“She stormed into my office demanding my salary ‘for his child support’ — I sent her straight to the bailiffs”
I was sitting at my computer finishing the quarterly report when the secretary, Lena, peeked into my office with a bewildered look.
“Kira, someone is here to see you. An older woman — very insistent. She says she’s your mother-in-law. And she urgently needs to talk to you.”
I lifted my head from the monitor. My mother-in-law? Nina Grigoryevna? I divorced her son Roman six months ago, and since then I hadn’t seen or heard from her — thank God.
“Let her wait in the meeting room,” I said, saving the document.
“She won’t. She says she’s going to wait right here. She’s speaking very loudly, people are already looking.”
I frowned. The last thing I needed was family drama in front of the whole office.
“All right, I’ll come out.”
I stood up and walked to the entrance. Nina Grigoryevna was standing right in the hallway, wearing an old coat, nervously fidgeting with her purse strap. Seeing me, she lunged forward.
“Kira! There you are! We need to talk — urgently!”
“Hello, Nina Grigoryevna,” I said quietly. “Let’s step outside — people are working here.”
“We’re not going anywhere!” she barked loudly. “Let everyone know what kind of person you are! Ungrateful! Shameless girl!”
Colleagues at nearby desks began raising their heads from their computers, exchanging glances. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“Nina Grigoryevna, let’s not make a scene. Just tell me calmly — what is this about?”
“What is this about?!” She raised her voice even more on purpose. “About the fact that you must give me your salary! Right now! You left him, it’s all your fault, so now you must pay his child support!”
I was stunned. The office fell completely silent — everyone pretended to work but their ears were glued to us.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t understand?!” Nina Grigoryevna stepped closer, her eyes blazing with anger. “The bailiffs came! They’re going to seize the apartment! All because you left him!”
Now the situation began to make sense. Roman had to pay child support to his children from his first marriage — Anya and Misha. Their mother, Svetlana, had filed for support six years ago, but Roman kept hiding or working unofficially.
“What do I have to do with it, Nina Grigoryevna? These are Roman’s debts to his children.”
“You have everything to do with it!” she waved her arms. “If not for you, he would have paid! He would have lived well with you, worked! But you seduced him, married him, then dumped him! Now he drinks and is drowning in debt!”
My boss, Sergey Petrovich, came out of his office. He had heard the noise and was now watching with a frown.
“Nina Grigoryevna,” I said as calmly as I could, “let’s not discuss family matters at the office.”
“And where else am I supposed to talk to you?! You changed your number, you don’t answer calls! And I don’t know where you live! Time is running out! They’re going to take my apartment because of your tricks!”
“Because of mine?” I snapped. “Your son owes child support — not me. It is his obligation, not mine!”
“You left him! You divorced him! So now you answer for it!”
Flawless logic. In her mind, since I filed for divorce, I must now deal with all the consequences.
“Roman and I also have a child,” I reminded her. “And I didn’t even file for child support because I know — there’s nothing to take.”
“There! See?” Nina Grigoryevna perked up as if I had proven her point. “You understand he has nothing to give! But his first wife doesn’t understand! She keeps demanding, filing in court! Now the bailiffs came and said they’ll seize property!”
“And they’re right,” I said firmly. “Children have the right to be supported by their father.”
“What children?!” she snapped. “They’re fourteen already! They can work themselves!”
“Nina Grigoryevna, children are not obligated to provide for themselves. Their parents are responsible for them.”
“And where will their father go if his apartment is taken? He’ll be out on the street!”
So that’s what this was about. The apartment was registered under both — Nina Grigoryevna and Roman. And now the bailiffs were threatening to seize his share. Or maybe the whole apartment, if the debt was big enough.
“That’s not my problem. I divorced your son, and our relationship is over.”
“It is NOT over!” she yelled. “You are the mother of his child! You are tied forever! You must help!”
“I help my child. But I will not pay child support for someone else’s children.”
Colleagues were now openly listening. Some even took out their phones, probably planning to record the scandal. I was mortified.
“Someone else’s?!” Nina Grigoryevna was outraged. “Those are my son’s children! Your ex-husband’s children!”
“Keyword: ex. I have nothing to do with him anymore.”
“Yes you do!” She stood right in front of me and pointed a finger at my chest. “You ruined his life! Before you, he lived just fine!”
I laughed — I couldn’t help it.
“Fine? When I met Roman, he had already been dodging bailiffs for two years. He was deeply in debt and barely held a job!”
“You’re lying!”
“No, I’m not. He told me himself how he used to run from bailiffs. He even bragged about it.”
“You taught him not to pay! And to take out loans!”
“I wasn’t even in his life back then,” I reminded her. “And the child support debt had already been piling up for three years.”
Nina Grigoryevna faltered for a second, then launched another attack:
“Doesn’t matter! You married him, so you knew what you were getting into! Now you have to answer for it!”
“Answer for what? For the fact that your son refuses to work and support his children?”
“He can’t work! He’s in depression because you divorced him!”
“Depression?” I shook my head. “Nina Grigoryevna, your son has… an alcohol dependency, not depression. And it started long before our wedding.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my son like that!”
“I’m telling the truth. Roman has been drinking for at least five years. I tried to get him treatment, took him to doctors. Nothing helped.”
“Because you didn’t believe in him! You didn’t support him!”
I felt my patience running out. Six months ago I left Roman precisely because of his binge drinking and complete irresponsibility. The final straw was when he spent the money I gave him for diapers for our son.
“Nina Grigoryevna,” I said slowly and clearly, “I supported your son for three years. I pulled him up, paid his debts, helped him find work. He slept through every opportunity and skipped every job. In the end, he even spent the money meant for our child’s food on alcohol.”
“That was an accident!”
“An accident? He took the last money we had, the money set aside for baby food, and bought vodka with it. He came home wasted, couldn’t even stand on his feet. And we had a newborn baby at home!”
“You’re exaggerating!”
“I’m not exaggerating at all!” I snapped. “Your son is an addict and an irresponsible father! He didn’t pay child support to his first children, he doesn’t provide for our child, and he’s living off his mother!”
“He is ill! He needs help!”
“He needs help in a clinic — not financial help. And children need support from their father — not from his ex-wife.”
Realizing she couldn’t persuade me, Nina Grigoryevna switched to threats:
“You are obligated to pay! By law! You were his wife!”
“What law exactly?” I asked, genuinely surprised. “Show me the article that says a former wife must pay child support for a former husband.”
“There is such a law! About malicious evasion!”
“Malicious evasion applies to the debtor — not his relatives.”
“You drove him to this state!”
“I tried to treat him. What drove him to this state was alcohol!”
“If you hadn’t divorced him, he would have come to his senses!”
“Nina Grigoryevna,” I said wearily, “in three years of marriage, your son didn’t come to his senses even once. How long was I supposed to wait?”
“You should have endured! Family is sacred!”
“Family is when everyone cares for one another. In our case, I was the only one working, earning money, raising a child. And he was out partying and piling up debts.”
“He’s the father of your child!”
“A father is not the one who conceived, but the one who raises and provides. Roman hasn’t shown any interest in his son in six months since the divorce. I owe him nothing!”
“Because you won’t let him see the child!”
“I never prevented any visits. But he never once came, never called. He didn’t even show up for our child’s birthday.”
Nina Grigoryevna was starting to realize that she couldn’t break me — not with persuasion, not with threats. So she switched to pity:
“Kira, at least have mercy on an old woman! I spent my whole life earning that apartment! I raised my son alone, buried my husband early! Are you really going to let them throw me out onto the street?”
“No one is going to throw you out, Nina Grigoryevna. They’ll seize Roman’s share, yours will remain.”
“What share? It’s joint property! They’ll sell the whole apartment and I’ll be left with peanuts!”
Maybe she was right. Maybe they really would sell the entire apartment to cover the debt. But that wasn’t my problem.
“Let your son go to work and pay the child support himself.”
“He can’t! He’s sick!”
“Then let him get treatment. But child support is sacred. Children shouldn’t suffer because their father is ill.”
“You’re heartless!” cried Nina Grigoryevna. “You abandoned your sick husband and now you want to throw an old woman onto the street!”
“I didn’t abandon anyone and I’m not throwing anyone out. I’m simply refusing to solve someone else’s problems at my own expense.”
“That’s not how family works! In a family, everyone must help each other!”
“We’re not a family anymore. We’re divorced.”
“But you have a child together!”
“Yes. And I provide for him. Alone. Without any help from his father.”
“Roman can’t help — he’s sick!”
“He’s not disabled. Then let him work.”
Nina Grigoryevna realized she’d hit a dead end. I wouldn’t agree to anything. So she switched to direct demands:
“Kira, I demand it! Hand over your salary immediately! How much do you get — thirty thousand? Forty? Give half for child support!”
“On what grounds?”
“You’re to blame that Roman doesn’t pay! You left him, you pushed him to the edge!”
“Nina Grigoryevna, I’ll repeat one more time — your son stopped paying child support long before we married.”
“Doesn’t matter! Now it’s your turn to answer!”
“My turn? I’m already answering — for my own child. And for someone else’s children, their father must answer.”
“So you won’t give money?”
“Not a single kopeck.”
“Then I’ll tell everyone that you ruined your husband and abandoned him, and now you’re starving his children!”
“Go ahead,” I shrugged. “Just don’t forget to mention…”
At that moment, the director intervened. Sergey Petrovich approached us and calmly said:
“Excuse me, but this is a workplace, not a family court. I must ask you to leave the office.”
“And who are you?” Nina Grigoryevna demanded aggressively.
“The company director. And I will not allow disruptions during working hours.”
“It’s her!” she pointed at me. “She won’t give the money! You should give me her salary!”
“Ma’am, either you leave on your own, or I call security,” Sergey Petrovich said firmly.
“How dare you! I’m not a stranger! She’s my former daughter-in-law!”
“To me, you are a stranger. And I require you to leave the premises.”
“Fine!” Nina Grigoryevna shrieked. “I’ll go! But this isn’t over! I’ll get justice! Through the court! Through the bailiffs!”
“Feel free to try,” I replied calmly. “Just remember — no one is obligated to pay someone else’s debts.”
“These are not someone else’s debts! They are your ex-husband’s debts! You were married then, so they’re yours too!”
“Ex-husband — meaning someone else.”
Nina Grigoryevna spun around and headed for the exit, shouting as she went:
“Everyone remember this! This is what wives are like now! She dumped her husband, starves his children! And hoards money for herself!”
The door slammed behind her. Silence fell over the office. Everyone looked at me — curious and sympathetic at the same time.
“Sorry for the disturbance,” I told my colleagues. “Family drama.”
“Kira, if you need help, just say so,” the director said. “Visitors like that should be handed over to security immediately.”
“Thank you, Sergey Petrovich. I think she won’t come back.”
But I was wrong.
The next day, Nina Grigoryevna showed up at my work again. This time she brought some friend for support.
“Kira!” she yelled right from the door. “I won’t leave until you give me money!”
“Nina Grigoryevna, we discussed everything yesterday. My answer hasn’t changed.”
“And neither has mine! We’ll wait here until you agree!”
“Then I’ll call the police.”
“Go ahead! The law is on my side!”
And I really did call the police. Two officers arrived, figured out the situation, and ordered Nina Grigoryevna to leave the office.
“We’re not doing anything wrong!” she tried to justify herself. “We’re just seeking justice!”
“Seek justice through the court,” one officer said. “You’re preventing people from working here.”
After that, she stopped coming to my workplace. But she kept calling the office phone, demanding a meeting.
A month later, I learned that Roman’s share of the apartment had been seized. The bailiffs placed restrictions on any real estate transactions. They were now preparing documents for a forced sale of his share through auction — the money would go toward paying off the child support debt. Roman still wasn’t working. And Nina Grigoryevna lived in constant fear that half the apartment would be sold to strangers.
And I finally understood a simple truth: it is not my fault that Roman is an irresponsible father. It is not my duty to fix the consequences of his decisions. And it is not my job to support someone else’s children instead of their own father.
I will raise and provide for only my own child. And the rest — let the one who brought them into this world take responsibility.
