Here’s a fully reworded, natural English translation (unique phrasing, same meaning and plot):
“And picture this,” Yulia Arkadyevna ranted, throwing her hands up. “I walk into an appliance store, pick out a vacuum cleaner, go to the checkout—and the card won’t work! I typed in the PIN three times, and it keeps saying it’s wrong! Your Natasha changed the PIN, and now I can’t buy a thing!”
Ruslan Kostrov stared at his mother in disbelief. He had just come back from work and hadn’t even taken off his work jacket, yet she was already standing in the doorway of the apartment with these bizarre accusations.
“Mom, what card are you talking about?” Ruslan asked, heading to the kitchen and pouring himself some water. “And why were you trying to pay with Natasha’s card in the first place?”
Yulia Arkadyevna froze for a moment, then waved the question away as if it was irrelevant.
“We agreed on it! She offered it herself—said I could use her card if I needed something. And right now I needed a vacuum cleaner. So what, I’m not even allowed to buy a vacuum cleaner now?” She folded her arms and gave her son the exact look she’d used since his childhood whenever she wanted him to feel guilty.
Ruslan frowned.
“I don’t remember Natasha ever offering that…”
“Of course you don’t remember!” Yulia Arkadyevna cut him off. “Your head is full of paperwork from that job of yours. Natasha and I settled this a long time ago. Call her and make her explain herself. I’ve been waiting an hour for that vacuum cleaner!”
Ruslan took out his phone and called his wife.
“Natalya, hi. Did you… change the PIN on your card?” he asked, turning slightly away from his mother.
There was silence on the other end.
“Why would you ask me that?” Natalya’s voice was wary.
“Well… Mom says she tried to pay for a vacuum cleaner with your card and it didn’t go through.”
Another pause.
“Ruslan, I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Natalya said quietly, and hung up.
Something in her tone made Ruslan uneasy.
“She’s coming home,” he told his mother. “Let’s wait and figure this out together.”
Yulia Arkadyevna sat down and dramatically checked the time.
“I certainly hope she explains herself. You don’t treat relatives this way!”
When Natalya entered the apartment, the air felt charged with anticipation. Without a word, she walked into the kitchen where her husband and mother-in-law were waiting. Still in her coat, she set a folder of documents on the table.
“Ruslan, these are the statements from my credit card for the last month,” she said evenly. “Please look.”
Ruslan took the papers and began reading. Page after page, his eyebrows rose higher.
“Mom,” he said slowly, looking up at Yulia Arkadyevna, “what are these purchases totaling 183,000 rubles?”
Yulia Arkadyevna shrugged.
“Regular shopping. A vacuum, a microwave, a few clothes, cosmetics… What’s the issue? Natasha allowed it!”
“I never allowed you to use my card,” Natalya said firmly. “Never. And I don’t even understand how you got the PIN.”
“Oh yes, you did!” his mother snapped. “I clearly remember you saying, ‘If you ever need something, you can use it!’ And you told me the code yourself!”
Natalya narrowed her eyes.
“When exactly did I say that?”
“Last month, when I stopped by. You were standing right here,” Yulia Arkadyevna pointed toward the window, “talking on the phone.”
Natalya suddenly understood.
“I was dictating the PIN for my company’s corporate card to a colleague so she could pay for a delivery. That was a work card—not my personal one!” She turned to Ruslan. “And your mother overheard and decided that was my PIN!”
“How was I supposed to know which card was which?” Yulia Arkadyevna protested, flinging her hands up. “You said the numbers, I remembered them. And I found the card in your document drawer while I was looking for old photos Ruslan promised to show me.”
Natalya stared at her husband, stunned.
“You let her go through my documents?”
Ruslan looked helpless.
“I didn’t think… She was just looking for pictures. I didn’t know she’d go through your paperwork.”
“And how often did you use my card?” Natalya asked, turning to her mother-in-law.
“Oh, not that often,” Yulia Arkadyevna dismissed. “A few times a week, little things. So what if I bought a couple items? You make good money—your salary’s huge. You won’t be ruined.”
“183,000 rubles in one month is ‘little things’?” Natalya’s calm was almost unnerving, though inside she was boiling. “That’s a third of my annual bonus. I was saving it for the down payment on a new apartment—something Ruslan and I were planning. Unless you forgot,” she added, glancing at her husband.
“Why are you so stressed about money?” Yulia Arkadyevna jumped in. “We’re not strangers! I can help you too, if you ever need it.”
“Help with what? You’re a pensioner,” Natalya shot back. “And this isn’t about money. It’s about trust. You stole my card, used a PIN you eavesdropped on, and spent a massive amount behind my back. That’s fraud.”
Yulia Arkadyevna’s face turned crimson.
“How dare you accuse me of theft? I’m your husband’s mother! I’ve always been good to you, despite your attitude!”
“Mom, calm down,” Ruslan tried to step in. “Let’s all cool off and talk like adults.”
“No, Ruslan,” Natalya said, turning to him. “This is serious. I want to hear your opinion. Your mother stole my money. How do you feel about that?”
Ruslan’s eyes flicked between his wife and his mother. He looked torn.
“Listen… I think this is just a misunderstanding. Mom didn’t mean harm—she just got it wrong.”
“A misunderstanding?” Natalya couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Ruslan, this is almost two hundred thousand rubles! What misunderstanding?”
“Stop using that word—‘stole’!” Yulia Arkadyevna exploded. “Nobody stole anything! I took what I needed. And for the record, I gave life to both of you, and you’re counting pennies on me!”
Natalya inhaled deeply, forcing herself to stay composed.
“I’m filing a police report,” she said firmly. “And I’m changing the locks.”
Yulia Arkadyevna went pale.
“Are you out of your mind? The police? On me?”
Ruslan jumped up.
“Natalya, you can’t do that! She’s my mother! We have to handle this privately—no outsiders!”
“So you’re suggesting we just pretend it didn’t happen?” Natalya asked. “Let your mother keep stealing? What’s next—she takes out a loan in my name?”
“Why are you calling it stealing?” Yulia Arkadyevna jumped in. “I would’ve paid it back… eventually.”
“With what money?” Natalya turned to her. “Your pension is thirty thousand. To repay what you spent, you’d need half a year—if you didn’t eat a single thing.”
“Natalya,” Ruslan said, taking her hand. “Listen. We’ll fix this. I’ll talk to Mom—she won’t do it again. And the money… I’ll take extra shifts and pay it back over time.”
“It’s not about the money,” Natalya said quietly. “It’s about the fact that your mother thinks she can treat my things—and my income—as if they belong to her. And you’re backing her up.”
The doorbell rang. Ruslan went to answer it. Their neighbor, Vera Pavlovna, stood in the hallway.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said. “I ran out of sugar. Could you spare a little?”
But when she noticed their faces, she hesitated.
“Bad timing?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Ruslan forced a smile. “Come in.”
Vera Pavlovna walked into the kitchen and immediately spotted Yulia Arkadyevna.
“Oh! Yulia, you’re here too! I actually wanted to ask—where did you buy that gorgeous bedding set you showed me? And that fancy multicooker. You kept saying your daughter-in-law wouldn’t even notice the spending, she has money coming out of her ears…”
The kitchen went dead silent. Yulia Arkadyevna turned pale and dropped her eyes.
“What are you talking about?” Natalya asked slowly, looking from the neighbor to her mother-in-law.
Vera Pavlovna realized she’d stepped into something and grew embarrassed.
“Well… Yulia was bragging about the purchases. She said she uses your card and you don’t notice because you have plenty of money. She even sent me photos…”
Ruslan stood there as if he’d been struck. Vera Pavlovna pulled out her phone and showed messages from Yulia Arkadyevna—photos of purchases with lines like: “Look at this multicooker! Natasha won’t even notice, she’s got piles of money and I’ve wanted one forever,” and “Here’s a new bedding set—crazy expensive, but why not treat yourself when it’s someone else paying?”
Ruslan slowly sank into a chair, staring at his mother as if he didn’t recognize her.
“Mom… did you really say that?”
Yulia Arkadyevna flushed and rushed to defend herself.
“Oh, come on, I was joking! Vera misunderstood—it was a joke!”
“A joke?” Vera Pavlovna protested. “And when you said your daughter-in-law thinks too highly of herself because of her salary, and that she wouldn’t notice anything anyway—was that a joke too?”
“Vera, you—” Yulia Arkadyevna began, then stopped under her son’s stare.
Natalya silently picked up her purse.
“I’m leaving,” she said. “I’ll stay with a friend tonight. And tomorrow I’m going to the police to file a fraud report.”
She headed toward the door, but Ruslan stepped in front of her.
“Natalya, wait! Let’s talk!” He threw his mother an angry look. “Mom will pay everything back, I promise. No police.”
“I don’t want a discussion,” Natalya said firmly. “I’ve decided.”
“But she’s my mother!” Ruslan cried. “You want her sent to prison?”
“I want justice. If it were a stranger, you wouldn’t hesitate for a second.”
“But she’s not a stranger—she’s my mother!”
“And that gives her the right to steal?” Natalya looked him straight in the eyes. “Tell me honestly, Ruslan—if I took money from your mother without her knowing, would you defend me the same way?”
Ruslan said nothing, and his silence answered louder than words.
“That’s what I thought,” Natalya said softly—and walked out.
The next day, Natalya filed a statement with the police. She described the fraudulent use of her card, attached the account statements, and included the neighbor’s testimony—but didn’t name the culprit directly, leaving that part for investigators.
When Ruslan found out—through a detective he knew—he stormed to Natalya’s workplace.
“You actually did it?” he demanded, furious. “You filed a report against my mother?”
“I filed a report about fraudulent use of my card,” Natalya replied calmly. “And I submitted the evidence.”
“Withdraw it,” Ruslan ordered. “Now.”
“No,” Natalya said, firm. “I won’t.”
“So you’re choosing money over family?” Ruslan couldn’t process it.
“No, Ruslan. I’m choosing self-respect and boundaries. Your mother didn’t just take money—she violated my trust, invaded my life, and then laughed about it with the neighbors.”
“She feels terrible,” Ruslan lowered his voice. “She cried all night.”
“She’s crying because she got caught, not because she’s sorry,” Natalya answered. “Think back to what she said when I confronted her—she didn’t even apologize.”
Ruslan rubbed his hair in frustration.
“Fine. If she publicly apologizes and returns the money, will you withdraw the report?”
Natalya paused.
“I’ll consider it under three conditions. First: she publicly admits what she did and apologizes. Second: she pays back every ruble. Third: she never steps into our apartment again unless she’s invited.”
Ruslan frowned.
“That last condition is too harsh.”
“It’s not negotiable,” Natalya cut in. “She crossed every line I have. I don’t want her in my home.”
Ruslan reluctantly agreed and went to speak with his mother about the conditions.
That evening, the three of them met at a café. Yulia Arkadyevna looked worn down, but the moment Ruslan listed Natalya’s terms, her face changed.
“What? I’m supposed to apologize publicly? For what—taking a little money from a wealthy daughter-in-law?” she raised her voice. “Other women would thank God for a mother-in-law like me! I don’t call every day, I don’t interfere—”
“Mom, we had an agreement,” Ruslan reminded her. “You said you’d apologize.”
“I thought we’d just talk!” Yulia Arkadyevna snapped. “She wants to humiliate me!” She turned to Natalya. “Are you happy now? You turned my son against his own mother!”
Natalya listened in silence and realized there would be no apology. But what struck her even more was Ruslan’s reaction.
“Mom, enough,” he said tiredly. “You did something wrong. Just say sorry and we’ll move on.”
“I won’t apologize for something I didn’t do!” Yulia Arkadyevna barked. “I didn’t steal anything! If Natalya respected family, she’d offer me money herself!”
Natalya watched and saw how Ruslan, instead of insisting on accountability, started gently coaxing his mother—effectively excusing her.
“I’m filing for divorce,” Natalya said quietly, standing up.
Ruslan jerked his head up.
“What? Natalya, you can’t!”
“I can. And I am,” she said, looking at him with sadness. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect me or my boundaries—someone who will always put his mother above us.”
“But we can fix this!” Ruslan pleaded. “Let’s try again!”
“No, Ruslan. I’ve decided,” Natalya said, turned, and walked out.
“And good riddance!” Yulia Arkadyevna shouted after her. “We’ll find you a proper wife—one who respects family!”
Natalya didn’t look back. She already knew she’d made the right choice.
The next day, Natalya withdrew her police statement—not because she forgave her mother-in-law, but because she didn’t want to waste time and nerves on the case. She had more important things to deal with: the divorce and finding a new place to live.
Ruslan tried several times to talk to her—showing up at her job, calling, sending messages. Sometimes he begged her to come back; other times he blamed her for destroying the family. Natalya didn’t budge.
“You’re not even trying to understand me,” she told him at their final meeting. “For you, your mother is always right—no matter what she does.”
“But she’s my mother!” Ruslan repeated again.
“That’s exactly why we’re ending this,” Natalya said. “You can’t draw a line between us and your mother. And I refuse to live my life in second place.”
The divorce took three months. All that time, Natalya stayed with a friend, then rented a small apartment. Ruslan signed the papers reluctantly, clinging to the hope she would change her mind.
After the divorce, Natalya changed jobs, moving to a different company with a higher position. Slowly, she rebuilt her finances and planned to buy her own apartment within a year.
One day, leaving the bank after a mortgage consultation, Natalya ran into Anton Verkhovtsev—the attorney who had handled her divorce.
“Natalya?” he smiled. “What a nice surprise!”
“Hello, Anton,” she smiled back. “Here on business?”
“Yes, a client has a question about a loan contract. And you?”
“I was talking to them about a mortgage. I’m planning to buy an apartment.”
“That’s great news,” Anton said. “So life is settling down?”
“Bit by bit,” Natalya nodded. “A new job, new plans…”
“Want to grab coffee?” Anton asked unexpectedly. “If you have time, of course.”
Natalya thought for a moment.
“Why not?”
Over coffee, they talked—and discovered they had a lot in common: a love of travel, an interest in architecture, similar outlooks on life. Anton admitted he’d been through a painful divorce himself five years earlier.
“Back then, I thought my life was over,” he confessed. “Now I realize it was the beginning of a new chapter.”
“I feel the same,” Natalya agreed. “At first it hurt so much. But now I see it was for the best.”
They exchanged numbers and agreed to go together to a newly opened architecture museum.
A few weeks later, Natalya received a call from her former neighbor, Vera Pavlovna.
“Natalya dear, sorry to bother you,” Vera began. “But you won’t believe what’s happening! Your ex-husband is in huge trouble.”
“What happened?” Natalya asked—more out of politeness than curiosity.
“His mother took out a loan in his name when he signed a power of attorney so she could pick up some document. And now she isn’t paying it! Collectors are coming, demanding money. He’s shouting that he never borrowed anything!”
Natalya sighed. She didn’t feel satisfaction—only sadness.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Vera Pavlovna. But it’s not my problem anymore.”
“Of course, of course! I just thought you’d want to know. You did the right thing leaving them! How are you? Found an apartment yet?”
Natalya smiled.
“Almost. I’m at the final stage of the mortgage.”
She didn’t tell the neighbor that she’d been seeing Anton regularly for the past two months—and that those meetings brought her more happiness than her last year of marriage ever had.
Six months after the divorce, Natalya signed the purchase contract for a small but cozy apartment in a new neighborhood. That evening, she and Anton celebrated with dinner at a restaurant.
“To a new home and a new life,” Anton toasted, lifting his wine glass.
“And to making the right decisions,” Natalya added with a smile.
In that moment, she realized she truly was happy. She had protected herself—her interests, her dignity. She had built a new life where her choices were respected and her boundaries mattered.
And that was worth every single ruble.