Lera was sitting on the floor of her tiny one-room apartment, surrounded by boxes of garlands, pompoms, and cardboard unicorn figures. Her phone wouldn’t stop ringing — yet another mom wanted to discuss her daughter’s birthday, Frozen theme, medium budget but with ambitions of grandeur. Lera smiled as she opened her notebook. Six months ago she would never have believed that she’d be making a living hanging balloons and drawing congratulatory posters.
Getting fired from the office job didn’t turn out to be a catastrophe for her, but a strange kind of liberation. At first, of course, there was shock — the mortgage, utility bills, the habit of stability. Then she happened to stumble on an ad for a children’s party decor course. She thought: why not? As a child, she had always been the one to come up with scripts for school skits, glue up wall newspapers, and somehow create an atmosphere out of nothing.
Her first order came through a friend of a friend. A modest little boy, an apartment in a prefab high-rise, parents with wary faces — as if to say, who knows what this girl is going to do here. But Lera went all in: she turned the cramped living room into a jungle with green paper vines, set up toy animals, and made a photo zone with handmade masks. The birthday boy’s mother burst into tears from tenderness, the father silently transferred the money and added an extra thousand “for a tip.” From then on, word of mouth worked like a charm.
Lera grew to love this work. She loved seeing children’s eyes light up, loved how parents, worn out by daily routines, turned into kids themselves for a couple of hours, taking pictures in silly party hats and laughing. She loved the process — when out of a pile of random materials a festive space was born, whole and magical. And most of all, she finally had the feeling that she was doing something of her own, not just warming a chair in an office for someone else’s goals.
The clients multiplied. Lera started pages on social media and posted photos of her work — delicate pink-and-gold arrangements for girls, rugged space-themed decorations for boys, themed parties based on cartoons. The reviews were raving: “Valeria is a magician!”, “Such taste, such imagination!”, “Very responsive, met us halfway in everything!” The last part was true — Lera really did try to please her clients, didn’t make a fuss over little things, redid things if someone didn’t like them, and worked with a smile.
Her brother Igor called on Saturday evening. They had never been particularly close — age difference, different interests, and after he married Kristina their contact shrank to occasional greetings in messengers. Kristina had made it clear from the start that her husband’s relatives didn’t interest her much. Lera didn’t take offense, she just accepted it as a given.
“Ler, hi,” Igor’s voice sounded unusually pleading. “Listen, I showed your social media to Kristina. Miroslava’s turning five soon, we want to throw a party. Kristina’s thrilled with your work. Will you help?”
Lera smirked. Miroslava was a niece she’d seen maybe three times in her life. The last time had been at the christening, where Kristina had arranged the seating in such a way that Lera’s parents ended up at the far table, away from the “important guests” — Kristina’s friends and her husband’s colleagues.
“Of course I’ll help,” Lera said. “Let’s meet and discuss the details.”
“Wow, that’s great!” Igor brightened. “Kristina will be delighted. She actually wants to talk to you herself, I’ll put her on.”
Kristina talked fast, interrupting herself. The party had to be flawless — family friends were invited, “important people,” as she put it, they needed to make an impression. The theme was princesses, but not in a corny way — stylish, in pastel tones with gold accents. A photo zone was a must, preferably with real flowers. The dessert table had to be a separate area, everything needed to be photogenic.
“Can you handle it?” there was doubt in her voice.
“I can,” Lera replied calmly. “Send me the room dimensions, approximate number of guests, and a photo of the birthday girl — I’ll pick a color scheme to suit her.”
“Oh wow, you’re so professional!” Kristina didn’t even try to hide her surprise. “And how much will it cost?”
Lera mentally estimated the amount of work. Usually for this kind of order she charged about thirty thousand — materials, time, delivery, set-up on site. But this was family, after all.
“For you it’s free,” she said. “A present for my niece’s birthday.”
There was a pause. Then Kristina burst into words of thanks, but somehow unnaturally, as if she’d received an unexpected but not particularly wanted gift.
Lera spent the next two weeks in pleasant fuss. She bought fabrics — delicate powdery chiffon, peach tulle, cream satin. She made paper flowers — huge peonies and roses, each one taking three hours of work. She ordered foil balloons shaped like crowns and swans. She planned out the dessert table composition — tiny pastries in gold wrappers, cupcakes with pearl-like fondant beads, macarons matching the overall palette. She decided to make the photo zone the centerpiece — an arch of flowers and light fabric, a throne for the birthday girl piled with cushions.
Every evening Kristina sent her messages with clarifications. “Can we add these balloons too?”, “Will the napkins be gold or just beige?”, “What if the peonies wither?” Lera answered patiently, reassured her, showed sketches. She never once mentioned that she was working for free and could have been spending this time on paying clients.
Her mother called three days before the party.
“Lerochka, did they invite your dad and me to Miroslava’s birthday?”
“I don’t know, Mom,” Lera frowned. “I’m only handling the decor. Ask Igor.”
“I did. Igor said Kristina decides that, and she’s not answering my calls.”
There was hurt in her mother’s voice, and Lera understood it. Igor was their son, Miroslava their granddaughter. Not inviting Grandma and Grandpa to a fifth birthday was outright rudeness.
“Mom, I’ll talk to them,” Lera promised, though something unpleasant twisted inside her.
When asked directly, Kristina answered evasively:
“You know, Lera, our apartment is small and there are lots of guests. We’ll invite Igor’s parents later, separately, just family. And on Saturday it will mostly be Miroslava’s friends and our acquaintances.”
“Our acquaintances” — not “our family.” Lera hung up and stared at the ceiling for a long time. Something stirred inside her, irritation, but she habitually pushed it down. It’s not your business, she told herself. You’re in charge of the party, and whom they invite is their problem.
Saturday turned out sunny. Lera arrived at Igor’s three hours before the start — she needed to hang everything up, arrange it, create the atmosphere. The apartment turned out to be a spacious three-room place in a new building, with panoramic windows and designer renovations. Kristina opened the door in a robe, curlers in her hair, clearly stressed.
“Lera, thank God! Come in quickly, we have so much to do, I’m going crazy!”
Lera silently went into the living room and took in the space. She mentally laid her project over it. Yes, everything fit. She got to work — draping the walls with fabric, fastening flowers, assembling the arch for the photo zone. Igor came out to say hello, helped carry in the particularly heavy boxes from the car, and then disappeared — apparently to pick up the cake.
Kristina fussed around nearby, gasping, sighing, taking pictures of the process on her phone.
“This is turning into a masterpiece! Lera, you’re really talented! My friends are going to freak out!”
Lera smiled, tied bows on the chair backs, arranged paper-flower compositions on the table. She worked focused and precise, enjoying how the space was transformed. Two and a half hours later everything was ready. The living room had turned into a fairy-tale princess castle — airy, delicate, every detail in its place. The photo zone looked like it had stepped right off the cover of a glossy magazine.
“Amazing!” Kristina clapped her hands. “Ler, thank you so much! Now I have to run and get my makeup done, the guests will start arriving soon.”
Lera stood in the middle of the living room, a bit tired but satisfied with the result. She wiped her hands with a wet wipe and surveyed her creation. Miroslava, a little curly-haired girl in a puffy dress, ran out of the room and froze on the threshold with her mouth open.
“Oh my gosh!” she breathed. “Is this for me?”
“For you, princess,” Lera squatted down in front of her. “Happy birthday, Miroslavochka.”
The girl laughed happily and rushed to touch the flowers, stroke the fabrics. Igor came back with a huge crown-shaped cake and whistled when he saw the decorations.
“Lerukha, you’re a magician. Seriously. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Lera picked up her jacket. “So, I’ll head out then?”
“What do you mean, head out?” Igor looked at her in surprise. “Stay, it’s a party.”
Lera was taken aback. In all the bustle of preparations she somehow hadn’t thought about this moment. On the one hand, it seemed only logical to stay — they were family, after all, and it was her niece. On the other hand, her parents hadn’t been invited, and she herself hadn’t been invited as a guest either, she had just come to work.
“I don’t know,” she began uncertainly. “I’m not dressed for a party, and besides…”
“Oh, come on, you look fine,” Igor waved it off. “Go on, go help Kristina, she’s totally frazzled back there.”
Help Kristina. Not “stay as a guest,” but “help.” Lera caught that, but said nothing. She went to the kitchen, where Kristina, now in an elegant dress with flawless makeup, was arranging canapés on plates.
“Ler, can you set this out on the table?” she asked without even looking up. “And put these napkins next to the plates. Oh, and the glasses still need to be wiped!”
Lera silently got to work. She set, laid out, wiped. She was beginning to feel uneasy, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. It was all normal, in a way — she was helping, they were family after all.
The first guests began to arrive. Well-dressed women with children, men in dress shirts. Kristina blossomed, smiling broadly as she accepted compliments about the décor.
“Is this your handiwork?” one of the guests asked, an elegant blonde in an expensive suit.
“Oh, goodness no, I hired a decorator,” Kristina waved a hand casually. “Found a girl who does this professionally.”
Lera was standing by the table, adjusting a crooked arrangement, when she heard this exchange. “Hired a decorator.” “A girl.” Something inside her tightened like a string.
More guests arrived. Kristina flitted among them, taking gifts, thanking people, introducing Miroslava. The children were already flocking to the photo zone, and the adults were taking out their phones to snap pictures.
“Kristina, this is stunning!” one of her friends exclaimed. “Where did you find such a master?”
“She’s my sister-in-law,” Kristina nodded toward Lera, who was just walking past with a tray. “Valeria, she works as a decorator. She’s helping us with the organization.”
Lera froze. “Helping with the organization.” Like staff. She looked at Kristina, then at Igor, who was standing nearby smiling at the guests. He didn’t even flinch when he heard those words.
“How very nice of her,” Kristina’s friend drawled, giving Lera an indifferent glance.
And then Lera understood. She understood why she hadn’t been invited as a guest. Why Igor had said “go help Kristina.” Why she had been introduced not as a sister but as “a decorator” and “sister-in-law,” separated by a comma as if it were just a job description, not a family tie.
She slowly set the tray down on the table. Her heart was pounding, her temples throbbed. Hurt rose in a wave, hot and caustic. Two whole weeks of work, for free, for family. All those hours spent creating the perfect party for them. And here she was — the hired help.
Lera walked up to Kristina, who was still chatting with her friend, and touched her elbow.
“Kristina, can I talk to you for a second?”
“Yes, of course,” Kristina turned with a smile. “Is something wrong?”
“Can we talk in private?”
They moved aside, closer to the window. Lera took a deep breath.
“Kristina, am I understanding correctly that you want me here today not as a guest, but as… staff?”
Kristina blinked, momentarily thrown off.
“Well, you yourself said you’d take care of the décor…”
“I did take care of the décor. I did everything. For free, because we’re family. But now you’re introducing me to your guests as ‘a decorator’ who ‘helps with the organization,’ not as your husband’s sister who came to her niece’s birthday.”
Kristina gave a nervous laugh.
“Lera, what’s with you? I just meant that you do this professionally, I wanted to praise you in front of my friends…”
“Really?” Lera tilted her head. “Then why wasn’t I on the guest list? Why did Igor say ‘go help Kristina’ instead of ‘sit down, relax, you’ve done so much’?”
Kristina’s cheeks flushed pink.
“Listen, don’t make a scene, we have guests…”
“Don’t worry,” Lera smirked. “There’s not going to be any scene.”
She went back into the living room and picked up her bag. Igor came over to her.
“What’s going on? You’re leaving already?”
“Hang on a second,” Lera took a notebook and pen out of her bag, quickly wrote a few lines, and tore off the page. “Give this to Kristina.”
“What’s this?”
“An invoice,” Lera answered calmly. “For decorating and organizing the party. Thirty thousand rubles. Standard price for this amount of work.”
Igor’s eyes bulged.
“What are you talking about? You yourself said it was free!”
“That was when I thought I was expected here as a family member,” Lera looked at him evenly. “But judging by everything, I’m just hired help here. And hired help, Igor, doesn’t work for free.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it again. Kristina flew over to them.
“What’s going on?”
Igor silently handed her the sheet. Kristina read it, went pale, then turned red.
“Are you out of your mind? What invoice? We had an agreement…”
“We agreed that I would help family with a celebration,” Lera spoke quietly, but there was steel in her voice. “But apparently I was mistaken. To you I’m not family, I’m a decorator. And decorators get paid for their work.”
“Lera, stop it,” Kristina hissed, glancing around at the guests who were beginning to turn their heads. “We’ll discuss this later…”
“No,” Lera shook her head. “We’ll discuss it now. I have a simple question: who am I to you today? Your sister and Miroslava’s aunt, or the service staff?”
Kristina opened her mouth, but no words came. Igor stood next to her, crimson, staring at the floor.
“I see,” Lera nodded. “Here’s my position then.” She raised her voice so that all the guests could hear. “I’m supposed to set up your party, but there’s no place for me at it? Sorry, that’s not how it works. Either I’m a family member and a guest here, or I’m a contractor you pay for services. There is no third option.”
Several guests were clearly listening in now. One of Kristina’s friends was watching with undisguised curiosity. Kristina was as red as a boiled crayfish.
“Fine,” she ground out through her teeth. “Fine, Lera. Of course you’re family. Sit down, be a guest.”
“No, thanks,” Lera put on her jacket. “After that kind of welcome I don’t feel much like celebrating. I expect the payment to be on my card by Monday.”
She turned toward the door. Igor grabbed her by the arm.
“Ler, wait. Don’t do this. We really didn’t mean to hurt you…”
She pulled her arm free.
“You know, Igor, it’s not that you didn’t invite me as a guest that hurts. It’s that you pretended you were inviting me and then used me. That you didn’t invite Mom and Dad but invited a bunch of strangers. That you kept quiet when Kristina introduced me as the help. That’s what hurts.”
She went out into the hallway and put on her shoes. Behind her she heard Kristina whispering something like, “God, what a disgrace, making a scene in front of everyone.”
Lera turned back.
“You know, Kristina, the disgrace isn’t that I asked to be paid for my work. The disgrace is that you invited your sister-in-law to work for you for free and then didn’t even give her a seat at the table.”
The door slammed. Lera went down the stairs, her hands trembling — from hurt, from anger, from the late realization of how she’d been used. But also from a strange relief. She hadn’t kept quiet. She hadn’t swallowed it. She hadn’t allowed herself to be turned into a convenient relative who has to do everything for free and then say thank you for the chance to serve.
In the car she took out her phone. Seven missed calls from Igor. Three messages from Kristina: “Lera, don’t be stupid, come back,” “You ruined my daughter’s party,” “I never thought you were so petty.”
Lera snorted. Petty. Because she didn’t want to work for free for people who didn’t even think she deserved a place at the festive table.
Then her mother texted: “Sweetheart, Igor called, said some nonsense about an invoice and a scandal. What happened?”
Lera typed a long message explaining the situation. Her mother called a minute later.
“Lerochka, you did the right thing,” there was pride in her voice. “Absolutely right. We’ve bent over backwards for that upstart long enough. She didn’t invite us, the grandparents, to our granddaughter’s birthday, made you work for free, and then humiliated you in front of the guests on top of it! I’m going to tell her a thing or two when I see her…”
“Mom, don’t,” Lera sighed. “I’ll handle it myself. I just won’t deal with them anymore.”
“And will you ask for the money?”
Lera thought for a moment. Honestly, she didn’t really care about the thirty thousand. She’d issued the invoice not for the money, but on principle. To show that you can’t treat her like that.
“If they transfer it, fine. If they don’t, it’s not the end of the world either.”
On Monday the transfer hit her account. Exactly thirty thousand, to the penny. From Kristina. With the comment: “For decorator services.”
She sent half of the amount to her parents — “for a present for your granddaughter, since Grandma and Grandpa weren’t invited to the party.” Her mother sent back a heart emoji and a note: “I’m proud of you, daughter.”
Igor didn’t call. Kristina didn’t either. Lera wasn’t worried. She knew they’d show up sooner or later, because people like that always need services. Preferably free ones. But now she knew her own worth and the value of her work. And she had no intention of being convenient anymore.
Her phone rang — a new order. A mother with an excited voice wanted to discuss her son’s birthday, pirate theme, good budget. Lera smiled as she opened her notebook. Life went on. Bright, full of creativity and clients who appreciated her work. And as for relatives who confuse family ties with free labor — they could just take a hike.
In the end, blood ties are no reason to put up with disrespect. And they are certainly not a license for free labor.