“Mom Just Asked to See Where the Money Was Going, So I Sent Her Your Bank Statements”
— And it’s all disappearing into a black hole!
Polina swept the bread crumbs from the dining table. The damp cloth caught against a thick burgundy planner.
Galina Petrovna had left it there that morning when she had hurried off to the clinic. Polina automatically straightened the cover, and the notebook fell open to a bookmarked page.
At first, she could not understand what she was looking at.
A precise calculation of her—Polina’s—expenses had been carefully arranged into columns in red ink.
“Coffee from the bakery. Face cream. New jacket. Going out with friends.”
There were check marks beside every entry, along with the amounts she had spent.
Considerable amounts, apparently.
Polina leaned against the edge of the table.
She and Vadim paid the mortgage equally. They split the cost of groceries. She spent her personal income however she saw fit.
Her mother-in-law had been staying with them for two weeks, supposedly because she needed medical examinations. But how could she possibly know the exact figures? Polina did not leave receipts lying around in her pockets.
A key turned in the lock.
The front door creaked open, and voices drifted in from the hallway. Vadim and Galina Petrovna had returned from the city.
Polina did not close the planner. She left it open in the center of the kitchen table and placed the red pen beside it.
“Polinochka, we’re home!” Galina Petrovna called sweetly from the hallway.
She entered the kitchen first, dressed to the nines, her lips freshly colored and a gemstone ring sparkling on her finger. Vadim squeezed in behind her, pulling off his jacket.
“Will you put the kettle on?” he asked casually.
Polina nodded toward the table.
“What’s that?” her husband asked, confused.
“That’s exactly what I’d like to know,” Polina replied acidly. “Galina Petrovna, would you care to explain your bookkeeping?”
Her mother-in-law stopped short.
Her gaze landed on the open pages. For a second, the color drained from the older woman’s face, but she immediately straightened with pride.
There was no guilt in her expression. She looked like a true inspector who had merely been caught conducting an audit.
“What is there to explain, dear?” her mother-in-law said pointedly. “I’m worried about my son’s budget.”
“My budget is perfectly fine,” Polina replied dryly.
“He works himself to the bone!” Galina Petrovna’s voice rose sharply. “And you throw money around left and right. I calculated everything. It’s absolutely unbelievable!”
“My money,” Polina corrected her, pronouncing every word distinctly. “I earn it myself, and I spend what belongs to me.”
“Everything in a family should be shared!” her mother-in-law shouted. “But you’re always stuffing yourself with outrageously expensive éclairs or buying new clothes while Vadik is walking around in those old shoes!”
Polina narrowed her eyes.
Éclairs.
She had bought them three days earlier on her way home from work. She had paid by card and eaten the entire box in the car. She had not even brought them into the apartment.
“How do you know about the éclairs?” she demanded.
Her voice betrayed her, coming out much sharper than she had intended.
The atmosphere in the kitchen suddenly became uncomfortable.
Galina Petrovna shot a quick glance at her son. Vadim shifted nervously from one foot to the other and stared at his shoes.
So that was the explanation.
“Vadim?” Polina stepped toward her husband. “Did you show her my banking app?”
“Polina, don’t start,” her husband muttered, backing toward the doorway. “Mom just asked to see where the money was going.”
“Where my money was going?”
“We’re supposed to be saving so we can pay off the mortgage early,” he added quickly. “But you keep wasting money. I sent her screenshots so she could analyze everything.”
Polina’s mouth fell open.
Her own husband had been getting into her phone while she was asleep or in the shower. He had taken screenshots of the statements from her personal bank card and sent them to his mother for “analysis.”
Then his mother had sat in their kitchen, carefully writing down the figures in red ink.
“Wow. You’ve found such a lovely way to twist the whole thing around,” Polina said bitterly.
“What’s the big deal?” her mother-in-law interrupted again, immediately taking control of the conversation. “You’re hiding money from your husband!”
“I’m not hiding anything. I’m living on the money I earn.”
“When you have a mortgage, every last kopeck should go into the family budget!” Galina Petrovna wailed. “You should earn separately for your little whims instead of sitting comfortably on your husband’s neck!”
“Whose neck?” Polina felt a dull rage beginning to boil inside her. “I pay half of the mortgage. Half of the utilities. And I buy half of the groceries. How exactly am I sitting on anyone’s neck?”
“Vadik earns more!” his mother insisted. “Besides, the man is the head of the household. He should control the spending. You’re like that frivolous dragonfly from the fable.”
Polina turned a heavy gaze toward Vadim.
“Do you think that too? That I’m living at your expense?”
Her husband looked away.
“Come on, Polina,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “Mom is partly right. We could be saving more. You spent three thousand rubles on some face cream. I searched online for the product name from the receipt.”
That was too much.
“This conversation is over,” Polina said firmly.
She picked up the red pen from the table and drew a thick cross through the entire page with its carefully arranged columns.
Galina Petrovna gasped indignantly.
“Here’s how it’s going to be, analysts,” Polina said, tossing the pen onto the ruined chart. “Since we’re keeping such strict accounts, from this day forward, my salary belongs exclusively to me.”
“What do you mean?” Vadim asked, bewildered.
“I will transfer exactly half of the mortgage payment into our shared account,” she said distinctly. “We will divide the utility bills equally, down to the last ruble.”
“What about groceries?” her husband asked in shock.
“Everyone will buy their own food. That way, my outrageously expensive éclairs won’t trouble you anymore. Neither will my face creams.”
“You’ve lost your mind in your old age!” her mother-in-law cried, snatching up her planner and pressing it to her chest. “Vadik, just look at her! She’s going to ruin us!”
“Let her try,” Vadim snapped. “We’ll see how long she survives on nothing but éclairs.”
“I told you two women couldn’t live under the same roof!” Galina Petrovna continued lamenting as she disappeared into the guest room.
Vadim tried to add something and stepped toward his wife, but Polina simply walked around him and went into the bedroom.
She needed to get ready for her second shift.
She kept her word.
The following morning, Polina stopped at the supermarket. She bought cheese, farm-fresh cottage cheese, chicken breast, fresh vegetables, and a container of her favorite pastries.
At home, she scrubbed the top shelf of the refrigerator until it shone and carefully arranged her groceries there.
The lower shelves gleamed with pristine emptiness.
Toward evening, the front door slammed.
Vadim returned from work hungry and irritated. Polina was sitting at the dining table, leisurely finishing a tuna salad.
“So, are we having dinner tonight?” her husband asked from the doorway, sniffing the delicious aromas.
“You are,” Polina replied peacefully. “Your pots are empty. You can cook some pasta.”
“What do you mean, empty?” Vadim froze, staring at her yogurts. “Who does all this belong to?”
“To me. I bought it with all that money I supposedly waste.”
Galina Petrovna floated out of the living room.
Her face stretched with indignation. She had clearly been listening to the entire conversation from behind the door.
“So that’s how it is!” her mother-in-law exclaimed angrily. “There’s a wife in the house, but the man is supposed to stand at the stove while he’s hungry? Serfdom was abolished a long time ago!”
“Exactly, Galina Petrovna.” Polina dabbed her lips with a napkin. “I wasn’t hired to work like a servant after coming home from my job. Especially not at my own expense.”
“You are obligated to feed your husband!” her mother-in-law roared.
“Vadim, will you make your own shopping list, or will you ask your mother to do it?” Polina asked her husband, ignoring the attack.
Vadim ground his teeth angrily.
“We’ll manage ourselves,” he hissed.
He slammed the refrigerator door and went into the other room.
Half an hour later, the sounds of cupboard doors slamming and Galina Petrovna muttering unhappily drifted from the kitchen.
They were cooking a bag of dumplings that had been lying forgotten in the freezer since the previous month.
That was how a long week of confrontation began.
Vadim tried to wear Polina down.
He deliberately bought only the cheapest sausage, plain pasta, and loaves of bread. He hoped his wife would eventually give in, take pity on him, and fill the refrigerator with meat and vegetables for both of them again.
He made a point of sighing loudly over his empty plate.
But Polina did not react.
She grilled chicken for herself. She baked fish. Every morning, she drank good coffee with éclairs.
Her appetite remained perfectly healthy.
On the fifth day of this diet, Vadim could no longer stand it.
He sat down beside Polina in the kitchen while his mother was not around.
“Polina, come on, stop sulking,” he began, staring at the pork chop on her plate. “It smells good. Will you share?”
“Five hundred rubles per serving,” she replied without blinking.
“Have you completely lost it?” her husband exclaimed. “You’re charging your own husband for food?”
“But secretly taking screenshots of your wife’s bank statements is perfectly normal?” Polina shot back. “We have a market-based relationship now. You were the one who wanted financial transparency. Here it is. Enjoy.”
Vadim’s face turned crimson, and he slammed his palm against the table.
“You’re driving me insane! Mom was right—you only think about yourself!”
“Go eat some pasta with cheap sausage,” Polina advised him. “It helps with stress.”
Wednesday was the day the mortgage payment was due.
Early that morning, Polina transferred thirty-two thousand rubles into her husband’s account. The payment was automatically withdrawn from his card.
That evening, Vadim came home looking darker than a storm cloud.
He lingered in the hallway for a long time, apparently unable to bring himself to enter the kitchen.
“Polina, there’s a little problem,” he began, looking away and fidgeting with his keys.
Polina put down her phone.
“I don’t have enough money for my part of the payment this month,” her husband finally said.
“How can you not have enough?” She raised an eyebrow. “You were paid three days ago, and you’ve barely spent anything on food.”
“Well, Mom and I went to a private clinic,” Vadim began explaining awkwardly. “She needed a full examination. There were paid tests, ultrasounds, and an appointment with a professor.”
“And?”
“I also bought her some winter boots because her old ones were completely falling apart. So I spent a little more than expected. Could you transfer another fifteen thousand? I’ll pay you back when I get my advance.”
Polina stared at her husband, unable to believe what she was hearing.
“So you spent your share of the mortgage payment on boots and private clinics, even though there’s a public clinic right across the street? And now I’m supposed to cover your debts with my money?”
“She’s my mother!” Vadim protested, raising his voice. “Was I supposed to let her walk around in torn boots? Look at how much you spend on yourself. You could at least show some understanding!”
“I could,” Polina agreed calmly. “Had you and your mother not gone snooping through my accounts and drawing up charts to tell me how I should live.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” he shouted. “The bank won’t wait! We’ll be charged penalties!”
“You have a mother, and your mother has a burgundy planner.” Polina rose from her chair. “Let her draw you a chart explaining where to find fifteen thousand rubles.”
“You’re heartless!” a voice called from the hallway.
Galina Petrovna stood in the doorway, pressing her hands theatrically to her chest.
“Your own husband is asking for help, and you’re counting every last kopeck!” her mother-in-law cried. “I would have given the shirt off my back for my husband!”
“I’m counting my own kopecks,” Polina snapped. “You, Galina Petrovna, are counting someone else’s. You got exactly what you asked for. Find the money yourself, Vadim.”
She walked past them into the hallway.
“Otherwise, the late payment will affect your credit history,” she added over her shoulder. “The mortgage agreement is in your name.”
Polina firmly closed the bedroom door behind her.
For a long time, muffled voices rumbled on the other side of the wall. Her mother-in-law nervously argued about something, and Vadim snapped back at her.
Cupboard doors slammed. Dishes clattered.
Then the front door banged shut. Apparently, Vadim had gone to borrow money from his friends.
A month passed.
Galina Petrovna still had not returned home.
She claimed that the doctors in the capital had prescribed a long course of vitamins and that she needed to remain under observation.
However, she now tried to avoid crossing paths with her daughter-in-law. The burgundy planner disappeared from the kitchen table without a trace.
One evening, Polina came home from work.
The hallway smelled of potatoes fried in lard—her mother-in-law’s favorite meal whenever the budget was stretched to its limit.
Vadim sat at the kitchen table, chewing gloomily. In front of him was a plate of burnt potatoes.
There was no meat and no fresh vegetables.
Polina took off her coat and washed her hands.
From her spotlessly clean upper shelf, she took out a piece of baked pink salmon and several juicy tomatoes. She put the plate in the microwave to warm it.
Vadim watched her food with a miserable expression.
But he said nothing.
He had never learned how to manage his money.
His mother had never stopped draining her son’s finances to pay for her endless needs and whims.
None of their personalities had changed.
But now Vadim knew for certain that his financial problems were his problems alone.
And Polina could peacefully enjoy her outrageously expensive éclairs.
