“Fifty thousand? From each of us? Zhanna, are you sure you didn’t add an extra zero? Maybe you meant five thousand? Or five hundred rubles?”
Marina stared at her phone screen, her left eye beginning to twitch. The family group chat, “Mom’s Jubilee,” buzzed like a disturbed beehive, spitting out messages one after another.
“No mistakes,” came her sister-in-law Zhanna’s instant reply. “Mom is turning sixty. That’s a milestone birthday. We can’t give her another set of pots or bed linen. That would be so basic. I picked out a massage chair. A Japanese one, with zero-gravity and lumbar heating. It costs three hundred thousand. There are six of us chipping in: me and my husband, you and Andrey, and Aunt Lyuba and Uncle Vitya. So, that’s three families. That comes to a hundred thousand per family, or fifty thousand each. It’s only fair.”
Marina slowly put her phone down on the kitchen table, where the syrniki were quietly cooling, and looked at her husband. Andrey sat across from her, buried in his plate, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the texture of the cottage cheese pancakes.
“Did you see this?” Marina asked quietly.
Andrey sighed and set his fork down. He looked guilty, like a cat caught doing something wrong and about to be scolded but unable to do anything about it.
“I saw it, Marisha. Zhanna called me earlier today. She’s really excited about the idea. She says Mom’s back hurts, she has osteochondrosis, and she really needs this chair for her health.”
“Andrey, we have a mortgage. Next month Vanya needs braces, that’s exactly the hundred thousand we’ve been saving for half a year. And our car needs a new transmission, or you’ll be riding the bus to work soon. Where are we supposed to come up with a hundred thousand for a chair?”
“Well, maybe we can use some of what we’ve saved?” her husband suggested, unsure. “We could get the braces in a couple of months? Or I can take out a small loan… a consumer loan.”
Marina felt a slow, simmering irritation rise inside her. This wasn’t the first time. Zhanna, Andrey’s older sister, had always been known for her grand ideas—especially when the cost came from someone else’s pocket. She worked as a beauty salon administrator, her husband took odd jobs on construction sites, but they lived as if they were about to inherit from the Queen of England. IPhones on credit, vacations in Turkey on credit, and now the birthday present for Mom—basically also paid for by the rest of the family.
Refused to chip in on an expensive gift for my mother-in-law and got kicked out of the family chat
“Andrey, do you hear yourself?” Marina stood and walked to the window. Outside, a gray November evening drizzled, the rain blurring the streetlights. “You’re really going to take out a loan so your mom can have a throne? Because that’s exactly what it is—a throne. Where is she supposed to put it in her tiny apartment? Replace her sofa? Or in the kitchen, so she can get a massage while she stirs the soup?”
“Zhanna said she’s already measured everything. It’ll fit in the corner of the living room. Marina, it’s our mother. She raised us. Is it really so much to ask?”
That was the forbidden word. “Sorry.” A magic spell that was supposed to instantly transform Marina into a greedy, heartless selfish person.
“I’m not sorry, Andrey. I’m scared to be left without money before winter. And I’m upset that everyone else made the decision for us. Why didn’t Zhanna ask: ‘Guys, we have this much in the budget, what can we buy?’ No, she just presented us with a fact: ‘Everyone pays fifty thousand.’ What if tomorrow she decides to gift Mom a helicopter, are we supposed to sell a kidney then too?”
The phone buzzed again. Marina picked it up.
*Zhanna:* “Well, are you all staying silent? I need to reserve the chair today, the discount ends at midnight. Andrey, Marina, I’m waiting for the money transfer. The card number is the same.”
*Aunt Lyuba:* “Oh, Zhannochka, that’s not a small amount… Our pension only arrives next week. But for Galya, of course, we’ll do our best. We’ll withdraw the funeral savings.”
Marina read this and shook her head. Aunt Lyuba had always been a follower, and Zhanna shamelessly took advantage of this. Shaking down pensioners for their ‘funeral funds’ to buy a massage chair—that was just like her sister-in-law.
“I’ll write to her,” Marina said resolutely.
“Marina, don’t,” Andrey pleaded. “It’ll cause a scandal. Let me talk to her later… gently.”
“You’ve been talking ‘gently’ for ten years. And we always end up paying. Enough.”
Marina quickly typed a message:
“Zhanna, hi. The chair idea is great, but for our budget right now it’s too much. We can’t give a hundred thousand. We have medical expenses planned for our child. We’ll give a present on our own, within our means.”
She hit ‘send’ and exhaled. Her heart was pounding like she’d just jumped from a parachute.
The reply came in three seconds. Zhanna was obviously holding her phone, waiting for obedient agreement.
*Zhanna:* “What do you mean – on your own? Are we family or what? We give a group gift so Mom will be happy! Are you trying to stand out? Show you’re special? Or are you just too stingy to give money for Mom? Andrey, why are you quiet? Is your wife deciding how much you spend on your own mother?”
Marina clenched her teeth.
“Andrey, she’s talking to you.”
Her husband picked up his phone, skimmed the messages, and turned pale.
“Zhanna, calm down,” he started typing, then erased it. “Marina is right, we really are struggling with money now…”
He sent the message.
A tense silence settled in the chat. It seemed Zhanna was recording a voice message. Sure enough, in a minute, a two-minute audio file appeared.
Marina hit play. Her sister-in-law’s outraged voice burst from the speaker, almost squealing:
“…I knew it! I KNEW that as soon as it came time to actually help, you two would disappear! Struggling with money? Who’s driving a new car? Who just renovated their kitchen? Poor them! You have no shame, Marina! You’ve completely hen-pecked Andrey! Aunt Lyuba, a pensioner, is giving her last pennies, and you two, young and healthy, ‘can’t’! Pathetic! If you don’t want to participate—fine! But then you have no place at the anniversary with your cheap gifts! Mom needs her health, not another blanket!”
Marina was about to reply, explaining that they had renovated their home themselves for three years, and their car was from 2015—but she didn’t get the chance.
A system notification popped up on the screen: *“You have been removed from the group by admin Zhanna.”*
Marina blinked and looked over at her husband.
“I’ve been removed,” she stated.
Andrey checked his own phone.
“I’m still in for now. But…it’s chaos in there.”
“Read it,” Marina said coldly.
“Zhanna says: ‘If they’re so smart, let them live on their own. I won’t let anyone ruin Mom’s celebration with sour faces. Andrey, if you’re a real man, you’ll handle this. Otherwise, it means Marina matters more to you than your own mother.’”
Andrey buried his face in his hands.
“God, why is this happening to me…”
“Because you let your sister act this way,” Marina said sharply, though inside she was trembling with hurt. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re not pitching in any money. This is blackmail. If we cave now, she’ll know she can walk all over us.”
“But what about the anniversary?” Andrey asked. “It’s this Saturday. The restaurant’s booked.”
“We’re going. Your mother personally invited us, not Zhanna. And we’ll buy our own present. Something nice, useful, and within our budget.”
The next three days felt like a cold war. Zhanna made a show of not calling her brother, but was busy rallying the rest of the relatives. Andrey seemed gloomier than ever, probably getting messages he was afraid to tell his wife about.
Marina, on the other hand, felt calmer. Getting kicked out of the chat was a relief—no more constant noise, endless cat memes in the morning, or those passive-aggressive jabs. She focused on picking out a present.
After some discussion, they decided to buy his mother a high-quality multi-cooker and pressure cooker from a reputable brand, and a beautiful gold pendant with a topaz. Galina Petrovna loved to cook but often complained she got tired at the stove, and jewelry was her weakness, though she rarely indulged. The whole set cost them 25,000 rubles—a significant amount, but manageable, and most importantly, things she would truly appreciate.
Saturday arrived. The anniversary was held in the banquet hall of the “Vechernyaya Zarya” restaurant. The name was fancy, but inside, it was pure 2000s: heavy maroon curtains, golden foam molding, and chair covers with enormous bows.
When Marina and Andrey entered the hall, nearly all the guests were already there. Zhanna, dressed in a sparkling sequin gown that looked like giant fish scales, was darting between tables, bossing around the waiters. When she spotted her brother and his wife, she paused, pursed her lips, but held back from causing a scene—clearly saving her energy for her big moment.
Galina Petrovna, the guest of honor, sat at the head of the table in a new blue dress and an elaborate updo, held in place with lots of hairspray.
“Happy birthday, Mom!” Andrey came over to her, kissed her on the cheek, and handed her a huge bouquet of burgundy roses.
“Thank you, my son, thank you, darling,” Galina Petrovna said, clearly moved. “Marina, hello, you look so elegant today.”
The meeting went surprisingly peacefully. This even made Marina uneasy. Usually, if Zhanna declared war, she fought on all fronts. But now—just silence.
The guests were taking their seats. The table was overflowing with appetizers: aspic, salads in tartlets, sliced meats. Marina noticed that she and Andrey were seated at the very end of the table, next to a half-deaf great-uncle and the children of a second cousin. Zhanna, her husband, and Aunt Lyuba sat on the guest of honor’s right hand. It was a small, but very clear act of revenge.
The first hour passed with clinking glasses and the usual toasts: “To your health,” “Many years,” “May the children bring joy.” Zhanna took charge as toastmaster, keeping everyone entertained by constantly pulling guests into games. She ignored Marina and Andrey completely, as if they didn’t exist.
Then, it was time for the presents.
Zhanna stepped into the center of the room, grabbed a microphone and asked for the music to be turned down.
“Dear guests! Beloved mama!” she began solemnly, tears of emotion (or perhaps a well-rehearsed performance) ringing in her voice. “We thought for a long time about how to make you happy on this big day. You’ve given yourself, your warmth, and your care to us your whole life. Now we want to care for you.”
She paused, enjoying the spotlight.
“We, your loving children and relatives, decided to give you something you’ve dreamed of, but were too shy to ask for. Health and comfort! Bring it in!”
The doors of the banquet hall burst open, and two movers rolled in a huge box. Zhanna dashed over and theatrically ripped off the wrapping. Underneath was a massive black chair, looking like a pilot’s seat from a spaceship. It was leather, loaded with buttons and a display screen.
The hall gasped. Galina Petrovna clutched her hands to her chest.
“Oh my God… This is… Zhanna!”
“Yes, Mama! It’s a Yamaguchi massage chair! The latest model!” declared Zhanna. “Aunt Lyuba, Uncle Vitya, and…” she paused meaningfully, glancing toward the far end of the table where Marina and Andrey sat, “and my husband Kolya, of course, all chipped in to get you this wonder of technology! So your back never hurts again!”
Andrey blushed so deeply he matched the burgundy curtains. They hadn’t mentioned him. Her own son was publicly excluded from the list of givers. A wave of whispers rolled through the room. Guests glanced at each other, casting side-eyes at the “stingy” son.
“Come on, Mom, have a seat, let’s try it out!” commanded Zhanna.
Galina Petrovna was helped into the chair. It began to hum and recline. The guest of honor gasped, then blissfully closed her eyes.
“Oh, this feels so good… Just like being kneaded by hands… Thank you, my dears! Thank you!”
Zhanna beamed. This was her moment of triumph. She glanced at Marina with a victorious smirk: “See, who’s the favorite daughter and who are the outsiders?”
Once the excitement died down and the guests returned to the appetizers, it was time for the ‘individual’ congratulations. Andrey stood up, took the bag of gifts, and, taking Marina by the hand, walked to his mother’s table.
Zhanna intercepted them halfway.
“Oh, and here come our thrifty relatives,” she announced loudly enough for the nearby tables to hear. “Well, let’s see what you’ve brought ‘from yourselves.’ I bet it’s a homemade card?”
Andrey stopped in his tracks, clenching his fists.
“Zhanna, stop it,” he said quietly.
“What did I even say?” his sister batted her fake eyelashes innocently. “I’m just curious what you thought was more important than Mom’s health.”
Marina gently moved her husband aside and stepped forward. She looked Zhanna straight in the eye—calm, not aggressive, but with that firm confidence that usually puts rude saleswomen in their place.
“Zhanna, we’re here to celebrate Mom, not make a scene. Please step aside.”
She walked over to her mother-in-law.
“Galina Petrovna, happy anniversary. We love you very much and wish you happiness. This is from Andrey and me.”
She placed a beautifully wrapped box with a multicooker and a velvet case with a pendant on the table next to the birthday girl.
Galina Petrovna, who’d been a bit euphoric from her chair and hadn’t noticed the tension, opened the case.
“Oh, how lovely!” she exclaimed sincerely. “Topaz! My birthstone! Andrey, Marina, thank you! And this pot… what do you call it… the multicooker! I’ve wanted one for ages! My neighbor has one, she says it cooks aspic in just an hour!”
She reached over to hug her son.
Zhanna was standing nearby, and her face twisted. The effect of her ‘triumph’ was fading. Mom was just as delighted with the ‘cheap’ gifts as with the expensive chair.
“Well, of course,” Zhanna snorted. “A multicooker for five thousand and a chair for three hundred. Totally equivalent, right? Mom, you’re just too kind.”
And then something happened that no one expected. Aunt Lyuba, the pensioner who had donated her ‘funeral money,’ suddenly stood up from her seat. She’d had a couple glasses of wine and was feeling bold.
“Zhanna,” she said loudly, “why do you say three hundred? Didn’t you say it cost two forty on sale?”
The room fell silent. The sound of a fork hitting a plate rang out like a gunshot.
Zhanna froze. Her eyes darted nervously.
“Aunt Lyuba, you must be mistaken,” she laughed nervously. “That’s a different model, that one was cheaper but not as good. I got the premium one…”
“No, no,” Aunt Lyuba insisted, feeling all eyes on her as she started digging in her bag. “I’ve got the receipt. You sent me the photo yourself so I could show Vitya where the money went. I printed it. Here, look.”
She pulled out a folded piece of paper and opened it.
“See, it says here: ‘Yamaguchi Axiom massage chair… price 210,000 rubles with personal discounts and bonuses.’ But we collected based on three hundred. How does that add up?”
Marina quickly did the math in her head. If the chair cost 210,000, and Zhanna had collected money from two families (Aunt Lyuba and herself with her husband), claiming each family owed 100,000…
“Wait a second,” Andrey suddenly said loudly. “Zhanna, you said we each had to pitch in a hundred thousand per family. Aunt Lyuba, you gave a hundred?”
“Well… yes,” Aunt Lyuba nodded hesitantly. “We gave everything we had.”
“And you and your husband were supposed to chip in another hundred,” Andrei continued, staring at his sister. “That makes three hundred. But the chair cost two hundred and ten. So where’s the other ninety thousand, Zhanna? And why did you still ask us for another hundred?”
Zhanna’s face turned crimson.
“How dare you count my money!” she squealed. “I’m the organizer! I went out, chose, negotiated! Delivery, movers! All that costs money!”
“They have free delivery for purchases over fifty thousand,” Marina calmly pointed out. “I checked the website when you sent the model.”
Guests were now whispering out loud. “Some organizer fees!” came a voice from the next table. “So she didn’t put in a penny and even profited?” someone wondered.
The math was turning out interesting. Aunt Lyuba gave a hundred thousand. If Andrei and Marina added another hundred, that made two hundred total. The chair cost two hundred and ten. So Zhanna, the main organizer, planned to put in just ten thousand? Or maybe nothing if she got a bigger discount? And apparently, the difference was spent on that sequined dress.
Galina Petrovna sat in her new chair, looking confused. She glanced from her daughter to the receipt in her sister’s hand.
“Zhanna?” she asked quietly. “Is this true? You took Aunt Lyuba’s last money, and you…”
“Why are you all attacking me?!” Zhanna screamed, tears streaming down her face for real now—from anger and shame. “I wanted things to be nice! I wanted a celebration! Yes, I took a little for my trouble! I spent a whole week looking for this! And you… petty, jealous people!”
She grabbed her purse from the table, knocking over a glass of red wine that spilled onto the snow-white tablecloth. The stain spread quickly, looking like blood.
“You won’t see me here again! Choke on your olivier! Kolya, let’s go!”
Her husband Nikolai, who had quietly been chewing his roast this whole time, looked sadly at his unfinished plate, sighed, got up, and trudged after his wife.
The door slammed behind them. A deathly silence fell over the room.
Marina was the first to recover. She approached Aunt Lyuba, who was staring at the receipt, her hands trembling.
“Aunt Lyuba, please don’t be upset,” she said gently. “The main thing is that Mom liked her gift. And the money… well, think of it as the price for a lesson.”
“What lesson, Marinachka?” Aunt Lyuba sobbed.
“That family group chats are pure evil,” Marina replied with a sad smile.
Galina Petrovna got up from her chair. She looked tired and seemed five years older.
“Please forgive me,” she said, addressing everyone at once. “I raised… what I raised. Andrei, Marina… thank you for not going along with it. And for coming.”
The rest of the evening passed awkwardly. The guests tried to have fun, but the mood was somber. Still, that night was a turning point for Marina and Andrei.
On the way home in a taxi, Andrei took his wife’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
“You were right,” he said, looking out at the city lights. “You were right about everything. I’m sorry I pressured you. If we’d chipped in, I’d feel like a complete fool right now.”
“You’re not an idiot, Andrei. You’re just a good son,” Marina said, resting her head on his shoulder. “But sometimes kindness needs to come with fists. Or at least a calculator.”
A week later, Zhanna tried to get back into the family group chat. She created a new one called “New Year at the Dacha” and added all the relatives—including Marina. Her very first message was: “Who’s cooking what? Let’s make a menu, I suggest we order catering, it won’t be expensive, about five thousand per person…”
Marina saw the notification, smirked, and hit the “Leave Group” button. Then she turned to her husband.
“Andrei, Zhanna just started a new chat.”
Without taking his eyes off the TV, Andrei pulled out his phone, opened the messenger, and also pressed “Leave and Block.”
“What chat?” he asked calmly. “I didn’t see anything.”
Marina laughed. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she and her husband were truly a team. No more golden chairs, manipulations, or tantrums would ever break through their defenses.
And by the way, Galina Petrovna absolutely loved the multicooker. Now she sends daily photos of aspic and pilaf—directly to them, in private messages. No group chats needed. Honestly, that turned out to be the best possible outcome to this whole story.