“Are you kidding me?! I’m working two jobs, and I’m the one who has to pay for your freeloaders?!” I shouted.
Olga sank wearily onto the sofa, rubbing her temples after another long workday. First eight hours at the office, then another four moonlighting as an accountant for a friend’s business. It had been like this for three years. The apartment was quiet, only the fridge humming monotonously in the kitchen.
The front door banged — Sergey was back. Olga didn’t even lift her head, still massaging her temples. Her husband went to the kitchen, clattering dishes.
“Olya, are you going to have dinner?” Sergey called from the kitchen.
“No appetite,” Olga replied without opening her eyes.
They had been married seven years — years that began with hope and promises but turned into an endless cycle of quarrels and unspoken grievances. Olga remembered their wedding; how happy they had been then. Sergey had sworn he would be her support and protector. Where were those vows now?
The apartment had come to Olga from her grandmother before she got married — a two-room flat in a good neighborhood with a view of the park. Olga cherished it like the apple of her eye, her only real anchor in life.
Her job at the insurance company paid steadily, but not generously. That was why she had to take on evening work.
Sergey came into the room with a plate of pasta.
“Worked late again?” he asked, settling into the armchair across from her.
“What else can I do? You know we’re saving for the renovation — and I’d like a proper vacation, not another stay at your mother’s dacha.”
Sergey winced at the mention of his mother. Nina Ivanovna was a topic all her own. The mother-in-law showed up at their place with enviable regularity, always with complaints about her health and poverty. And those visits always ended the same way — Sergey handing her money.
“By the way, Mom’s coming tomorrow,” Sergey said casually.
Olga’s eyes flew open.
“Again? She was here just two weeks ago!”
“What can I do? She’s having trouble with her blood pressure; she wants to see a doctor.”
“She can see a doctor in her own town,” Olga muttered.
Sergey pushed his plate aside irritably.
“Olya, she’s my mother! Is it really so hard to show a little understanding?”
Understanding. Olga gave a bitter smile. In seven years of marriage, Sergey had changed jobs five times — first the boss was an idiot, then the team wasn’t right, then the pay was too low. Now he worked as a manager in a car dealership, but he’d already started grumbling there too.
Sergey’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and stepped into the hallway. Olga strained to listen — Irina’s voice, Sergey’s sister. That was another story: thirty-two, two children by different fathers, constant debts and loans. And always the same solution — call her brother.
Sergey returned looking guilty. Olga understood immediately.
“How much?” she asked tiredly.
“Olya, don’t start… Irina’s in a tough spot. The kids are getting ready for school, and her ex is late with child support.”
“How much, Sergey?”
“Twenty thousand. But Irina promised to pay it back in a month!”
Olga leapt from the sofa, her hands trembling with anger.
“In a month? Like last time? And the time before that? Sergey, how much longer?”
“Olya, calm down. She’s family!”
“Family?” Olga’s voice cracked. “And what am I? I’m busting my back at two jobs, scraping together every penny, while your sister can just not work and live off us?”
“Irina does work!” Sergey tried to defend her.
“Where? Doing what? A part-time sales job — that’s not real work! Sergey, Irina’s got two good hands and feet. Let her go earn her own money!”
Sergey frowned.
“You don’t understand. Irina has kids…”
“Half the country has kids! Does that mean they all get to live off someone else?”
At that moment, Olga remembered last month — Sergey had “loaned” his sister fifteen thousand then. And before that, ten to his mother. She started calculating in her head: over the past year, Sergey’s relatives had “borrowed” more than two hundred thousand. Not a single ruble had been repaid.
The next day, just as Sergey promised, Nina Ivanovna arrived. The mother-in-law looked surprisingly spry for someone with “blood pressure issues”: rosy-cheeked, in a new dress, with a professional hairstyle.
“Olechka, you’ve lost weight!” Nina Ivanovna exclaimed right away. “You don’t take care of yourself at all!”
Olga stayed silent, setting the table. Nina Ivanovna settled comfortably and began her usual complaints:
“Oh, life has become so hard! Prices are rising, pensions are tiny. I’m even thinking of finding a little side job…”
Sergey jumped in at once:
“Mom, what kind of side job at your age! We’ll help!”
Olga slammed the kettle onto the table. Nina Ivanovna and Sergey looked at her in surprise.
“Help with what, Sergey?” Olga asked coldly. “We barely have enough ourselves.”
“Olya!” her husband protested.
“What, Olya? Nina Ivanovna, forgive me, but we’re barely making ends meet. I’m working two jobs just to save a little.”
Her mother-in-law pursed her lips.
“In our time, women respected their husbands and put family first!”
“In your time, men supported their families,” Olga shot back. “Not lived off their wives!”
Sergey flushed crimson.
“Olya, how dare you?”
“I’m just telling the truth! Sergey, you’ve changed jobs three times in the past year — every time by your own choice!”
“That’s not true!” her husband began to defend himself.
“Oh right, my apologies. The last time they fired you for skipping work!”
Nina Ivanovna threw up her hands.
“Seryozhenka, what is she saying?”
“Mom, Olya’s exaggerating…”
“Exaggerating?” Olga pulled a folder with receipts out of the cupboard. “Here are the bills from the past six months — all paid from my card. And here’s a statement from our joint account: over the whole year, Sergey has deposited forty thousand. Forty! In a year!”
The mother-in-law was silent, staring at the papers. Then she looked up at her daughter-in-law.
“But Sergey helps around the house…”
Olga laughed — a sharp, bitter laugh.
“Helps? Nina Ivanovna, when was the last time your son cooked dinner? Did the laundry? Cleaned up?”
That evening, after the mother-in-law left, a heavy silence settled in the apartment. Sergey sat in the armchair, staring at the television. Olga cleared the table, avoiding her husband’s eyes.
“Why did you have to speak like that in front of my mother?” Sergey finally asked.
“And why does your mother have to meddle in our lives?” Olga shot back with a question of her own.
“Olya, I understand you’re tired. But you can’t…”
“Can’t what? Tell the truth? Sergey, I can’t take it anymore! Every month it’s the same thing — either your mother needs something, or your sister…”
Sergey stood and walked toward his wife.
“Olya, it’s only temporary. I’ll find a proper job…”
“When? When will you find this ‘proper job’? And how long will you keep it? A month? Two?”
Hurt flickered in her husband’s eyes.
“You don’t believe in me at all?”
Olga sank tiredly into a chair.
“I’m tired of believing, Sergey. Tired of hoping. Tired of carrying everything on my shoulders.”
That night Olga couldn’t sleep. She lay staring at the ceiling, thinking about her life. Thirty-two years old. Seven of them married. What lay ahead? Another seven years working for two — or three, if you counted the constant ‘loans’ to her husband’s family?
In the morning Olga woke with a firm decision. Over breakfast she said to her husband:
“Sergey, we need to have a serious talk.”
He looked at her warily.
“About what?”
“About money. About your family. About us.”
Olga took out a sheet of paper where, the night before, she had written down all of her in-laws’ “debts.”
“Look. Over the past two years, your mother has ‘borrowed’ one hundred twenty thousand. Irina — one hundred eighty. Altogether, three hundred thousand. Three hundred thousand, Sergey! That’s a huge amount of money!”
Sergey studied the list, frowning harder and harder.
“Where did you get these numbers?”
“I keep records. I write down every single kopeck. Do you know how much they’ve repaid? Zero!”
“Olya, but sometimes relatives have difficult situations…”
“Everyone does! But why should I be the one paying for them? Why do my parents hesitate to even call if they need help, while yours demand money as if it’s their right?”
Sergey stayed silent. Olga went on:
“I’ve made up my mind. Not another kopeck to your family. If you take money from our budget again without my consent — I’ll file for divorce.”
Her husband turned pale.
“You… you’re joking?”
“I’ve never been more serious. Sergey, I love you. But I can’t keep living as a cash cow for your family.”
Sergey jumped up from the table.
“Is this an ultimatum?”
“Call it what you want. I just won’t tolerate it anymore.”
He left the kitchen, slamming the front door. Olga remained seated, gazing out the window. Rain was beginning to fall outside.
An hour later Irina called. Olga didn’t pick up. Then Nina Ivanovna rang — again, she ignored it. That evening Sergey came home — angry, drunk.
“You’ve gone too far!” he barked from the doorway. “Mother’s in the hospital, Irina’s hysterical!”
“That’s their problem,” Olga replied calmly.
“You… you’re just selfish!”
“Maybe. But a selfish woman with her own money.”
Sergey stepped close to her.
“You think I can’t live without you? That you’re irreplaceable?”
Olga met his gaze.
“Try. The apartment is mine, in case you’ve forgotten.”
The following days passed in a “cold war.” Sergey demonstratively didn’t speak to his wife, slept on the couch. His relatives called several times a day, but Olga didn’t answer.
On Friday evening Olga came home to find Nina Ivanovna and Irina in the apartment. The women were sitting in the kitchen; Sergey stood by the window.
“What an interesting gathering,” Olga remarked. “Do you often meet in my apartment without an invitation?”
“Olya, we came to talk,” Nina Ivanovna began.
“I’m listening.”
“You’re destroying the family!” Irina blurted out. “Over some money!”
Olga laughed.
“‘Some money’? Irina, in two years you’ve drained almost two hundred thousand from our budget! That’s my so-called ‘some’ money!”
“But I’ll pay it back!”
“When? Give me a date!”
Irina hesitated.
“Well… when I can…”
“So, never. Irina, you’re thirty-two! Go get a job!”
“I have kids!”
“So what? Millions of women raise kids and work! You just live off your brother — actually, off me!”
Nina Ivanovna stood up.
“How dare you speak like that! We’re Sergey’s family!”
“And I’m Sergey’s wife!” Olga rose as well. “And I will no longer support healthy, grown adults!”
“Sergey, say something!” Nina Ivanovna appealed to her son.
Sergey stayed silent, staring out the window. Finally he turned.
“Mom, Irina, go home. Olga and I need to talk.”
When the relatives left, Sergey sat across from his wife.
“Olya, maybe you’re right. But they’re my family. I can’t abandon them.”
“I’m not asking you to abandon them. I’m asking you not to spend MY money on THEIR whims.”
“But I don’t have my own money!”
“Exactly! Sergey, find a real job, stick with it, earn — and then help them as much as you like!”
Her husband lowered his head.
“You’re forcing me to choose — you or my family.”
“No. I’m giving you a choice: either you become a real man and head of this family, or we separate.”
That night Olga sat by the window, gazing at the sleeping city. Inside was a strange emptiness — not pain, not resentment, just emptiness. As if something important had ended.
In the morning Sergey packed his things.
“I’ll stay with my mother for a while,” he said. “I need to think.”
Olga nodded. She no longer had the strength to argue, to persuade, to explain.
When the door closed behind her husband, Olga felt… relief. For the first time in many months. As if a heavy stone had rolled off her shoulders.
That evening Olga sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea. Silence. No one calling, no one asking for money, no one throwing tantrums. Just quiet and peace.
Olga understood there was a hard conversation ahead — perhaps divorce. But right now, at this moment, she felt free. Free from other people’s debts, problems, manipulations.
She knew for certain: whatever Sergey decided, Olya would never again allow her life to become a wallet for other people’s needs. Enough. It was time to live for herself.
