“Pick up the phone right now and transfer three million to my mother. Do you hear me?” her husband shouted.
Kira closed yet another tab of a major car dealership’s website and slowly stretched. For two hours she’d been studying car models, comparing configurations, reading reviews.
A month ago, her parents had transferred three million to her for a car purchase, and for the first time, she could choose a car not by what was left, but by what she truly wanted.
Her mom and dad had worked their whole lives in their small children’s goods store, and when business finally took off, they decided to make their only daughter happy.
“Buy what you like,” her father had said then. “Just remember—safety comes first.”
The key turned in the front door. Her husband was home. From the sound of his slow, heavy steps on the stairs, Kira already knew the news wasn’t good.
“How are things?” she asked when he walked in.
“Bad,” Maksim said, tossing his jacket aside and heading to the kitchen. “Really bad.”
Her mother-in-law had been in the hospital for two weeks. First, the ambulance took her in with a heart attack, and then it turned out the situation was serious—she needed valve surgery.
“What are the doctors saying?”
“They say it has to be done urgently. And not just any surgery—the valve has to be replaced with a German prosthesis. Otherwise, it’ll happen again in six months.”
Maksim sat down across from her, deep in thought. Kira noticed how much he had aged in those two weeks—dark circles under his eyes, unshaven cheeks, trembling hands.
“Can’t it be done through the insurance?”
“It can, but the waiting list is six months long. The doctor said Mom doesn’t have that much time.”
Kira nodded. She understood what he was going through. Yelena Borisovna meant everything to Maksim. After his father died ten years ago, he had been her only support.
“How much does the surgery cost in a private clinic?”
He was silent for a moment, staring at the table, then said quietly:
“Three million.”
The number hung in the air. Kira felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Exactly the same amount her parents had given her for the car.
“Kira, I know how it sounds,” Maksim lifted his eyes to hers. “But maybe this is a sign? The timing, the exact sum…”
“Max, that money was given to me by my parents for the car. They saved it for years.”
“But my mother could die! You can buy a car later.”
Kira stood up and walked to the window.
Outside, the neighbors were unloading a brand-new SUV, kids were running around happily, and she—she had been taking the bus to work for five years. An hour to school, and then tutoring students all over the city.
Sometimes Maksim drove her in his old Lada, but usually he was too busy—with schoolwork, with his endless online courses he still hadn’t finished.
“What about Sveta?” she asked. “Can’t she help her mother? She and her husband earn much more than we do.”
Maksim’s face darkened.
“Sveta’s doing renovations. Says all their money’s tied up in the apartment.”
“What money? Your mother gave them half the down payment, didn’t she?”
“Well, yes,” he admitted awkwardly. “But that’s not the point now.”
Kira turned toward him. It was a sore subject.
Indeed, Yelena Borisovna had given all her savings to help her younger daughter and her husband, while she and Maksim had always had to fend for themselves. He earned fifty thousand as a teacher, she the same, plus some tutoring. They lived paycheck to paycheck.
“We’ll take out a loan,” Kira suggested. “Whatever amount we can get, we’ll give it all.”
“Whatever we can get?” he jumped up. “A million at most, and that’s with crazy interest. We’d be paying it off for the rest of our lives!”
“Then borrow from your friends, colleagues—”
“Kira, are you listening to yourself? My mother is dying, and you want me to go begging for money?”
Kira felt irritation well up inside her. Yes, she felt sorry for his mother. But that money wasn’t just lying around—it had meaning. Her parents had scrimped and saved for years.
“And you’re suggesting I just take their money and spend it without even asking them?”
“Your parents will understand! Their store’s doing great now, they’ll save up again.”
“Save up again?” Kira couldn’t believe her ears. “Maksim, they’re nearly sixty! My dad worked for peanuts most of his life; only recently did things start improving. And they gave me that money—not for your mother’s treatment!”
“My mother?” his face twisted with anger. “So she’s not your mother too, is that it?”
“That’s not what I meant! You know exactly what I mean—”
“I know that my wife is ready to watch the person dearest to me die. The woman who treated you like her own daughter.”
“Maksim, stop!”
But he wasn’t listening anymore. He grabbed a mug from the table and hurled it against the wall. It shattered, pieces scattering across the floor.
“We’ve been married five years! Five years my mother treated you like family! And you—you choose a car over her life!”
“I’m not choosing!” Kira shouted back. “I just can’t spend someone else’s money!”
Maksim snatched her laptop from the table and slammed it to the floor. The screen cracked; the casing split in two.
“Someone else’s money? What are you talking about? What the hell do you mean, someone else’s money?…”
Kira stepped back toward the window. She had never seen Maksim like this. In five years of marriage they’d argued, of course, but he’d never lost control of himself so completely.
“Max, calm down, please…” she pleaded.
“I won’t calm down!” her husband snapped, sweeping everything off the table—plates, pens, papers all flew to the floor. “You’re selfish! You only think about yourself!”
“Me, selfish? Who’s been spending money on all those courses and trainings for the last three years? Who’s been dreaming of an online school but never finds the time to build it? Who?” she shot back.
“Shut up!” Maksim growled and slammed his fist on the table so hard it rocked.
Kira closed her eyes; when she opened them he was standing very close. His face was flushed with rage.
“Right now,” he said slowly, grabbing her hand, “you pick up the phone and transfer three million to my mother. Do you hear me?”
His fingers dug painfully into her wrist. Kira tried to pull away, but he held on tight.
“Max, let go!”
“You transfer the money, or I won’t be responsible for what happens next!”
“You’re threatening me?” she could not believe what was happening.
“I’m explaining!” he spat. “If my mother dies because of your stubbornness, I don’t know what I’ll do to you!”
Kira wrenched free with all her strength. Pain shot through her arm. He had squeezed so hard that red marks remained on her wrist.
“You’ve gone mad,” she whispered.
“Mad?” Maksim laughed in a wild, broken way. “I’m mad because I want to save my mother?”
Kira walked silently to the bedroom and grabbed her bag. Her husband followed.
“Where are you going?”
“To my parents’.”
“Stop!” he blocked her way. “You’re not going anywhere. We’ll sort this out here and now!”
“Move aside.”
“Kira, I’m serious—”
She looked him squarely in the eyes.
“If you don’t let me go, I’ll call the police.”
Maksim froze. Then he slowly stepped aside.
Kira passed him, took the keys to his car, and headed for the door. The apartment was deathly quiet, broken only by the crunch of broken ceramic underfoot.
She parked in the courtyard of her parents’ building and only then allowed herself to cry. The tears she had held back all the way there poured out. Her hands shook; her wrist throbbed from his grip.
Her mother opened the door at the first ring and enfolded her daughter without asking questions.
“Mama,” Kira sobbed. “I’m going to get a divorce. I can’t live with him anymore. He’s gone completely wild.”
“Shh, shh, my girl,” her mother soothed, stroking her hair. “Come in, I’ll make tea.”
Her father appeared from another room in slippers and an old sweater. Seeing his tearful daughter, he frowned.
“What happened, Kirochka?”
“Maxim… he…” she couldn’t form the words.
“First calm down,” her father said, seating her at the kitchen table she knew from childhood. “Mum, make the tea stronger.”
For about ten minutes Kira simply sobbed while her parents sat silently beside her. Her mother patted her back, her father awkwardly patted her shoulder. Finally the crying subsided.
“Tell us what happened,” her mother said gently.
She told them everything—about her mother-in-law’s surgery, about the demand to hand over their money, about the trashed apartment and the threats. She showed the red marks on her wrist. Her parents listened in silence, glancing at each other from time to time.
“And now I’m supposed to give back the money you saved for me?” she finished. “After he almost hit me?”
Her father twirled a teaspoon thoughtfully; her mother stared out the window.
“Kira,” her father finally said, “try to put yourself in Maksim’s shoes.”
“Dad, what?!” she couldn’t believe her ears. “He threatened me!”
“Wait, hear us out,” her mother took her hand. “Of course, Maksim was wrong. You can’t shout, and you can’t grab someone’s wrist. But imagine your mother was in the hospital and the doctors said she might die, and you didn’t have the money for treatment. What would you do?”
“I would—” Kira faltered. “But that was your money!”
“Our money,” her father agreed. “And we gave it to you. Now it’s your money, and you can use it as you see fit.”
Her mother nodded.
“Kirochka, Maksim is a good boy. Yes, he’s in a hard place and desperate. Desperate people sometimes do foolish things.”
“But he threatened me!” Kira insisted.
“That’s wrong,” her mother conceded. “But tell me honestly: if something happened to us and we urgently needed expensive treatment, wouldn’t you fight for every last kopeck? Especially knowing your husband had the savings for a car?”
Kira fell silent. Of course she would fight. She would have sold everything, borrowed from everyone, demanded that her husband hand over his last savings.
“That’s different,” she murmured.
“Different how?” her father asked. “Didn’t Yelena Borisovna treat you poorly?”
“No, she always treated me kindly.”
“See? Now imagine she’s dying and you have the money to save her, but you refuse to give it. How would you live with yourself afterwards?”
Kira pictured it and realized she couldn’t live with that. If her mother-in-law died and she had been able to help but didn’t, she would never be rid of that guilt.
“But the car—”
“You’ll buy a car later,” her mother said, pouring her more tea. “We’ll help when we can. A human life can’t be bought with any amount of money.”
Her father smiled thoughtfully.
“You know, sweetheart,” he said, “when I was young, I thought the most important thing in life was justice — who’s right, who’s wrong, who owes what to whom. But as I got older, I realized the most important thing is family. And Maksim is your family now. Which means Yelena Borisovna is your family too.”
Kira sat there, slowly turning her cup in her hands. Deep down, she knew her parents were right. But it hurt so much to let go of a dream that had almost come true.
“All right,” she said quietly. “Tomorrow I’ll talk to Maksim. But he has to apologize for how he behaved.”
“He should,” her mother agreed. “And talk to him calmly. No shouting, no reproaches.”
“Stay the night,” her father suggested. “Think everything through. Tomorrow morning, sort it all out like civilized people.”
Kira woke up to the sound of a car in the yard. Looking out the window, she saw a familiar blue Lada. Maksim. It was half past six in the morning.
She quickly put on her robe and went downstairs. Her parents were already up: her father making coffee, her mother setting the table. Footsteps sounded outside, hesitant, followed by a soft knock on the door.
“I’ll get it,” her father said.
On the doorstep stood Maksim with a bouquet of flowers and such a guilty look that Kira’s heart softened despite herself.
“Good morning. May I speak with Kira?”
“Come in, son,” her mother said, taking the flowers. “Coffee?”
“Thank you, no.”
Maksim sat down across from Kira and lowered his head.
“Kira, I came to ask for your forgiveness. I behaved like a fool — worse, like an animal.”
Kira looked at him silently, waiting for him to go on.
“I had no right to yell at you, let alone grab your arm. You’re right — it’s not my money. Your parents gave it to you for a car, and I… I’m sorry, truly.”
“That’s all?” Kira asked.
“Not all,” Maksim lifted his eyes to her. “I’ve been thinking all night. We shouldn’t give the money. I’ll try to borrow from friends, take out a loan — whatever I can gather, I’ll give to Mom. And if it’s not enough…” He sighed. “Then it’s fate.”
Her parents exchanged glances but stayed silent. Kira could see how hard it was for him to say those words. Just yesterday he’d been ready to do anything for his mother — and now he was backing down. For her.
“Max, look at me.”
He raised his head and met her gaze.
“I’m very hurt,” she began. “The way you behaved yesterday was unacceptable. You frightened me.”
Maksim nodded. “I know. And I don’t know how to forgive myself for it.”
“But I understand why you lost control. If something like that happened to my parents, I’d probably go mad too.”
“Kira…” he started.
“Let me finish. Yesterday my parents made me see something. They said something true: Yelena Borisovna is my family now, too. And if we can help her, we must.”
Maksim froze, hardly believing what he was hearing.
“So we won’t borrow anything. Tomorrow we’ll transfer the money for her treatment.”
“Kira, are you serious?” his voice trembled. “What about the car?”
“The car can wait. A human life matters more — especially the life of someone close to us.”
Maksim covered his face with his hands. Kira saw his shoulders shaking. He was crying quietly.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you — and thank your parents. I… I don’t know how to repay you.”
Her father placed a hand on his shoulder.
“No need for thanks. That’s what family is for.”
“But there’s one condition,” Kira added. “You must never, ever raise a hand to me again. And if you’re in pain or despair — use words, not fists.”
“Never,” her husband said firmly. “I swear it. Never again.”
Her mother set down a plate of sandwiches.
“Now have breakfast, both of you. Then go to the hospital and tell Yelena Borisovna the good news.”
Half an hour later, they were on their way to the hospital.
“Kira,” Maksim said, slowing at a traffic light, “don’t you regret it?”
“Regret what?”
“The car. Giving up your dream. You spent so long choosing, wanting it so much…”
Kira thought for a moment. Of course she regretted it. But strangely, that regret no longer felt sharp.
“I do,” she admitted. “But not as much as I thought I would.”
The surgery was scheduled for the following Monday.
They transferred the money on Friday and signed the paperwork. On Sunday night, Maksim barely slept. He paced around the apartment, calling the hospital every half hour to check on his mother.
“Max, go to bed,” his wife urged. “You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”
“I can’t. What if something goes wrong? What if her body rejects the valve?”
Kira wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He’d lost nearly three kilos in a few days, his face hollow, his hands trembling from nerves.
“The doctor said she has good chances. Her heart’s strong, and she’s not that old.”
“Still, it’s open-heart surgery,” Maksim squeezed her hand tightly. “Kira, if something happens to her…”
“Nothing will. And even if it does — you did everything you could.”
In the morning, they arrived at the clinic at seven. Yelena Borisovna was already being prepped for surgery. She’d been taken into the operating room ten minutes before they came.
“The procedure will last four to five hours,” the nurse explained. “You can wait in the café.”
“I’m not leaving this place,” Maksim said firmly.
The next five hours were torture for Maksim.
He paced the corridor back and forth until he knew every tile by heart, drank nearly five liters of vending-machine coffee, and approached the nurse every ten minutes with anxious questions. Kira tried to distract him with small talk, but she could see he wasn’t hearing a word she said.
At half past two, the surgeon finally came out of the operating room. Maksim jumped to his feet so abruptly he nearly fell.
“How’s my mother?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“The surgery went well,” the doctor replied. “The prosthetic valve fit perfectly, and the heart is functioning smoothly. She’ll be moved to intensive care soon; you’ll be able to see her for a few minutes in about six hours.”
Maksim sank onto a chair and covered his face with his hands.
“Thank you,” he whispered to his wife. “Thank you for everything.”
By evening, Yelena Borisovna was moved to a regular ward.
“How are you, Mom?” Maksim asked gently, taking her hand.
“Alive,” his mother smiled weakly. “The doctor says I have a new heart now—should last another twenty years.”
“We were so scared,” Kira said, coming closer to the bed. “But it’s all behind us now.”
Yelena Borisovna looked at her daughter-in-law.
“Kirochka, Maksim told me… about the money, the car. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“There’s no need to,” Kira shook her head. “We’re family.”
“Family,” the older woman repeated, squeezing her hand tightly. “Yes, we’re family.”
The couple returned home late that evening.
“You know,” Maksim said as he parked the car, “I realized something important today.”
“What’s that?”
“That I have the best wife in the world. And the best father- and mother-in-law too.”
Kira smiled.
“Flatterer!”
“I’m not flattering you, I mean it,” Maksim turned to her. “Kira, I promise—when I have the money, I’ll buy you a car. Maybe not right away, maybe not an expensive one, but I’ll buy it.”
“We’ll see. The important thing is that your mom’s healthy.”
And at that moment, Kira understood that she truly didn’t regret her decision. Yes, there was no car.
But she had something far more valuable—the knowledge that, when tested by hardship, their family had stood strong.
