“Your surgery is canceled — the money is needed for my son’s car!” my mother-in-law shouted as she tore up the hospital referral.
Another wave of pain rolled over me, and I instinctively clutched my stomach. A familiar movement in recent months. The doctors had already made the diagnosis: a uterine fibroid, surgery required. Waiting for a government-funded hospitalization would take too long, and enduring the pain was becoming harder every day. My husband and I decided to take out a loan and pay for treatment at a private clinic.
The doorbell rang unexpectedly. On the doorstep stood Nadezhda Mikhailovna, my mother-in-law. Without warning, as usual.
“Hello, Lenochka!” She pecked me on the cheek and marched confidently into the hallway without waiting for an invitation. “Is Viktor home?”
“No, he’s at work,” I replied, closing the door. “You didn’t say you were coming.”
“What, do I need to make an appointment to see my own son now?” she sniffed and walked straight into the kitchen, where she immediately began opening cupboards. “Do you have any coffee? Or are you spending everything on your pills?”
Silently, I took out a jar of coffee and put the kettle on. Over the years, I’d learned not to react to my mother-in-law’s barbs, though sometimes it still took effort.
“How’s Igor?” I asked about her younger son, my twenty-five-year-old brother-in-law who was still living with her.
“Wonderful!” Nadezhda Mikhailovna’s eyes lit up. “Such a good boy, he finally passed his driver’s exam. Now he’s dreaming about getting a car. He’s already picked the model and the color. All that’s left is to find the money.”
She laughed, but there was a nervous edge to her laughter. I tensed, sensing something was wrong.
“And how are you, Lenochka? Still sick?” She gave me a critical, evaluating look. “You’ve gotten so skinny, is my son not feeding you properly?”
“I’m fine,” I answered calmly. “Tomorrow I’m going to the pre-operative consultation. The surgery is in a week.”
“Really?” She tightened her lips in a strange way. “And how much did that private clinic charge you?”
“Three hundred thousand,” I said, pouring coffee. “We took out a loan.”
“Three hundred thousand!” Nadezhda Mikhailovna shook her head. “Unbelievable! People spend money on anything these days.”
I didn’t respond. After seven years of marriage, I was used to these comments. Instead, I sipped my coffee and carefully placed the folder with my medical documents on the table. Inside was the surgery referral, which I planned to take to the clinic the next day.
My mother-in-law sat unusually quiet, turning the cup in her hands. Then suddenly she looked up at me:
“And what do the doctors say? There’s no way to avoid surgery?”
“No,” I sighed. “The fibroid is growing, and I’ve started having heavy bleeding. If I don’t have surgery now, there could be complications.”
“But it’s not cancer or anything!” she waved her hand dismissively. “You can wait! My neighbor, Antonina Petrovna, also has a fibroid and she’s fine, she just endures it.”
I felt irritation rising, but I tried to keep my voice steady.
“Fibroids develop differently for everyone. In my case, the doctors insist on urgent surgery.”
“Doctors, doctors!” she scoffed. “They’ll tell you anything. They just want more money out of you. And you’re only too happy to hand over your last savings.”
I inhaled deeply, counting to ten. Arguing with Nadezhda Mikhailovna was useless. She always believed she knew more than anyone — doctors, teachers, engineers. Especially when it came to her sons and their wives.
“This is mine and Viktor’s decision,” I said firmly. “We discussed everything.”
She tightened her lips again but said nothing. I also stayed silent, hoping the conversation would shift or that she would leave. But she remained seated, occasionally glancing at the folder with the documents.
Finally, she spoke again, but now in a wheedling, almost pleading tone:
“Lenochka, how much have you already paid on the loan?”
“Nothing yet,” I said, surprised. “We just signed it yesterday.”
“Oh, so the money hasn’t even been spent?” she brightened. “Then it can be… redirected!”
“In what sense?” I asked cautiously…
“Well, what I’m getting at is this,” Nadezhda Mikhailovna scooted closer and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “My little Igor desperately needs a car. He’s such a good boy, he worked so hard, finally got his license! And now you just happen to have money…”
I was speechless at such audacity. Was she really suggesting we spend the money taken out for my surgery on a car for her younger son?
“Nadezhda Mikhailovna,” I began, trying to remain calm, “this money was borrowed specifically for my operation. We’ll be paying off the loan for three years.”
“Oh, come on!” she waved dismissively. “It’s just a surgery! You can wait and get a quota. But the boy needs a car now. He’s already told all his friends he’ll be driving soon.”
I stared at her, unable to believe what I was hearing.
“That’s impossible,” I said firmly. “The money is already reserved for the surgery.”
“What do you mean, impossible?” Her voice hardened. “Are you more important than my son? He’s my child, and who are you? Just because Vitya married you, you think you outrank everyone now?”
My heart began pounding. Stay calm. I couldn’t afford to get worked up — not with my condition.
“Nadezhda Mikhailovna, let’s wait for Viktor and discuss this together,” I suggested, hoping to buy time. “This is our shared money. We should decide together.”
“Oh, enough with this ‘together, together’ nonsense!” my mother-in-law snapped. “Viktor is my son. He has always supported me and he will now! He would never refuse his mother!”
With those words, she suddenly grabbed my folder of documents and opened it. The referral for my surgery was on top — the crucial paper without which the clinic might not admit me.
“There!” Nadezhda Mikhailovna exclaimed triumphantly, pulling out the sheet. “No surgery! First Igor, then you!”
Before I could react, she began tearing the referral into tiny pieces.
“Your surgery is canceled — the money is needed for my son’s car!” she declared, shredding the document and scattering the pieces across the kitchen table.
I jumped up, trying to stop her, but it was too late. The referral had turned into confetti.
“What have you done?!” I cried as tears welled up. “That was an official document! Without it they won’t admit me to the clinic!”
“Well, good!” she smiled victoriously. “That means the money will go toward Igor’s car. And you can wait — it’s good for you.”
At that moment, the lock clicked. Viktor had returned. I ran to the hallway, no longer hiding my tears.
“Vitya! Your mother tore up my referral for the surgery! She’s demanding we give the money to Igor for a car!”
Viktor looked stunned, shifting his gaze between me and his mother, who emerged from the kitchen.
“What? What car?” he asked in confusion.
“Vitenka, darling,” his mother instantly switched to a whiny tone, “you know how much Igor dreams of a car. He worked so hard, studied so much… And now the money is there. And Lena can wait — nothing terrible will happen to her.”
Viktor frowned.
“Mom, we took the loan specifically for Lena’s surgery. The doctors said we can’t delay.”
“Doctors!” she scoffed. “What do they know! And Igor is your own brother! Don’t you feel sorry for him? All his friends already have cars and he’s the only one who looks like a loser.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Viktor snapped, irritation growing. “Lena is my wife, and her health is more important to me than Igor’s car. This isn’t even up for discussion.”
Nadezhda Mikhailovna’s expression changed. Her lips tightened into a thin line.
“So that’s how it is? That… that woman is more important than your own mother and brother? Who does she think she is?! A wife! Big deal! I gave birth to you, I raised you!”
I leaned against the wall, feeling completely shattered. My head was spinning, nausea rising in my throat. Viktor noticed and quickly approached, placing an arm around my shoulders.
“Lena, you shouldn’t be stressed. Go lie down. I’ll handle this.”
I obeyed and went to the bedroom, but left the door slightly open. I needed to hear what Viktor would say to his mother.
“Mom,” Viktor’s voice was firm, “what you did is inexcusable. You tore up an important medical document and suggested depriving my wife of a necessary operation because of Igor’s whim.”
“Whim?!” Nadezhda Mikhailovna shrieked. “A car is not a whim! It’s a necessity these days!”
“For unemployed Igor, who only got his license yesterday, a car is definitely a whim,” Viktor said sharply. “But Lena’s surgery is a necessity. And I will not let you interfere in our decisions. This is our loan, our money, and we decide how to use it.”
“Fine!” her voice broke into tears. “Abandon your mother, betray your brother! I knew she would turn you against us!”
“Mom, enough,” Viktor said tiredly. “Lena has never said a bad word about you or Igor. Unlike you, who constantly attacks her. And now this… I think you should leave.”
There was some noise, the slam of a cupboard door, then a loud bang as the front door shut. My mother-in-law had left, slamming the door so hard the walls trembled.
Viktor came into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I’m sorry about all of this. I never thought my mother could behave like that.”
“She tore up the referral,” I said, pointing at the little scraps of paper I had gathered. “What do we do now?”
“Don’t worry,” he took my hand. “Tomorrow we’ll go to your doctor, explain everything, and he’ll issue a new one. I already called him — he knows.”
I nodded, feeling relieved. Then I carefully asked:
“And what about your mother and Igor? She won’t leave us alone.”
Viktor sighed.
“I think it’s time to set boundaries. I love my mom, but I won’t let her hurt you. If she can’t respect my wife, then she’ll have to keep her distance.”
I leaned against him, feeling safe and grateful. For the first time in all these years, Viktor openly took my side against his mother.
The next day, we received a new referral. The doctor, an elderly man with kind eyes, only shook his head when he heard our story.
“You know, in thirty years of practice I’ve seen a lot, but a mother-in-law tearing up medical documents… That’s a first.”
The surgery went well. Viktor was by my side the entire time — supporting me, helping with everything. We didn’t hear from my mother-in-law for almost a month. Then she called Viktor, but she didn’t apologize. Instead, she announced that Igor had bought a car after all — an old Volkswagen, on credit. And he had already managed to scratch it because “he still hasn’t learned how to park.”
When I fully recovered from the surgery, Viktor and I decided to move to another district. Farther from his mother, closer to my work. Nadezhda Mikhailovna was furious when she found out, but there was nothing she could do. Viktor stood firm: our family is the two of us, and no one has the right to interfere in our decisions.
Igor totaled the car three months later. Thankfully he wasn’t hurt, but the vehicle couldn’t be repaired. The loan remained, but the car didn’t. Nadezhda Mikhailovna came running to us, demanding we help pay off the debt. Viktor politely but firmly refused, reminding her how she treated my surgery.
A year passed. Viktor and I bought a small but cozy apartment with a mortgage. My mother-in-law became more restrained in her remarks, especially when she found out that I was finally pregnant — the doctors had said that after the surgery, my chances of conceiving had increased significantly.
At a family dinner where we invited parents from both sides, Nadezhda Mikhailovna unexpectedly approached me and quietly said:
“I’m sorry about that incident with the referral. I was wrong.”
I nodded, accepting the apology. It’s not that I forgot or fully forgave her, but I chose not to hold a grudge. After all, she was going to be my child’s grandmother. And children shouldn’t grow up in an atmosphere of hostility.
Viktor, who overheard our conversation, put his arm around my shoulders and smiled:
“See? People can change. Even my mom.”
And I smiled back, placing a hand on my still-small belly. In the end, everything turned out well. I regained my health, Viktor and I grew stronger as a couple, learned to protect our family’s boundaries, and even my mother-in-law seemed to realize she had been wrong.
Sometimes the hardest trials help put everything in its proper place and show what truly matters in life.
