job; they won’t fire you.”
“Maybe it’s time you and your mother decide for yourselves what to buy—and with what money,” Yana said calmly.
Igor smirked. “Why talk like that? You manage money so well. We already try not to burden you with extras.”
“Not burden me?” Heat rose in Yana’s cheeks. “Igor, do you actually think you’re not a burden?”
“It’s not like we ask for something every day,” his mother jumped in. “Only when it’s truly necessary.”
“Is a TV truly necessary?”
“Of course! How can you live without one? The news, the programs.”
“You can watch everything online.”
“I don’t understand the internet,” Valentina cut her off. “I need a proper TV.”
The conversation was looping. To both Igor and his mother, it seemed self-evident that Yana must bankroll everything, while they pinched every last kopeck for themselves.
“All right,” Yana said. “How much is this TV you want?”
“You can get a good one for forty thousand,” Igor brightened. “A big screen, with internet.”
“Forty thousand rubles,” Yana repeated.
“Yeah. It’s not that much.”
“Igor, do you know how much I pour into our family each month?”
“Well… a lot, I guess.”
“About seventy thousand rubles. Rent, groceries, utilities, your mother’s medications, and her loan.”
Igor shrugged. “It’s family. That’s normal.”
“And how much do you contribute?”
“Well… sometimes I buy milk. Bread.”
“Igor, you spend at most five thousand a month on the household,” Yana said, doing the math. “And not even every month.”
“But I’m saving for a rainy day.”
“Whose rainy day? Yours?”
“Ours, of course.”
“Then why is the money in your personal account and not in a joint one?”
Igor said nothing. Valentina fell quiet too.
“Yana, you’re speaking out of turn,” the mother-in-law finally ventured. “My son provides for the family.”
“With what?” Yana asked, genuinely baffled. “Valentina, the last time Igor bought groceries was six months ago—and only because I was sick and asked him.”
“But he works!”
“And I work. Except my salary goes to everyone, while his goes only to himself.”
“That’s how it’s done,” Igor said, less sure now. “The woman manages the household.”
“Managing the household doesn’t mean carrying everyone,” Yana shot back.
“So what do you suggest?” Valentina asked.
“I suggest everyone carry their own weight.”
“How is that supposed to be ‘family’?” the mother-in-law cried.
“What about family? Family means everyone contributes, not one person dragging the rest.”
Igor stared at her, bewildered. “Yana, that’s a strange way to think. We’re husband and wife—we have a joint budget.”
“Joint?” Yana laughed once. “A joint budget is when both people put money into one pot and spend it together. What do we have? I put money in, and you hoard yours.”
“Not hoard—I’m saving.”
“For yourself. Because when money’s needed, you’ll spend yours on your own needs, not shared ones.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. Right now your mother wants a TV. You’ve got forty thousand saved. Will you buy it for her?”
Igor hesitated. “Well… that’s my savings.”
“Exactly. Yours.”
Valentina tried to steer the conversation.
“Yana, you shouldn’t address your husband like that. A man should feel like the head of the family.”
“And the head of the family should support the family—not live off his wife.”
“Igor does not live off you!” she protested.
“He does. For two years I’ve paid the rent, food, utilities, your medications, and your loan. Igor has been stockpiling money for his personal needs.”
“It’s only temporary,” Igor said defensively. “There’s a crisis—times are tough.”
“Igor, we’ve been in a ‘crisis’ for three years. And every month you shift more onto me.”
“I’m not shifting; I’m asking for help.”
“Help?” Yana gave a short laugh. “Have you paid the rent even once in the last six months?”
“No, but—”
“Did you buy groceries?”
“Sometimes.”
“Igor, buying milk once a month doesn’t count.”
“Well, all right, I didn’t. But I work and bring money into the family.”
“You bring it in—and immediately stash it in your personal account.”
“I’m not hiding it; I’m saving it for the future.”
“For your future.”
The mother-in-law jumped right back in.
“Yana, what’s gotten into you? You never used to complain.”
“I used to think it was temporary. That my husband would soon start carrying his share of the family expenses.”
“And now?”
“Now I see I’ve been treated like a cash cow.”
“How can you say that!” Igor burst out.
“What else do you call it when one person bankrolls everyone and they still expect gifts?”
“What gifts? A TV is something Mom needs!”
“Igor, if your mother needs a TV, your mother can buy it. Or you can buy it—from your savings.”
“But her pension is tiny!”
“And my salary—does it stretch like rubber?”
“Well, you can afford it.”
“I can. I also don’t want to.”
Silence dropped between them. Igor and his mother exchanged a look.
“What do you mean, you don’t want to?” her husband asked, voice low.
“I mean I’m done being the only one supporting the entire family.”
“But we’re a family; we’re supposed to help each other.”
“Exactly—each other. Not one person propping up everyone else.”
Yana rose from the table. It hit her how they saw her: a card that should spit out cash on demand.
“Where are you going?” Igor asked.
“To take care of things.”
Without another word, Yana pulled out her phone and opened her banking app there at the table. Her fingers moved fast—she blocked the joint card Igor used. Then she switched to transfers and began moving all her savings to a new account she’d opened a month ago, just in case.
“What are you doing?” Igor asked, suddenly cautious.
“Handling my finances,” Yana said crisply.
He tried to glance at her screen, but she tilted it away. Five minutes later, every ruble had been moved to her personal account—one neither her husband nor his mother could touch.
“Yana, what’s happening?” Igor asked, alarmed.
“What should have happened long ago.”
She opened the card settings and revoked all access but her own. Igor stared, stunned, not yet grasping the scale of what she’d done.
Sensing danger, Valentina Stepanovna leapt up.
“What have you done? We’ll be left without money!”
“You’ll be left with the money you earn,” Yana replied evenly.
“What do you mean, ‘we earn’? What about family? What about a joint budget?” the mother-in-law shrieked.
“Valentina Stepanovna, we never had a joint budget. There was my budget—and everyone fed off it.”
“You’re out of your mind!” the older woman shouted. “We’re a family!”
Yana’s voice stayed steady and clear.
“From today, we live separately. I’m not obliged to fund your whims.”
“What whims?” Igor protested. “These are necessities!”
“A forty-thousand-ruble TV is a necessity?”
“For Mom—yes!”
“Then Mom can buy it with her pension. Or you can use your savings.”
The mother-in-law rushed to her son.
“Why are you standing there? Put her in her place! She’s your wife!”
Igor muttered something, eyes fixed on the table, avoiding Yana’s gaze. He knew she was right but wouldn’t say it.
“Igor,” Yana said quietly, “do you honestly think I should support your entire family?”
“Well… we’re husband and wife.”
“Husband and wife means partnership. Not one person carrying the rest.”
“But my salary is smaller!”
“Your salary is smaller, but your savings are bigger—because you spend them only on yourself.”
Igor went silent again. Seeing her son wouldn’t push, the mother-in-law lunged forward herself.
“Yana, return the money at once! I’m running out of medicine!”
“Buy it with your own money.”
“My pension is small!”
“Ask your son. He has savings.”
“Igor, give me money for medicine!” she demanded.
Her son hesitated. “Mom, I’m saving that for the family.”
“I am the family!” she snapped.
“But those are my savings.”
“You see?” Yana said. “When it’s time to spend, everyone’s money magically becomes personal.”
Realizing how serious this was, the mother-in-law changed tack.
“Yana, let’s talk calmly. You’re a kind woman; you’ve always helped.”
“I helped—until I realized I was being used.”
“You’re not being used—you’re appreciated!”
“Appreciated for what—paying every bill?”
“For supporting the family.”
“I’m not supporting a family. I’m supporting two able-bodied adults who can work and earn.”
The next morning, Yana went to the bank and opened a separate account in her name. She printed statements for the past two years showing where the money had gone: groceries, rent, utilities, medicine, and her mother-in-law’s loan. It was all on Yana.
When she got home, she pulled out a large suitcase and began packing Igor’s things—shirts, trousers, socks—folding everything neatly.
“What are you doing?” Igor asked when he came home from work.
“Packing your things.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t live here anymore.”
“What do you mean I don’t? This is my apartment too!”
“The apartment is in my name. I decide who lives here.”
“But we’re husband and wife!”
“For now, yes. Not for long.”
Yana rolled the suitcase into the hall and held out her palm.
“The keys.”
“What keys?”
“To the apartment. All sets.”
“Yana, are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
Reluctantly, Igor handed them over. Yana checked—main set and spare.
“Does your mother have a set?”
“Yes, she drops by sometimes.”
“Call her. Tell her to return them.”
“Why?”
“Because Valentina Stepanovna no longer has the right to enter my home.”
An hour later, the mother-in-law arrived. She understood immediately when she saw the suitcase in the hallway.
“What does this mean?” she demanded.
“It means your son is moving out.”
“Moving where? This is his home!”
“This is my home. And I’m done supporting freeloaders.”
“How dare you!” the mother-in-law exploded.
“I dare. Hand over the keys.”
“What keys?”
“To the apartment. I know you have a duplicate.”
“I won’t give them back!”
“Then I’ll call the police.”
She raised a full-blown ruckus—screaming that Yana was tearing the family apart, that you don’t treat relatives like that, that she’d always thought her daughter-in-law was a good girl.
“The good girl is gone,” Yana said calmly, and dialed.
“Hello, we need assistance. Former relatives refuse to return my apartment keys and leave the premises.”
Half an hour later, two officers arrived. They reviewed the situation and checked the property documents.
“Ma’am,” they said to the mother-in-law, “return the keys and leave the apartment.”
“But my son lives here!”
“Your son isn’t the owner and has no right to dispose of the property.”
With witnesses present, the older woman fished the keys from her purse and flung them on the floor.
“You’ll regret this!” she shouted as she left. “You’ll end up alone!”
“I’ll be alone—with my own money,” Yana replied.
Igor silently picked up the suitcase and followed his mother out. At the door he turned.
“Yana, maybe you’ll reconsider?”
“There’s nothing to reconsider.”
A week later, Yana filed for divorce. There was hardly any joint property to divide—the apartment had always been hers, and the car had been bought with her own money. There was nothing to split.
Igor called, asked to meet, begged to talk. He promised everything would change, that he’d cover all the expenses himself.
“Too late,” Yana said. “Trust doesn’t return.”
“But I love you!”
“Do you love me—or my wallet?”
“You, of course!”
“Then why did you live off me for three years without a flicker of shame?”
Igor had no answer.
The divorce went through quickly—Igor didn’t contest it; he knew resistance was pointless. The court dissolved the marriage.
For another month, Valentina Stepanovna rang Yana’s phone—crying, threatening, then asking for money for medicine. Yana listened in silence and hung up.
“My blood pressure is up because of you!” the mother-in-law complained.
“Ask your son to treat you—he has savings.”
“He says he’s sorry to spend the money!”
“Wonderful. Now you understand how I felt for three years.”
Six months later, Yana ran into Igor at the store. He looked worn out; his clothes had lost their crispness.
“Hi,” he said awkwardly.
“Hello.”
“How are you?”
“Great. You?”
“Fine… I’m living with Mom for now.”
“I see.”
“You know, I realized I was wrong. I really did dump too much on you.”
“You realized?”
“Yes. Now I pay for all of Mom’s expenses myself, and I see how hard it is.”
“But you have savings.”
“I had. I spent them on her medicine and repairs to her apartment.”
“And? Does it hurt to spend it?”
Igor paused, then admitted, “It does. A lot.”
“Now imagine doing that for three straight years.”
“I understand. Forgive me.”
“I already have. It doesn’t change anything.”
“What if I make it right? Become a different man?”
“Igor, you only ‘became different’ when my money disappeared from your life. That isn’t change—that’s pressure.”
“But I’ve learned my lesson!”
“You learned it only when you had to pay yourself. If I’d kept covering everything, you’d never have learned anything.”
He nodded. Yana was right.
“I have to go,” she said, and headed to the checkout.
At home, Yana brewed tea and sat by the window with a book. The apartment was quiet—no one demanding money for TVs, medicine, or anything else. The balance in her account belonged solely to her. No one dictated how to spend it.
When she’d closed the door behind her ex-husband six months earlier, she’d felt light for the first time in years. Freedom from financial parasites was worth more than any blood tie. Now every ruble she spent was a choice, not coercion.
Yana never again let anyone climb onto her shoulders. She learned to say “no”—without guilt—and refused to bankroll other adults. Money returned to what it should be: a tool for her own plans, not a lifeline for people determined to live at her expense.