Anastasia left the office at exactly six in the evening, as always. The November wind slapped her in the face, but she was used to it. The bus took her to the right stop in twenty minutes; then it was five minutes on foot along the familiar route. The entranceway, third floor—the mother-in-law’s apartment.
The key turned in the lock. Voices drifted from the kitchen—Lyudmila Petrovna was talking to Igor about something of their own. Anastasia slipped off her heels and hung up her coat.
“Oh, you’re finally here,” her mother-in-law poked her head out of the kitchen. “Are you going to cook dinner, or are you waiting for me again, like always?”
“I’ll do it now,” Anastasia said, walking past without looking up.
Five years. Five years in this apartment, where every little thing reminded her: you’re not the mistress here. Put a cup in the wrong place—comment. Turn on the TV—more displeasure. You couldn’t even pour water from the kettle without hearing that you were wasting electricity.
Anastasia washed her hands, took out the chicken she’d bought yesterday with her own money, and started chopping vegetables. Igor came into the kitchen and put an arm around her shoulders.
“How was your day?”
“Fine. I turned in the reports. New ones will come tomorrow.”
Her husband nodded and went back to his mother. Anastasia heard Lyudmila Petrovna saying something about a neighbor who had recently bought new furniture. Her mother-in-law loved talking about other people’s purchases, hinting that her son and daughter-in-law still couldn’t afford anything.
But Anastasia could. It’s just that nobody knew.
Three years earlier, she’d discovered a simple truth: if you wanted to have anything in this family, you had to keep quiet and save on your own. Every month after payday, Anastasia withdrew cash and hid it in a box from old winter boots. The box sat in the closet in the room she and Igor shared, behind a stack of blankets.
Her salary was forty-five thousand rubles a month. She put away fifteen thousand right away—sometimes more if she managed to save. Igor earned about the same; he worked as a manager at a construction company. But his money went to groceries, gas for the car, and all sorts of little things. Lyudmila Petrovna didn’t charge them rent, but she constantly reminded them how kind she was for taking the young couple in under her roof.
Four hundred thousand rubles already. Nastya counted the money every month when Igor went to his mother’s room to watch yet another soccer match. She was saving for a down payment. She planned to take out a mortgage. She dreamed of having her own apartment, where she wouldn’t have to listen to reproaches or tiptoe around.
That evening dinner passed in silence. Lyudmila Petrovna chewed the chicken and sighed from time to time, signaling that something was wrong. Anastasia didn’t ask. Igor scrolled on his phone.
Then the doorbell rang.
“Who is it at this hour?” her mother-in-law grumbled as she got up from the table.
Igor went to open. A minute later, a woman’s voice echoed in the hallway—sniffling, broken.
“Igoryok… I didn’t know who else to turn to… I’m sorry it’s so late…”
Olga. Igor’s sister. Anastasia had seen her only about three times in all the years of their marriage—she lived in Voronezh and rarely visited.
Olya came into the kitchen with red eyes, mascara smeared down her cheeks. She sat on the chair her brother pulled out for her and covered her face with her hands.
“What happened?” Lyudmila Petrovna fussed. “Olenka, what is it?”
“Mom, I… I don’t know what to do,” Olga’s voice trembled. “Trouble at work. Serious trouble. They’re accusing me of a shortage, but I didn’t take anything! They say I have to pay the money back, or they’ll file a police report.”
“How much?” Igor leaned toward his sister.
“Three hundred fifty thousand,” Olga sobbed. “I don’t have that kind of money! I’m paying off a car loan, renting an apartment… I thought maybe you could help? I’ll pay it back! I swear I’ll pay it back!”
Anastasia tensed. Something in her stomach tightened into a hard knot.
“Olya, where would we get that kind of money?” Igor spread his hands. “We’re barely getting by ourselves…”
“Igor,” Lyudmila Petrovna looked at her son sternly. “That’s your sister. Family should help.”
“Mom, I understand, but we really don’t have—”
Olga cried louder. Lyudmila Petrovna stood up, put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, stroked her hair. Igor looked lost.
Anastasia silently cleared the plates from the table. Her hands moved automatically while one thought spun in her head: not my money. Not my stash.
An hour later, when Olya had calmed down a bit and went to Lyudmila Petrovna’s room, Nastya went into her bedroom. Igor was there, standing by the window.
“Nasten…” he turned to her. “Do you happen to have any savings?”
Her heart dropped.
“Why are you asking?”
“Just… I was looking for a warm throw. And I accidentally noticed a box. Is that money in there?”
Anastasia sat down on the bed. He found it. He found her stash.
“Yes,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve been saving. For three years. For a mortgage.”
“How much is there?”
“Four hundred thousand.”
Igor whistled.
“Nastya, that’s… that solves Olya’s problem! We can give her three hundred fifty, she’ll pay it back by the end of the year, and you and I will keep saving for the apartment!”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I don’t want to give that money away.”
Igor frowned.
“Nastya, are you serious? That’s my sister! She’s facing prison!”
“She said they might file a report. That doesn’t mean she’ll go to prison. And besides, Igor—I saved for three years! I denied myself everything! I didn’t buy decent clothes, didn’t go to cafés, didn’t go on vacation!”
“But Olya needs the money now!”
“Let her take a loan. Or go to the bank. Or ask friends.”
“She doesn’t have that kind of money anywhere!” Igor raised his voice. “Nastya, why are you so… cold? It’s family!”
“I can give one hundred thousand. No more.”
“One hundred?! She needs three-fifty!”
“Then let her find the rest herself.”
Igor exhaled and shook his head.
“You’re acting like a stranger. I didn’t expect that from you.”
He walked out, slamming the door. Anastasia stayed sitting on the bed. Her hands were shaking. Inside, everything clenched with hurt and anger.
The next morning, the real pressure started. Lyudmila Petrovna came into the kitchen while Anastasia was making breakfast.
“Igor says you have money,” her mother-in-law spoke quietly, but there was steel in her voice. “And you’re refusing to help his sister.”
“Lyudmila Petrovna, I saved for three years…”
“Three years?” her mother-in-law smirked. “And how many years have you lived in my apartment for free? Five. Five years I’ve fed you, sheltered you, and I don’t take a kopeck for utilities! And what do I get in return? Ingratitude!”
“I’m not refusing to help at all. I’m ready to give one hundred thousand.”
“One hundred thousand,” Lyudmila Petrovna snorted. “Olya needs three hundred fifty! She has serious problems! Don’t you understand? In our family, we help each other! We don’t count pennies like… like some miser!”
Anastasia clenched her teeth. She didn’t answer. She knew any word would be used against her.
All day the tension hung in the air. Igor looked at his wife with reproach. Lyudmila Petrovna sighed every time they crossed paths. Olga sat in her mother’s room and whimpered.
By evening Nastya couldn’t take it anymore. She approached her husband in the living room.
“Fine,” she said softly. “I’ll give the money.”
Igor lifted his head.
“Really?”
“But Olya has to write a receipt. That she’ll pay it back by the end of the year.”
“A receipt?” Igor blinked. “Why?”
“So there’s proof. It’s a large amount.”
“But we’re family! Why do we need paperwork between family?”
“I want to be sure the money will be returned.”
“So you don’t trust my sister?”
“I want a receipt.”
Igor stood up and stepped closer.
“You’re insulting Olya. She’s in a terrible situation, and you’re demanding receipts like she’s a stranger!”
“Then I won’t give the money.”
Igor exhaled and rubbed his face with his hands.
“Nastya, okay. Then let’s do it this way—I’ll be the guarantor. I personally guarantee Olya will pay it back. Deal?”
“No. I need a receipt from her.”
He turned and left. A minute later Lyudmila Petrovna came in. Her face was stone.
“Igor says you’re demanding a receipt.”
“Yes. That’s normal.”
“Normal between strangers!” her voice rose. “Relatives don’t do that! What, do you think we’re scammers?!”
“I just want to protect myself.”
“Protect yourself!” Lyudmila Petrovna threw up her hands. “From your own family! Nastya, do you hear yourself? We took you in, feed you, give you a roof over your head! And you suspect us of deceit!”
Anastasia was silent. Lyudmila Petrovna went on:
“In our family, that’s not how it’s done! We have traditions, we have principles! Relatives help each other just because—without any papers! If you don’t understand that, then you’re not one of us!”
She turned and left. Anastasia stood in the middle of the room, feeling the pressure closing in from all sides—Igor, Lyudmila Petrovna, Olga—everyone against her alone.
That evening Igor came back. He sat beside her on the couch and took her hand.
“Nastya, let’s not fight. Olga is my sister. She really needs help. Let’s help her, okay?”
Anastasia looked at her husband and saw pleading in his eyes.
“Without a receipt?”
“We’re family—why receipts?” Igor smiled and squeezed her palm. “Olga will pay it back. I know her. She won’t let us down.”
Anastasia closed her eyes. She understood: if she refused now, she would become a stranger in this family for good. Lyudmila Petrovna would never forgive it. Igor would pull away. Life in this apartment would become hell.
“Okay,” she whispered. “No receipt.”
Igor hugged her and kissed the top of her head.
“Thank you. You’re amazing. I knew you’d understand.”
He got up and left the room. A minute later he returned with the shoebox. Anastasia watched as Igor lifted the lid and pulled out stacks of bills. Her money. Three years of saving. Three years of denying herself everything.
“Three hundred fifty thousand, right?” Igor counted out the amount. “Exactly.”
He smiled as he handed the money to Olga, who came into the room. His sister burst into tears of relief, threw her arms around him, then around her sister-in-law.
“Thank you! Thank you so much! I’ll pay it back! I swear I’ll pay it all back by the end of the year!”
Lyudmila Petrovna stood in the doorway and nodded with satisfaction.
“That’s how it should be. That’s family.”
Olga left the next morning. She left with Anastasia’s money, leaving only spoken promises and gratitude behind.
Anastasia stared out the window as the taxi pulled away from the entrance. Inside, she felt empty. Not even anger or hurt—just emptiness.
The first month passed quickly. Several times Anastasia wanted to ask Igor about Olga, but she stopped herself. She didn’t want to look greedy, didn’t want to hear accusations.
The second month she couldn’t hold it in.
“Igor, how’s Olga? Did she sort out her problems?”
He shrugged.
“Seems like it. She said she’s dealing with it.”
“And did she say anything about the money?”
“Nastya, give her time! She didn’t just take it for fun.”
“Two months have passed.”
“So what? Do you think you can gather that kind of sum in two months? Just wait a bit.”
Anastasia called Olga herself. Igor’s sister rarely answered, and when she did, her replies were brief.
“Olya, what about the money?”
“Oh, Nastya, I haven’t saved it up yet. Work, you know—things are hard right now. I’ll return it soon, don’t worry.”
“When, approximately?”
“Well… by the end of the year, like I promised.”
“Okay. I’ll wait.”
The end of the year came and brought no repayment. January arrived, then February. Anastasia asked her husband every week. Igor started getting angry.
“Nastya, stop pestering me! Olga knows she owes it! She’ll return it!”
“Half a year has passed!”
“So what?! Do you think money falls from the sky?! Give her time!”
“Igor, those were my savings! I saved for three years!”
“Then you’ll save again!”
Anastasia went quiet. She understood: her husband was not on her side. He never had been.
Nine months passed. Anastasia stopped asking. She just waited.
Then Olga called.
“Nastya, hi,” her voice was guilty. “Listen, I need to tell you something.”
“About the money?”
“Yes. I… I won’t be able to return it.”
Anastasia froze.
“What do you mean you won’t?”
“I was putting it aside, I meant to pay you back, but something happened… I invested it in a business. A friend offered me a chance to join a project. Network marketing—she said the profit would be huge. I thought I’d pay your money back with interest! But the project turned out to be fake. All the money is gone.”
“So you spent my three hundred fifty thousand on some pyramid scheme?”
“Nastya, I didn’t know! I was scammed! I suffered too!”
“Olga, you promised you’d return it!”
“I know, but I have nothing now! I’m in debt myself! Nastya, you don’t think I did it on purpose, do you?”
“How am I supposed to think?”
“Listen, I think Igor should have helped me for free! We’re family! In normal families, that’s what you do! You don’t demand repayment!”
Anastasia hung up. Her hands shook so much the phone almost slipped from her fingers.
That evening she told Igor everything. He listened in silence, then sighed.
“Well, that’s what happened. Olga got scammed. She suffered too.”
“Igor, she spent my money on a pyramid scheme!”
“She didn’t know it was a pyramid scheme!”
“She didn’t even ask me! She promised to pay it back and then poured it into some nonsense!”
“Nastya, stop yelling! What happened happened! There’s no money, and demanding it is pointless!”
Lyudmila Petrovna came into the kitchen.
“What’s all the shouting?”
“Your daughter spent my three hundred fifty thousand on network marketing!” Anastasia turned to her mother-in-law. “Now she says she won’t return it!”
“So what are we supposed to do now?” Lyudmila Petrovna shrugged. “She was deceived by scammers. That’s not her fault.”
“Not her fault?! Lyudmila Petrovna, those were my savings!”
“You’re too obsessed with money,” her mother-in-law grimaced. “In a family, relationships matter more than some pennies. You’re greedy, Nastya. That’s your problem.”
Anastasia felt something inside her finally snap. She looked at her husband, at her mother-in-law. They didn’t even understand what they had done.
“I see,” Anastasia said quietly. “I see everything.”
She left the kitchen, went into her room, and locked the door.
She sat on the bed and, for the first time in many years, cried. She cried for a long time, soundlessly, so they wouldn’t hear.
The next day Anastasia opened a new bank account—a secret account nobody knew about. She started saving again. Ten thousand rubles a month. Sometimes fifteen.
She saved in silence. Worked overtime to get bonuses. Denied herself everything. Igor didn’t notice. Lyudmila Petrovna kept nitpicking over trivial things.
Anastasia stopped sharing plans with her husband. She didn’t talk about work. She didn’t discuss the future. She became cold and distant. Igor tried to talk a few times.
“Nastya, what’s wrong with you? You’re… different.”
“Everything’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. You barely talk to me.”
“I’m tired from work.”
“It’s because of Olga, isn’t it? Nastya, stop being offended! She’s not to blame!”
Anastasia stayed silent. Igor didn’t understand. He didn’t want to.
A year passed. Olya stopped calling. A couple of times she texted her brother, complaining about life. She never mentioned the debt once—as if that money had never existed.
Anastasia kept saving. One hundred twenty thousand in the account. Another year—and she’d have enough to rent a one-room apartment for several months in advance.
She studied listings. Looked at apartments in her area. Calculated how much she needed for moving, furniture, and getting by at first.
Lyudmila Petrovna increasingly reproached her daughter-in-law for being cold.
“You’ve become a complete stranger. Not a kind word, not a smile. Ungrateful.”
Anastasia nodded in silence. She didn’t argue. She simply waited.
Waited until she saved enough. Waited until she could leave this apartment. Leave these people who had so easily taken her dream and thrown it away.
She no longer dreamed of a mortgage with Igor. No longer dreamed of a shared future. She dreamed of only one thing—her own space. Where no one would reproach her. Where no one would take her last, calling it a family duty.
Anastasia understood one simple thing: the next stash would be only for her. Only for her life. Without a husband, without a mother-in-law, without a sister-in-law.
She kept saving—silently, stubbornly, day after day. And one day she would finally leave