“I said I’m not giving it!” Marina slammed her spoon on the table so hard the porridge splattered onto the tablecloth. “Cut me into pieces if you want, but I’m not transferring four million to your mother!”
Alexey jerked as if someone had hit him with an electric shock.
“Marin, are we doing this again? She’s not some stranger—she’s my mom,” he said, like he was explaining himself to someone no one else could see.
“Your mom?” Marina scoffed, lifting an eyebrow. “A mom is pies, care, and her grandson on her lap—not a phone call that always goes, ‘Give me, send it, help me.’ We saved for seven years, Lyosh. Out of salaries, bonuses—I took side gigs at night. And you want to just hand it over?”
“You’re blowing it out of proportion,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “It’s not ‘handing it over.’ It’s a loan.”
“Then where’s the receipt?” she snapped immediately. “Where’s the paper?” She pressed her palm to her chest. “I don’t believe in miracles anymore, Lyosh. Everything is ‘a loan.’ And later no one remembers anything.”
He fell silent. The kettle began to boil, but neither of them moved. Outside, October drizzle drummed on the window. On the sill, a cigarette smoldered in an ashtray—forgotten, like their conversations had been the last few days.
Marina sat down, staring straight at her husband.
“Tell me honestly,” she said quietly, almost calm. “Did she make you do this?”
Alexey shrugged.
“No… it’s just… she found a good deal. An apartment in a new building. She says it’ll be ours someday.”
Marina closed her eyes, weary.
“Oh God, I’ve heard that already. A year ago. Three years ago. Everything is always ‘going to be ours.’ And somehow we end up with zero.”
She got up, took two mugs from the cupboard, poured boiling water.
“Drink,” she said shortly, setting tea in front of him. “Cool off a little. Then we’ll talk.”
He took the mug without a word and blew on the steam.
“Marin,” he began in a soothing tone, “you know Mom really has it hard. She’s alone. Her pension is tiny.”
“Tiny pension, but perfume for five thousand,” Marina cut in. “I understand everything, but I’m done with us being treated like an ATM.”
He frowned.
“Could you be a little gentler? She’s my mother.”
“And who am I to you?” she shot back. “Are we a family, or am I just… background noise?”
A pause hung in the air. For a second, even the refrigerator seemed to stop humming.
“You know,” Marina said more softly, “I do understand: you feel sorry for her, your conscience gnaws at you. But she uses it. She always has.”
Alexey gave a crooked smirk.
“Oh, come on. Don’t make a drama out of this.”
“This isn’t drama,” Marina stood, stepped closer, and looked him straight in the eyes. “This is life. And if we don’t stop now, later will be too late.”
He turned to the window.
“Maybe you’re right… but I can’t refuse her, you get it? She’s my mom.”
“And I can’t allow our son to end up with nothing later,” Marina answered firmly. “We saved for him.”
A sleepy boy in pajamas peered into the kitchen.
“Mom… why are you arguing?”
“We’re not arguing,” Marina said quickly, forcing a smile. “We’re just talking loudly about grown-up things. Go finish eating, sweetheart.”
The child left. The door clicked shut. Silence returned.
Marina looked at her husband.
“Lyosh, if she wants money, she can show documents. A contract. The calculations—everything properly.”
“You don’t trust me?” he asked, hurt.
“I trust you,” she said. “I don’t trust her.”
He set the mug down, stood up, paced the kitchen.
“You just don’t like her,” he finally blurted. “That’s it.”
“Liking someone and being stupid are two different things,” Marina replied calmly. “If you want me to give away everything we saved—show me at least one paper. One proof the apartment even exists.”
Alexey hesitated.
“Well… she said it’s all honest. There’s just no time…”
Marina snorted.
“Exactly—‘no time.’ Whenever someone needs something pushed through fast, there’s always ‘no time.’ And then you’re running around later trying to find where it all went.”
He sank back into his chair.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you could add a bit of softness. Not everything is measured in money.”
“I’d be happy to,” Marina said, “if we weren’t talking about four million. This isn’t a candy bar, Lyosh. This is our future home—our dream we worked ourselves to the bone for.”
He didn’t answer. Marina understood: this fight wouldn’t end today. Probably not tomorrow either. But she couldn’t give in—because giving in would end everything.
That evening she sat on the couch staring into the emptiness. Alexey walked around the apartment, calling someone, speaking in a low voice. Then he tucked his phone into his pocket and sat down across from her.
“She wants you to come over,” he said.
Marina wasn’t surprised.
“Of course she does. She thinks if I look her in the eyes, I’ll cave.”
He shrugged.
“Well… maybe you can talk calmly? Without nerves.”
Marina smiled without warmth.
“With her, ‘calmly’ doesn’t happen. But fine. I’ll go. I want to put things in their place for once.”
She stood and stretched as if shaking off exhaustion.
“Just so you know,” she said, “if she starts manipulating again, I won’t stay quiet.”
Alexey nodded.
“I get it. Just… Marin, don’t go in attacking, okay?”
“I won’t start,” she said. “But if she starts—I’ll finish.”
And she went to the bedroom.
Alexey stayed sitting alone. The clock ticked softly. Rain pattered outside. For the first time he thought: maybe Marina is right. But the thought of his mother throwing a tantrum erased that doubt almost instantly.
The next morning Marina woke early. Gray sky, wet sidewalks, a few scattered passersby—an ordinary October in the suburbs. She looked at her son asleep in his bed and whispered:
“For you, my sweet boy, I’ll hold my ground.”
She pulled her hair back, threw on her coat, and left.
The road to her mother-in-law’s place was familiar to the point of nausea: the same broken courtyards, the same flower kiosk with the same perpetually sour-faced women.
The door opened almost immediately, as if she’d been expected.
“Well, hello,” her mother-in-law said, smiling in a way that made it clear there was nothing kind behind it. “Come in. Let’s talk.”
Marina stepped inside. The apartment smelled of perfume and fried potatoes. A stack of papers sat on the table, but every page had been turned face down.
“Sit,” her mother-in-law waved a hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to eat you.”
Marina perched on the edge of the chair.
“I came to talk,” she said. “I want to understand why you need four million.”
Her mother-in-law gave a crooked smile.
“Why? For an apartment, of course! I found a good option. If I don’t put down the deposit now, we’ll lose it.”
“Whose name will the apartment be in?” Marina asked evenly.
“Mine, of course. Who else would it be?”
Marina nodded.
“So the money is ours and the apartment is yours. Sounds fair.”
“Oh, don’t start!” her mother-in-law flung up her hands. “I’m not doing it for myself—I’m doing it for the family. Later it’ll all be yours.”
Marina leaned forward.
“Are you willing to write a receipt?”
“What?” Her mother-in-law straightened, eyes narrowing. “I’m your mother-in-law, not some stranger from a market!”
“Exactly,” Marina said quietly. “That’s why I want everything to be honest.”
Her mother-in-law rose slowly.
“So you don’t trust me?”
“I do,” Marina answered. “I just trust paper.”
A heavy pause settled. The air turned thick, like jelly.
“You know, Marina,” her mother-in-law said at last, “I never liked you. Too smart. First you bewitched my son, now you’re teaching me how to live.”
Marina smiled at one corner of her mouth.
“If I’d bewitched him, he wouldn’t still be obeying you,” she said calmly. “Enough. Either a receipt—or there’s nothing to discuss.”
Her mother-in-law froze, then dropped back into her chair hard.
“As if I’d ever ask you for a single kopeck again!” she hissed. “Get out.”
Marina stood.
“Fine. Just don’t say later that I didn’t offer an honest option.”
She turned toward the door, and at the threshold she heard:
“Because of you, my son will turn his back on me—remember that!”
Marina stopped without turning around.
“If he turns his back because of the truth,” she said softly, “then you decided everything without me a long time ago.”
“Goodbye.”
A week passed.
Marina tried to live as if nothing had happened. In the mornings she got her son ready for school, ironed shirts, cooked porridge—by habit. But inside, everything boiled like a kettle left on the flame.
Alexey walked around gloomy, glued to his phone as if an answer might fall out of it.
“Talked to her again?” Marina asked one evening without looking up from the laundry she was hanging.
“Well…” he replied reluctantly. “Mom called. Asked if I’d decided.”
“And what did you say?”
“Told her I’m thinking.”
“You’ve been ‘thinking’ for a week,” Marina cut in. “And she’s probably already packing her boxes for that new apartment.”
He exhaled sharply.
“Marin, you can’t talk like that. She’s an old person.”
“Old age isn’t a free pass for manipulation,” Marina snapped. “She isn’t begging for a nursing home bed—she wants to buy an apartment downtown.”
Alexey went still.
“You’re too cruel.”
“And you’re too soft,” Marina shot back. “That’s our whole family balance right there.”
He didn’t answer. He grabbed his jacket and went out “for a walk.” His new way of refusing to talk.
Marina stood at the window, watching the wet courtyard lights. Two neighbors sat on a bench, chatting animatedly. One wore an old headscarf; the other always had a cigarette in her hand.
“Funny,” Marina thought. “Everyone has problems, but they live. And nobody owes anyone four million.”
The next day she made a decision.
She sat at the computer and typed: “family lawyer. loans between relatives.”
She found a consultation office downtown and booked an appointment.
The small office smelled of coffee and paper. A woman in her mid-forties sat behind the desk—glasses, confident face.
“Tell me what happened,” she said.
Marina talked for a long time without stopping herself: the call, the demand, the arguments, the mother-in-law who believed she was the center of the universe.
The lawyer listened closely, nodding now and then, writing in a notebook.
“So,” she summarized, “four million is on a shared account. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“And your husband insists you transfer it to his mother with no contract, no receipt?”
“Exactly.”
“Well,” the woman adjusted her glasses, “then it’s simple. If you transfer without documents, you won’t get it back. It will be treated as a gift.”
Marina frowned.
“Even if she promised it was a loan?”
“A verbal promise in court is nothing,” the lawyer said calmly. “Only a written loan agreement or a signed receipt. Ideally with witnesses.”
“And if she refuses?”
“Then don’t give a single ruble,” the woman said firmly. “And don’t be afraid of offending anyone. Financial boundaries aren’t rudeness—they’re self-defense.”
For the first time in days Marina felt like she could breathe again.
“And if she starts pressuring us through relatives?” Marina asked.
“Let them pressure,” the lawyer shrugged. “Just don’t answer with emotions. Everything should be documented. If they want honesty, let them sign papers. If they want it ‘because we’re family’—then they can walk away.”
Marina wrote down one line in her notebook:
“If it’s ‘family-style’—it’s a no.”
A slogan for life.
When she got home, Alexey was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a half-finished cup of coffee.
“Where were you?” he asked without looking up.
“At a lawyer’s,” Marina replied.
He lifted his eyes.
“Oh…”
“Yes. And now I know for sure: if I give that money without documents, we’ll never see it again.”
His lips tightened.
“Marin, you’re starting again…”
“I’m not starting—I’m finishing,” she cut him off. “Either we do everything officially, or we do nothing.”
He exhaled heavily and leaned back.
“Mom won’t agree to paperwork.”
“That’s her choice,” Marina said evenly. “And it’s our choice not to lose everything we earned.”
Alexey went quiet, then said softly:
“She says you’re turning me against her.”
Marina let out a short, nervous laugh.
“Of course she does. Convenient, isn’t it? When I use my brain, I’m ‘against’ her. When I stay quiet, I’m ‘easy.’ Pick one.”
He stood and came closer.
“I just don’t want a war, Marin.”
“And I don’t want bankruptcy. So decide what matters more,” she said, meeting his eyes.
He turned away like he couldn’t hold her gaze.
“You don’t understand… she’s alone.”
“Oh, stop hiding behind that!” Marina flared. “Did you forget when she came for ‘two weeks’ and stayed three months, then got offended that I wouldn’t iron her sweaters? Or when you secretly gave her a hundred thousand for ‘utilities’ that she didn’t even owe?”
He didn’t answer.
“There,” Marina added quietly. “You can’t say ‘no,’ so I’m forced to say it for both of us.”
On the third day after that talk, her mother-in-law called herself.
Her voice was stretched tight like a wire.
“Marina, good evening,” she purred. “I hear you’re consulting lawyers now.”
“Yes,” Marina replied calmly. “So there won’t be misunderstandings later.”
“Misunderstandings?” The voice turned icy. “So you don’t trust family?”
“I trust family. Just not enough to gift four million on someone’s word.”
“Well you…” the woman choked, then snapped, “Ungrateful! I raised your husband and you greet me with paperwork!”
“I respect your son,” Marina answered firmly. “That’s exactly why I want him not to be left drowning in debts.”
“You’ll ruin everything,” the mother-in-law almost yelled. “Because of you, he’ll turn his back on me!”
“If he turns away, it means he chooses his family,” Marina said. “I’m not your enemy. I’m for order.”
A heavy breath, then the line went dead.
Marina lowered the phone and sat down. Her heart pounded, her palms were damp, but inside—strangely—she felt calm.
She knew: there was no road back now.
At dinner Alexey barely spoke.
Their son chatted about school, about the gym teacher who “always yells,” but his parents listened as if through a wall of cotton.
When the child went to bed, Marina placed a sheet of paper in front of Alexey.
“This is a draft agreement,” she said. “If your mother agrees, we sign and transfer the money. If not, the conversation is over.”
He took the page, read a few lines, frowned.
“You really decided to formalize it like this?”
“Yes,” Marina nodded. “I’m done living on promises.”
He set the paper down and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Mom will be furious.”
“Let her,” Marina said. “I’m not thrilled that we’re treated like a bank either.”
Alexey sat for a long time, then said tiredly:
“Alright. Tomorrow we’ll go together.”
In the car the next day, it was silent. Only the wipers scraped rhythmically over the wet windshield.
Marina stared out the window. Alexey gripped the wheel, brow furrowed.
“Listen,” he finally said, “maybe you could still be… softer?”
“I’m not going to be rude,” Marina replied. “I’m going to protect us.”
At the entrance of his mother’s building it smelled of wet sand and cats. The door opened immediately.
“Well, look who’s here,” his mother said. “Decided what you’re going to do?”
Marina pulled out the papers.
“Yes. Here’s the agreement, here are the terms. Everything is clear: the amount, the repayment date, signatures.”
Her mother-in-law glanced at the pages, then at her son.
“You’re serious? You don’t trust your own mother?”
Alexey was silent.
“I do trust you, Mom,” he said at last. “I just want it to be legal.”
She froze, then smirked.
“Ah, so that’s how it is. ‘Legal.’ And I’m what—nobody?”
Marina said quietly:
“You’re family. That’s why we’re doing it honestly.”
Marina sat calmly, even though everything inside her trembled. Alexey’s aunt appeared from the other room and smirked:
“Well, look at that—now we’ve got a lawyer in the family.”
“Better a lawyer than a fool,” Marina replied evenly. “I’m not against helping. I’m for honesty.”
For a long moment her mother-in-law said nothing. Then, without looking at them, she muttered:
“Fine. Have it your way.”
Marina felt as if a stone slid off her chest.
When they walked out, Alexey said:
“You won.”
“We did,” Marina corrected. “And we didn’t win—we protected ourselves.”
He nodded, staring ahead.
“You know,” he said, “this all feels… disgusting inside.”
“Because you’re used to your mother always being right,” Marina answered. “But it’s time to grow up. We’re not eighteen anymore.”
Two weeks passed.
It seemed like things had quieted down. Marina worked. Alexey started coming home on time more often. Their son brought home fours and fives. Even dinners felt normal again: soup, cutlets—no war.
But Marina knew: this was the calm before something.
And that “something” didn’t make her wait.
On a Friday evening her mother-in-law called.
Her voice was dry, cold, with that theatrical edge Marina recognized instantly.
“Well, Marina—congratulate us. I bought the apartment. Without your money.”
Marina went still.
“Really?” she asked calmly, though something inside her dipped.
“Yep,” the older woman said with faint mockery. “Turns out there are people who understand family isn’t about contracts.”
“Congratulations,” Marina replied flatly. “So it worked out.”
“Oh, it did,” her mother-in-law paused. “And I think you’ll have problems now. Your husband offended his mother. That doesn’t get forgotten.”
And she hung up.
Marina stared at the phone and smirked.
“Well,” she thought, “the second act of the family theater has begun: ‘How to turn everyone against each other and exit gracefully.’”
Alexey came home late.
Marina was already in bed, but she wasn’t asleep.
“She called, didn’t she?” he asked from the doorway.
“She did. Said she bought an apartment. Without us.”
He nodded.
“I know. She messaged me too.”
“And what did you reply?”
“Told her I was happy for her.”
Marina looked at him.
“And that’s it?”
“What else was I supposed to say?” he snapped irritably. “I’m not her enemy!”
“No one said you were,” Marina sighed. “It’s just… you don’t see how much she enjoys this.”
Alexey rubbed his face, exhausted.
“I do see it! But Marin, I’m caught between two fires. She pushes, you stand your ground—and I’m the idiot in the middle.”
“Then stop being in the middle,” Marina said quietly. “Decide where you stand.”
He went silent. Then he said softly:
“I’m with you. It just… hurts. You understand?”
Marina nodded.
“I do. But sometimes you have to cut something off so it doesn’t rot.”
A couple days later they went to visit friends. A normal evening: wine, laughter, talk about vacations, renovations.
But the moment someone mentioned parents, Alexey’s eye twitched.
“Oh, come on,” Marina’s friend Dasha said. “Everyone has a ‘mother with demands.’ My mother-in-law announced the grandson would be named after her late husband.”
“So what did you do?” Marina asked with a grin.
“I said, ‘Over my dead body,’” Dasha shrugged. “And somehow we live just fine.”
Marina laughed, but Alexey sat stone-faced.
On the way home he said:
“Did you notice how you talk about my mom now? Like she’s a stranger to you.”
“She is a stranger to me, Lyosh,” Marina answered calmly. “We have nothing in common except your last name.”
He didn’t respond—just walked faster, like he wanted to outrun the conversation.
On the weekend Marina found an envelope in the kitchen.
On it, in handwriting: “For Alexey. From Mom.”
She didn’t touch it—just left it by the fridge.
That evening Alexey opened it. Inside was an old photo of him as a boy standing beside his mother by a river. And a note:
“Remember who raised you. Money isn’t everything. Mom.”
He stood there in silence, then crumpled the paper into his fist.
“See?” Marina said. “Even now she’s trying to pull guilt.”
“She’s just reminding me,” he murmured.
“She’s reminding you that you owe her everything. Forever. No end.” Marina stepped closer and took his hand. “But you’re an adult. And you have your own family now.”
He looked at her—tired eyes, as if he’d aged ten years in those weeks.
“What if I can’t choose?” he whispered.
“Then life will choose for you,” Marina said. “And it usually doesn’t choose in favor of the one who stays silent.”
A month passed.
His mother stopped calling. Total silence.
Alexey tried to call a couple times—no answer.
Marina didn’t interfere. She just watched as he slowly let go.
One evening he said:
“You know… it’s strange. For the first time, I feel like I’m living my own life.”
“Scary?” Marina asked.
“Terrifying.”
“Get used to it,” she smiled. “That’s what adulthood is.”
He gave a small laugh.
“You’re made of iron.”
“No,” Marina shook her head. “I’m just tired of being soft when everyone around me is hard.”
In spring, his mother finally reappeared.
She called out of nowhere, as if nothing had happened.
“Hi, Alexey,” she said. “Just wanted to invite you to a housewarming.”
He looked at Marina. She only nodded.
“Go,” she said. “She’s your mother.”
He went. He came back late—tired, with a faint smile.
“Well?” Marina asked.
“It was quiet. The place is nice, but… cold somehow,” he shrugged. “She seems happy, but… she feels like a stranger now.”
Marina walked up and hugged him.
“Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be,” she said softly. “Sometimes, to build something of your own, you have to let the old go.”
He nodded and hugged her back.
“The main thing is that we’re together,” he said. “We’ll get through the rest.”
Marina smiled.
“Just don’t you dare tell me later that I was wrong.”
“Even if I do—you wouldn’t believe me anyway,” he laughed.
Spring smelled of fresh asphalt and the beginning of something new.
Marina walked down the street holding her son’s hand.
The sun was bright, people hurried past on their errands.
She thought about how strange it all was: once, four million seemed like the price of their happiness, but it turned out the real price was learning to say “no,” even when it hurt.
And for the first time in a long while, she felt like she wasn’t living by someone else’s script.
The End.