“Go to Your Mother and Pay Her Loans Yourself,” the Wife Snapped. Her Husband Thought She Was Joking, but Bitterly Regretted It
Larisa sat in the conference room, scrolling through the presentation for tomorrow’s client meeting. Numbers, charts, forecasts—a multimillion-ruble contract required her complete concentration. Her phone vibrated at the worst possible moment.
“Hi, sunshine! Mom needs help again. Call me when you’re free,” Igor had written.
Larisa exhaled and placed the phone face down. The third time this month. Galina Petrovna was in debt again, needed money again, and once again it would be the daughter-in-law—not her son—who would have to solve the problem.
That evening, her husband greeted her with a guilty smile, hugged her, and kissed her on the cheek.
“Larochka, you earn good money,” he began carefully. “Mom needs ten thousand. Her pension is small, and the utility bills have gone up.”
“How many times has your mother already asked for help this month?” Larisa kicked off her shoes and walked into the kitchen.
“Well, twice. But those were small amounts.”
She opened the refrigerator, took out vegetables for dinner, and said nothing about the fact that their entire household budget rested on her ninety-thousand-ruble salary, while Igor’s thirty thousand barely covered gasoline and his personal expenses. She didn’t feel like arguing.
“Fine,” she said, slicing tomatoes. “I’ll transfer it tomorrow.”
Igor hugged her from behind.
“You’re the best.”
Larisa remained silent, thinking about the number she had long since stopped saying out loud: over the past year, she had given her mother-in-law around two hundred thousand rubles. And not once had she heard a simple “thank you.” The requests came one after another, almost on schedule. First it was a loan from an old debt, then dental treatment, then repairs. After that—a new smartphone for thirty thousand because the old one was “too slow.” Then three purchases at once: a premium coffee maker, a multicooker with functions nobody ever used, and a robot vacuum cleaner. The total bill came to thirty-five thousand.
“Mom says all her old appliances completely broke down,” Igor explained, placing the receipts on the table.
“Igor, these aren’t necessities,” Larisa said tiredly. “They’re luxuries. Your mother lives on a pension of twenty-two thousand and buys appliances for thirty-five. Does that seem normal to you?”
“Well, it’s not her fault the appliances broke. She chose better ones. She wanted to treat herself.”
“Treat herself at my expense?”
As usual, the conversation reached a dead end. Larisa reminded him that she had offered to help him improve his résumé and find a better-paying job, but he had refused.
“I’m happy with my job. Not everyone can be a manager.”
She transferred the money. The loan was paid off.
Until next time.
A month later, Larisa was finishing a quarterly report and working overtime. In her mind, she had already put her bonus into the “vacation, sea, finally get some rest” fund.
But Igor came home with new bills.
His mother had taken out a loan for bedroom furniture—a bed, wardrobe, and dresser.
Forty-five thousand.
“Igor, this is too much!” Larisa threw the papers onto the table. “Your mother already has furniture.”
“It’s old. It creaks terribly.”
“For forty-five thousand, you could buy two ordinary beds!”
“You’re cruel,” Igor said, turning away. “She’s my mother. I can’t abandon her.”
“Nobody is asking you to abandon her. I’m asking you to stop financing her whims. Medicine? Fine. Groceries? No problem. But not furniture when we have plans of our own.”
Igor went into another room and slammed the door.
Larisa remained alone in the kitchen. She stared at the bills and wondered how long this would continue.
A year?
Ten years?
She clenched her teeth—but paid off the debt, saying goodbye to her dreams of a seaside vacation. The next day, Larisa went to the pharmacy herself. Her mother-in-law had asked for blood-pressure medication.
Larisa bought everything on the list and delivered it.
Galina Petrovna opened the door without a smile.
“Oh, it’s you. Did you bring the medicine?” She looked inside the bag and nodded approvingly. “Good. Thank Igor for not forgetting.”
Thank Igor.
Not Larisa, who had bought everything with her own money and driven through traffic to deliver it.
Igor, who had merely passed along the request.
“Galina Petrovna, don’t you want to thank me?” Larisa asked quietly.
“What?”
“I asked whether I deserve a thank-you. For the medicine I buy. For the loans I pay off every month. For the furniture, appliances, phones.”
Her mother-in-law straightened, and her voice turned icy.
“Larisa, you’re misunderstanding something. Helping your husband’s parents is your direct responsibility. You’re Igor’s wife, which means you’re supposed to take care of his family. And instead of demanding gratitude, you should be happy that you’re able to serve the family.”
Larisa stood there, unable to believe her ears.
Serve the family.
Responsibility.
She should be happy.
Two hundred thousand rubles in one year, overtime work, giving up her vacation—and all of that was supposedly her duty, something for which she didn’t even deserve thanks.
“I understand,” Larisa said, turning toward the exit.
“Good, I’m glad you understand,” her mother-in-law called after her. “And about the furniture—tell Igor I still need a bedside table. I forgot to include it on the list.”
The door slammed shut.
Larisa stood on the landing.
A bedside table too.
Of course.
After all, it was apparently the daughter-in-law’s responsibility.
That evening, Larisa told her husband about the conversation.
Igor listened with half an ear, never taking his eyes off the television.
“Well, that’s what Mom thinks. She has her own opinion,” he said with a shrug.
“And you agree with her?”
“Larisa, you know Mom. She has conservative views. Just ignore it.”
“Ignore it?” Larisa laughed bitterly. “Igor, I’ve spent two hundred thousand on your mother! And instead of gratitude, I was told that it’s my sacred duty.”
“Well… in a way, she’s right. We’re family.”
Larisa stared at her husband for a long time.
In his understanding, “family” meant a mother who had to be financially supported and a wife who worked as an endlessly reliable source of money.
Without saying another word, Larisa went to the bedroom. A month passed in tense silence.
On Sunday evening, Igor entered the room where Larisa was working on a presentation and placed a new stack of papers in front of her.
“Mom needs help again. Fifty thousand. She bought a new television and a food processor. On credit.”
“A television and a food processor,” Larisa repeated slowly. “For fifty thousand. And who exactly is going to pay for this?”
“Well… we are.”
Larisa leaned back in her chair, studied her husband carefully, and suddenly smirked.
“No more free rides, darling!” She stood and closed her laptop. “Your mother can solve her own problems from now on. If she wants a television, she can save money from her pension. Or you can pay for it out of your thirty thousand.”
“Darling, are you joking? She’s my mother! She needs help!”
“Needs help? A person who keeps buying appliances on credit while living on a twenty-two-thousand-ruble pension? That isn’t need. That’s entitlement.”
“Larisa, you’re greedy!” Igor shouted. “You earn ninety thousand. What does it cost you to help?”
“In one year, I’ve given your mother two hundred thousand. That’s more than you earn in six months! And I’m the greedy one?”
Igor couldn’t think of an answer, so he reached for his final trump card.
“If you don’t help my mother, I’ll divorce you!”
“Please do,” Larisa answered calmly. “Nobody is keeping anybody here. Shall we file through the government services portal right now?”
Igor was genuinely stunned.
He was used to his wife eventually giving in, compromising, and making peace.
But now she was accepting divorce without tears or pleading.
“You can’t just… We’re family.”
“A family where I’m the ATM and you’re your mother’s errand boy. Wonderful family. I just don’t need one like that.” The next few days passed like a cold war.
Igor alternated between begging, threatening, and accusing his wife of being heartless.
Galina Petrovna joined in too. She called and messaged Larisa, accusing her of selfishness and disrespect toward her elders.
Larisa simply blocked her number.
Two weeks later, Igor came home furious.
“Mom is crying! The bank is demanding money and threatening to take her to court. This is all because of you!”
“This is because your mother took out loans,” Larisa corrected him without looking up from her book. “And because you’re incapable of telling her no.”
“If you don’t help, I’ll go live with Mom!”
“Go,” she said simply.
“What?”
“Go to your mother. Live with her. Pay her loans out of your thirty thousand. We’ll see how long you last.”
Igor looked confused and took a step backward.
“You can’t throw me out.”
“I can, and I will if you don’t leave voluntarily. The apartment is mine. I bought it before we got married.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“You’re the one threatening me. You blackmail me with divorce and pressure me through guilt. That, by the way, is also a form of emotional abuse.”
Igor stood in the middle of the living room, pale.
All his life, his mother had made decisions for him. Later, his wife had taken over that role.
He himself had simply gone with the flow.
And now, for the first time, he found himself face-to-face with reality.
“I’m giving you one week to think,” Larisa said. “Either you stop funneling money to your mother, or you leave. There is no third option.” The week passed in silence.
On the eighth day, Igor returned looking disheveled and exhausted.
“Let’s try again. I’ll talk to Mom. I’ll tell her not to take out any more loans.”
“And a month from now, you’ll come back with another stack of bills.” Larisa shook her head. “I don’t believe your promises anymore. Her opinion will always matter more to you than mine.”
“That isn’t true.”
“It is. And we both know it.”
The divorce was finalized quickly.
Galina Petrovna blamed her former daughter-in-law for every imaginable sin when talking to friends and acquaintances, but Larisa no longer cared.
A year later, Larisa received a promotion.
She was now earning one hundred and twenty thousand rubles.
She bought a new car, traveled to Italy, and began building up her savings.
One day, she ran into Igor at a supermarket.
He was choosing discounted pasta.
He looked older, thinner, and drained, with a dull expression in his eyes.
“How are things?” Larisa asked.
“Fine. I live with Mom.” He hesitated. “You know… you were right. About Mom. About everything.”
“And what changed?”
“Nothing. She keeps taking out loans, and I pay them from my salary. I don’t even have enough money for decent food.”
“Maybe you should tell her no?”
“I can’t.” Igor shook his head helplessly. “She’s my mother.”
Larisa looked at him and understood that he would never change.
Galina Petrovna would squeeze everything she could out of her son, and he would tolerate it because that was how he had been raised.
“Larisa, wait,” Igor called when she was already walking toward the checkout. “Maybe we could start over? I’ll change. I’ll find a better-paying job. I’ll stop helping Mom…”
“You just said you can’t refuse her.”
“Well, I’ll try! I just need a strong person beside me.”
“No, Igor.” She smiled gently. “I have a different life now. No loans from your mother and no constant stress. I’m happy. And I’m not going back.”
He lowered his head.
Larisa paid for her groceries and walked outside.
The sun was shining, and people hurried about their business.
She got into her car and turned on her favorite music.
She had an entire free evening ahead of her.
She could go to a new restaurant.
She could go to the movies.
Or she could simply go home with an interesting book.
The choice belonged only to her.
And that turned out to be the best feeling in the world.
