Olga was driving along the same familiar streets when a message from her mother-in-law popped up on her phone: “Olechka, don’t forget to help out this month — the utility bills went up.” She didn’t even feel irritated. After five years of marriage, those texts had become background noise. She would send the money and keep moving.
Her husband, Dmitry, always said the same thing:
“Mom’s pension is tiny, you know that. It’s just a temporary rough patch. Nothing serious.”
And Olga would nod. Sure — temporary. Only it had been “temporary” for five years.
She worked as a procurement manager for a major retail chain, earned good money, and sharing with her husband’s family seemed normal. She wasn’t in the habit of counting what she gave to relatives. And besides, her mother-in-law had always been polite with her — never snapped, never meddled in Olga and Dmitry’s life, never pushed herself into their space. Just once a month she’d send a short request, and Olga would answer just as briefly: “Transferred.”
No receipts. No promises to repay. They were family.
That Tuesday, Olga left work earlier than usual and remembered her mother-in-law still had the cottage paperwork — the same documents that needed to be delivered to the gardening association. She texted Galina Ivanovna, “I’ll stop by for the papers,” but got no reply. Olga assumed she was busy and went anyway.
The apartment was in an older district, on the fourth floor of a brick five-story building. Olga climbed the stairs, felt for her keys in her bag — Galina Ivanovna had given her a spare set long ago — but when she reached the door, she noticed it was slightly open.
Odd. Her mother-in-law usually locked up carefully, even if she was only running out for five minutes.
Olga pushed the door and stepped inside. Voices came from the kitchen — Galina Ivanovna’s familiar low tone, and another woman’s voice, higher and lighter. Probably the neighbor, Valentina Stepanovna, dropping in for tea.
Olga was about to call out, but then she heard her own name.
“…and Olga doesn’t even ask where the money goes,” Galina Ivanovna was saying with obvious satisfaction. “She just transfers it, that’s all. Very convenient.”
Olga froze in the hallway, her fingers tightening around her bag.
“Wow, Galya,” the neighbor laughed. “And she doesn’t complain?”
“Why would she? She’s soft. Always feels guilty about something. I noticed that right away. The moment I hint that money’s tight, she sends it. Doesn’t even ask questions. It’s been like that for five years.”
“So what do you spend it on?”
“On everything,” her mother-in-law snorted. “On myself, on my granddaughter, on trips. Last month I went to a health resort — on her money, obviously. She thinks it all goes to medicine.”
“And Dmitry knows?”
“What does it matter? He’s on his mother’s side. I’ll say my pension isn’t enough, and he’ll talk her into it. She has herself to blame anyway — should’ve thought before she barged into our family. Now she can pay for the privilege of being the daughter-in-law.”
Both women laughed.
Olga stood there, feeling her face go blank, like a wax mask. No anger. No hurt. Only a strange, almost physical clarity spreading through her body — evening out her breathing, arranging her thoughts into a neat, unbreakable line.
She turned around and quietly left the apartment, carefully pulling the door closed behind her. No shouting. No drama. She simply walked away.
Outside, Olga got into her car and pulled out her phone. She opened her banking app, went to recurring payments, and deleted the automatic transfer to Galina Ivanovna’s card. She pressed “confirm” and placed the phone on the passenger seat.
That was it. Not one coin more.
She started the car and drove home. At traffic lights she watched pedestrians, store windows, the gray sky above the city — and she felt only one thing: relief. Like she’d finally taken off a heavy backpack she’d carried so long she’d forgotten what it was like to walk freely.
At home she changed clothes, put the kettle on, and sat in the kitchen with her laptop. She opened her expense spreadsheet and quickly calculated how much money she’d sent her mother-in-law over the past five years. The number was huge — nearly three hundred thousand rubles. Olga gave a tight smile. A resort, then. The granddaughter. Trips. And she had thought she was helping with utilities.
That evening Dmitry came home. He kissed her on the cheek, took off his jacket, and walked into the kitchen.
“How was your day?” he asked, opening the fridge.
“Fine,” Olga said, still looking at the screen. “By the way, I canceled the transfers to your mother today.”
Dmitry froze, a carton of milk in his hand.
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m not going to bankroll her anymore,” Olga said calmly, closing the laptop.
“Olechka, but her pension is small…”
“Dima,” Olga looked up at him. “Don’t. I know everything.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but the expression on her face stopped him. She was looking at him steadily, without emotion — and there was something in that calm that made him step back.
“What do you know?” he asked quietly.
“I stopped by your mom’s today. The door was open. I heard her telling the neighbor that it’s easy to pull money out of me because I’m soft and always feel guilty. That she goes to resorts on my money and spends it on herself. That I think I’m helping with utilities while she laughs at me.”
Dmitry went pale.
“Olga, wait… maybe you misunderstood…”
“I didn’t misunderstand anything,” she said, standing and walking toward him. “Your mother has been using me for five years. And you knew.”
“I didn’t!” he stepped back again. “I swear. I thought she truly needed help…”
“Don’t lie,” Olga shook her head. “You just didn’t want to tell her no. It was easier to convince me it was ‘temporary difficulties.’ That she was a poor pensioner. And I believed you — because I thought that’s what family is: people helping each other.”
Dmitry dropped his gaze.
“Olga, I’m sorry…”
“Don’t apologize,” she said, returning to the table and reopening the laptop. “Just understand this: I won’t send your mother a single ruble ever again. If you want to help her, fine — but only with your own money.”
“But what about her…?”
“That’s her problem,” Olga cut him off. “Not mine.”
He stood there a moment longer, then quietly left the kitchen. Olga stayed seated, staring at the screen, feeling only one thing — calm. Absolute, crystal-clear calm.
The next day, at exactly nine in the morning, Galina Ivanovna called. Olga was at work, but she answered.
“Olechka, good morning,” her mother-in-law’s voice was tense. “Listen, I noticed the transfer didn’t arrive. Maybe there was a glitch?”
“No,” Olga replied evenly. “No glitch. I canceled the recurring payments.”
Silence.
“What do you mean you canceled them? Why?”
“Because I won’t be helping you financially anymore.”
“But…” her mother-in-law sounded genuinely rattled. “But why? Did I do something wrong?”
Olga almost laughed. She wondered how Galina Ivanovna would react if she heard the truth: You used me for five years, mocked me behind my back, and thought I was a fool. That’s why.
But Olga didn’t say it. She simply replied:
“Galina Ivanovna, I made a decision. There will be no more transfers.”
“Olechka, but you know my pension is small…”
“I know,” Olga said in the same steady voice. “But it’s your pension and your expenses. Not mine.”
“How can you say that?” her mother-in-law’s voice trembled. “I’m Dima’s mother! Is this how you treat family?”
“Family means respect,” Olga answered. “Not using people. Goodbye, Galina Ivanovna.”
She ended the call and returned to work. Her hands didn’t shake. Her heart beat evenly. No doubts.
An hour later her phone rang again. This time it was Dmitry.
“Olga, Mom’s in tears. She says you abandoned her.”
“I didn’t abandon her,” Olga said calmly. “I just stopped sending money.”
“But she—”
“Dima, stop,” Olga cut him off. “Your mother has been receiving money from me for five years. Not once did she thank me. Not once did she ask if it was convenient for me. She just took it as something she was owed. And now she’s offended I stopped. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”
Dmitry was quiet.
“Olga, I get that you heard something you didn’t like…”
“Didn’t like?” Olga gave a short, sharp laugh. “Dima, your mother called me a soft idiot who’s easy to use. She bragged to the neighbor about going to resorts on my money. And you want me to keep supporting her?”
“She didn’t mean it like that…”
“Then how did she mean it?” Olga felt her voice harden. “Explain it to me. Maybe I’m missing something.”
He fell silent again. Olga could hear his heavy breathing as he searched for words.
“Olga, listen… maybe we should just talk to her. Calmly. Explain that she can’t—”
“No,” Olga said firmly. “I’m not explaining anything. I made my decision, and it’s final. If you want to help your mother, help her. But with your money.”
“And if I don’t have that kind of money?”
“Then she should spend less,” Olga said, ending the call and slipping her phone back into her bag.
That evening, when she came home, Dmitry was sitting in the kitchen with a grim expression.
“Mom called all day,” he said. “She cried. Said you humiliated her.”
“I didn’t humiliate her,” Olga set her bag on the table. “I just stopped giving her money.”
“But she—”
“Dima,” Olga sat across from him. “Tell me honestly. Did you know what she was spending my transfers on?”
He looked away.
“Not exactly…”
“But you suspected?”
Silence.
“Exactly,” Olga nodded. “You suspected, but you kept quiet. Because it was convenient for you. Mom is happy, wife doesn’t complain — everyone wins.”
“Olga, what do you want me to say?” he rubbed a hand through his hair. “Yes, I knew she wasn’t completely honest. But she’s my mother! I couldn’t refuse her!”
“And you could refuse me?” Olga asked softly. “You could just stay silent while she used me?”
Dmitry stared at the tabletop, jaw clenched.
“Sorry,” he finally said. “I didn’t want it to turn into this.”
“It doesn’t matter what you wanted,” Olga stood up. “What matters is that it did. And now I know exactly what my place is in this family.”
“Olga, don’t say that…”
“I’m not angry, Dima,” she looked down at him. “I’m just not playing this game anymore. Your mother wanted money — she got it. Now she doesn’t. It’s simple.”
She went to the bedroom and closed the door. She sat on the bed, wrapped her arms around her knees, and took a deep breath. A strange feeling — like a weight had slid off her shoulders. Like she’d finally stopped pretending everything was fine.
A few days later, her mother-in-law called again. This time her voice was different — quieter, careful.
“Olechka, can I come by? To talk?”
Olga thought for a moment and agreed. Not because she wanted reconciliation — she just wanted to see what Galina Ivanovna would say.
Her mother-in-law came on Saturday with a small bouquet of flowers. Olga invited her into the living room, put the kettle on, but didn’t sit at the table — she stayed by the window, arms crossed.
“Olechka, I want to apologize,” Galina Ivanovna began, staring into her cup. “Dima told me you heard my conversation with the neighbor. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t mean to,” Olga repeated flatly. “But you did.”
“I just…” her mother-in-law hesitated. “I got used to you helping. And I thought it was normal. That you didn’t mind.”
“I didn’t mind when I believed I was helping you through hard times,” Olga turned toward her. “But you weren’t going through hard times. You were just living at my expense.”
Galina Ivanovna lowered her head.
“I’m sorry. Truly. I didn’t realize it looked so… bad.”
“And how does it look?” Olga asked. “You took my money for five years. Not once did you thank me. Not once did you ask if it was easy for me. And meanwhile you laughed behind my back. How is that supposed to look?”
Her mother-in-law said nothing.
“Galina Ivanovna, I’m not angry with you,” Olga went on. “The anger disappeared that same day. What stayed was clarity. I realized I wasn’t a daughter-in-law to you — I was an ATM. And I’m not playing that role anymore.”
“But I’m apologizing!” her mother-in-law lifted her head. “What else can I do?”
“Nothing,” Olga replied calmly. “Just accept that the financial help is over. Forever.”
“And if it really gets hard for me?”
“Then you’ll go to your son. Or find another solution. But not to me.”
Galina Ivanovna stood up.
“So you won’t forgive me?”
“I already have,” Olga said, walking to the door and opening it. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll forget. And it doesn’t mean we’re going back to how it was.”
Her mother-in-law picked up her bag and slowly stepped into the hallway. At the threshold she turned around.
“You’ve changed, Olya.”
“Yes,” Olga agreed. “I have. And that’s a good thing.”
After that conversation, Galina Ivanovna stopped calling with money requests. Sometimes they saw each other at family gatherings, but the conversations were brief, polite, and careful. Her mother-in-law no longer tried to press on Olga’s guilt, didn’t complain about being short on money, didn’t drop hints about “help.”
Dmitry tried a few times to bring the subject up again, but whenever he saw his wife’s expression, he fell silent. He understood it was final, and arguing was pointless.
Olga felt only peace. She didn’t feel joy at “getting revenge,” and she didn’t feel hatred toward her mother-in-law. She’d simply made a decision and followed it. And each day she became more certain she’d done the right thing.
She learned one simple truth: support is only possible where there is respect. And where people use you and laugh behind your back, there can be no support — and there shouldn’t be.
The money that used to go to her mother-in-law, Olga began saving for herself. Six months later, she bought a car. A year after that, she took the vacation she’d been dreaming about for a long time. And every time she looked at a new purchase or a plane ticket, she remembered that day — standing in the hallway of someone else’s apartment, listening to the way they talked about her when they thought she couldn’t hear.
And she thanked fate for letting her hear it. Because sometimes the truth hurts more than a lie — but it sets you free.