“Family ties, Lena, are a profound spiritual bond—not an invitation for mercenary blackmail,” Inna declared with heartfelt conviction as she carefully zipped up little seven-year-old Kirill’s jacket.
She adjusted her new silk scarf patterned with peacocks around her neck and gave me the wise, pinning look of a seasoned preacher.
“Of course, I’d pay a stranger for babysitting—it’s a wild market out there, survival of the fittest. But you’re his aunt. Aunts love their nephews for free. It’s in our very nature, encoded in our genes.”
There I stood in the middle of the hallway, clutching my work notebook filled with hours logged. Behind me were three long days—seventy-two hours of a non-stop childcare marathon. In that time, I whipped up four batches of perfectly shaped cottage cheese pancakes, scrubbed life-sized gouache bear paintings off vinyl wallpaper, answered two hundred and eighty questions about how the city sewer system works, and drilled the seven times table with my nephew.
Inna, who works as an administrator at a major hotel, had spent those three days hosting a critical international conference for dental equipment suppliers. She earned double pay, bonuses, and heartfelt gratitude from her bosses during that time.
“Inna, we agreed on three thousand per day,” I reminded her calmly, looking straight into her confident eyes.
“Nine thousand for the whole weekend. You named that price yourself on Thursday evening—when you were begging me to cancel my other clients at the last minute to save your career.”
“On Thursday, I was in a state of total shock!” my sister-in-law protested indignantly.
She waved her arms so wide she nearly knocked over the coat rack.
“My delegation’s check-in deadlines were on fire! But now my mind is clear and rational. You stayed home—in comfort and warmth. Kirill didn’t eat you out of house and home, that boy eats like a little bird. In fact, I think this arrangement worked out extremely well for both of us.”
With those words, she unfastened her hefty designer handbag—clearly a recent splurge from her fresh bonuses—took out a folded A4 sheet, and placed it ceremonially on the console beneath the mirror.
“What kind of document is this?” I asked.
I made a point not to touch the paper.
“My approved work schedule for October and November,” Inna announced proudly, snapping her bag shut.
She smoothed her hair and added in a commanding tone:
“I’ll be working every Friday through Sunday, like clockwork. I’ll drop Kirill off every Friday exactly at seven p.m. and pick him up after nine on Sundays. And Lena, next weekend, please buy some good lactose-free milk. Cheap cow’s milk gives the boy an upset stomach and gloomy thoughts.”
She grabbed her son by the hand and confidently strode toward the door.
“Inna, take your schedule back,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
My voice got a little quieter, but much firmer.
“The only place I work for free is at my own dacha, when I plant dill—and even then I complain to my husband about my bad back for days afterward. Nine thousand rubles. Right now.”
“Lena, stop this haggling at once!” my sister-in-law exclaimed indignantly.
She rolled her eyes so dramatically, it looked for a moment like she was studying the inside of her own brain.
“I already talked this over with Andrey. My own brother knows perfectly well that a strong family is all about helping each other. He told me straight up, ‘Of course, sis, bring the little one, no problem.’ So your lawfully wedded husband already gave his blessing ages ago. But you’re just trying to shamelessly profit off your own flesh and blood!”
At that exact moment, the door lock gave a loud click. In walked Andrey himself. My husband works as a senior elevator repair technician—a solid man who always smells of machine oil, metal, and the harsh truth of life.
He gently set his heavy toolbox down on the floor and looked at his sister, who was still frozen in the hallway in full battle mode, with real surprise.
“Who did I give my blessing to?” Andrey asked in his deep, booming voice.
He started slowly taking off his work boots.
“Andryusha!” Inna instantly dropped her prosecutor’s tone and chirped in a sweet, pleading voice.
She stepped toward her brother, her hands clasped on her chest as if in prayer.
“I’m just trying to make your Lena understand that family is sacred and unbreakable. That you can’t possibly take dirty money for helping out with your own beloved nephew. You told me yourself on the phone Thursday: bring him over.”
Andrey took off his jacket, hung it on the hook, and walked over to the cabinet. He grabbed a sheet of paper with Inna’s schedule, studied her shifts carefully, flipped the paper over to look at the empty back, and then fixed his heavy gaze on his sister.
“Inna, when I said ‘bring him over,’ I meant nothing more than physically moving the child from point A to point B,” my husband said slowly.
He spoke as if explaining how a winch works to a trainee on their first day.
“Lena works as a professional nanny. That’s her main bread and her job. When the passenger elevator at your hotel suddenly breaks, you frantically call me. I come over and fix everything. After that, I send you an official invoice from my company. You don’t say to me, ‘Andryusha, this is your beloved sister’s lift—fix it for the sake of our spiritual heritage and memories of our ancestors,’ do you?”
“That’s completely different!” Inna shouted loudly.
Her breathing grew rapid, her eyes narrowed.
“An elevator is dangerous machinery! But here, it’s a real child! Our own family! Have you two gone completely cold-hearted with all your capitalist rates?”
“Rates, Innachka, are exactly what separates modern civilization from slavery,” Andrey sighed heavily.
He set her schedule back on the cabinet.
“Nine thousand rubles. Otherwise, this wonderful elevator isn’t going anywhere.”
“You’re a bunch of uncultured tightwads!” the sister-in-law spat out.
She gripped her son’s shoulder tightly.
“You traded your own nephew for pitiful scraps of paper! I’ll never set foot in this apartment again! I can handle everything myself, without your commercial educational services!”
She yanked the door handle toward herself. The heavy door slammed into the frame with an incredible crash, sounding like a cannon shot. Fine white dust rained down from above.
I calmly walked over to the nightstand, took the sheet with Inna’s detailed schedule, carefully tore it in half, then in half again, and tossed the scraps into the trash bin under the sink.
Next, I grabbed my phone, opened my banking app, and set up a transfer request for nine thousand rubles. In the payment description, I typed: “Payment for nanny services for 3 full days.” I hit the send button.
“She’s not going to pay willingly,” Andrey declared.
He picked up a clean, folded T-shirt and headed to the bathroom.
“I completely understand that,” I replied.
I felt an absolute sense of calm.
“But now, I’ve got my weekends totally free for the next two months, all completely aboveboard.”
On Monday morning, I sat at the kitchen table sipping freshly brewed coffee. Life was going on as usual. My big work planner was packed with appointments, every slot filled straight through to mid-November.
My regular clients valued my ironclad punctuality, my ability to peacefully negotiate with even the most stubborn three-year-olds, and my complete transparency in all financial matters.
There was a short ring at the door. It was Valera—the plumber from our building management company. He was a character: incredibly huge, in a blue jumpsuit worn right on his bare skin. He always reminded me of a slightly battered ancient god of pipes, valves, and wrenches. We’d agreed on Saturday that he’d come check the leaking siphon under the sink.
“Lady of the house, your certified specialist has arrived!” Valera rumbled in his booming voice.
He walked into the kitchen, set down his little case, and dove straight under the sink.
“Oh, this rubber gasket has totally had it with this hard life. Just like my first wife. Let’s get her replaced right now.”
Just then, my phone lit up on the table. Across the bright screen it read: “Inna Sister-in-law.” I hit speakerphone as I kept reaching for some cookies from the cupboard for the plumber.
“Elena!” Inna’s voice rang out, so outraged it sounded like she was giving a speech at a rally.
“Your audacious bill is showing up in my online account and ruining my perfect credit history! Cancel that request, now!”
“Good morning, Inna,” I answered peacefully.
I poured hot water into a mug.
“The bill doesn’t affect your credit history as long as it’s just an informational request. Transfer the money I earned, and the notification will disappear from your screen forever.”
“I absolutely refuse to pay for something that’s my right as a close family member!” my sister-in-law enunciated each word with incredible force.
Her tone did not allow for any argument.
“I’m calling only to inform you: this Friday, I’ll be bringing Kirill an hour earlier than usual. I have an unscheduled meeting with the network director. Make sure to cook him a proper hearty soup with meat, not that green sludge made of broccoli you’ve been feeding him.”
Valera grunted loudly from under the sink. He stuck his curly head out.
“Sorry to be so rude and butt into your complicated family transactions,” the plumber rumbled in his deep voice.
He looked closely at the glowing phone screen.
“Madam on the other end of the line, are you even aware that the free meat soup vouchers are only handed out at the city charity cafeteria behind the train station? And even then, only on Tuesdays and with the proper paperwork.”
“And just who is that cheeky person over there?!” Inna gasped.
From the speaker came a loud crash as a hole punch fell.
“Elena, do you have some random men hanging out in your apartment early in the morning?!”
“This is Valera,” I politely introduced the handyman.
“He’s fixing my plumbing right now. And he’s doing it for real money, Inna. Can you imagine the scale of this tragedy? Not for some lofty spiritual ideals. Inna, listen to me very carefully: I’ve canceled your reservation for all upcoming weekends. Your requests are no longer accepted or considered. For this specific Friday, I already have the child of my long-time regular clients booked. I simply have nowhere to put your son, I won’t have time to entertain him, and I don’t intend to feed him. You still owe me nine thousand rubles.”
“You’re bluffing—that’s a blatant lie!” my sister-in-law screeched.
Her shrill voice made the glasses in the drying rack tremble.
“You would never dare to leave your own little nephew out on the cold street! I’ll come over myself and just leave him sitting at your door!”
“Go ahead, that’s up to you,” I replied completely calmly.
“Valera will finish with the pipes in about an hour, and then I’ll call child services and the police right away. I’ll file a report that some unknown hysterical woman abandoned a child on the stairwell and disappeared.”
“I’ll find myself another qualified nanny!” Inna blurted out.
Her breathing turned shallow and ragged.
“A real one! With a university degree and glowing recommendations! Someone who will genuinely appreciate the opportunity to work with a smart boy, not just blatantly demand money! And you’ll come crawling back to beg me to give you a chance to earn at least a little!”
She hung up. The kitchen grew very quiet. Valera slowly crawled out from under the sink, dusted his knees, and thoughtfully remarked:
“Some strange people, Lena, truly believe that if they yell loud and threatening enough at an ATM, the machine will get scared and spit out a million without a card. That’ll be one thousand two hundred rubles for the new siphon and the work.”
I paid the plumber, poured him the strong tea with cookies I’d promised, and opened my professional work chat on my phone. Our group was called “Mary Poppins On a Budget” and was made up of thirty of our neighborhood’s most experienced and trusted nannies.
Things were already buzzing with activity in there.
Nanny Galina (age 60, a former strict school administrator):
“Girls, did any of you just get a call from a strange woman named Inna? She’s urgently looking for a nanny for every weekend for two months ahead. Requirements: pick up the child Friday evening, drop off late Sunday, feed choice beef.”
Nanny Oksanochka (a young student at the pedagogical institute):
“Yes! She just called me. She asked about my base rate. I told her clearly: two and a half thousand rubles per day plus separate meals. Then she claimed I was completely outrageous, that her child is absolute gold, reads poetry himself, and she’s willing to pay a generous total of five hundred rubles for all three days. Because apparently, it’s not even hard work, but pure pleasure and relaxation!”
Nanny Zilya (a calm mother of five who welcomes kids into her home):
“Yeah, she called me too, just five minutes ago. In a heartfelt voice, she said I should be overjoyed just to have a hand in raising the next great genius. I politely offered her a chance to bond with my dirty mop in my long hallway for two hundred rubles an hour. For some reason, she got terribly offended and hung up.”
I felt a deep sense of satisfaction and quickly typed out a message:
“Dear colleagues, this lady is actually my sister-in-law. She still owes me exactly nine thousand rubles for last weekend’s work. Now she’s panicking, trying to find a naive, free replacement for me.”
The chat instantly exploded with dozens of laughing emojis.
Nanny Galina wrapped it up:
“Lenochka, next time you see your sister-in-law, tell her that for five hundred rubles over the weekend, the only one who’ll babysit her ‘genius’ is the local stray cat Vasily. And even then, only if she buys him Krakow sausage in advance. We’re officially adding her number to our neighborhood’s blacklist.”
On Wednesday afternoon, I needed to stop by a big shopping mall next to the very hotel where Inna worked. I had to urgently buy new developmental wooden blocks for an upcoming order.
As I passed the tall glass doors of the luxurious hotel, I spotted a familiar figure. Inna was standing behind the massive oak reception desk, sternly lecturing a young porter. She was truly in her element—perfectly tailored dark suit, shiny name badge on her lapel, and that commanding, owner’s glance.
I realized this was the perfect chance to test out a certain life theory. I pushed open the heavy revolving door and confidently entered the spacious, marble-sparkling lobby, which smelled of expensive perfume.
“Good afternoon, dear administration,” I said loudly and cheerfully.
Inna instantly froze mid-sentence. She stumbled over her words. The porter, Denis, let out a sigh of obvious relief and straightened his tie.
“What are you doing here?” my sister-in-law hissed angrily.
She glanced around nervously, making sure the manager wasn’t nearby.
“Just dropping by to see my favorite and most generous relative,” I replied, giving her an innocent, clear-eyed look.
“Listen, Inna, I actually have a great business proposal for you. Andrei and I have our next wedding anniversary coming up very soon. I checked out your website carefully. You have an absolutely amazing top-tier suite on the highest floor. Huge jacuzzi, panoramic windows, breakfast included.”
“And what exactly does that mean?” Inna asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.
“Are you planning to make a reservation? Okay, I can help you out and offer you the employee discount. Exactly ten percent off, that’s the maximum the system will allow.”
“Why would we need to make any reservations or pay for anything?” I widened my eyes in genuine surprise, putting on my best ‘utterly shocked’ face.
“I want you to let us stay there all weekend—absolutely free of charge.”
Inna gulped anxiously, frozen in place. The receptionist Denis, standing just a meter away from us, coughed discreetly and very pointedly into his fist, clearly trying to cover up his laughter.
“Are you completely out of your mind?” my sister-in-law hissed furiously, leaning over the polished counter.
“This is a commercial, high-class hotel! One night in that kind of room costs fifteen thousand rubles! There is simply no way I can let you stay here for free! Security would fire me on the spot, and I’d have it on my record!”
“How did things turn out this way?” I deliberately raised my voice just enough for the respectable guests relaxing on the leather sofas in the lobby to overhear our very entertaining conversation.
“We’re all one big family! Family ties are such a profound spiritual bond—you’ve said so yourself! Your own brother and his wife just want to come, get a little sleep on those crisp white sheets, use a little water in the jacuzzi, maybe eat a couple of croissants for breakfast. Your fancy hotel isn’t going to go bankrupt over that. You’re the head administrator—surely you could do a favor for your dear brother in the name of genetic love?”
“Elena, stop this cheap performance right now!” Inna’s voice broke into a hoarse whisper.
She gripped the edge of the counter with her hands.
“This is serious business! Everything here costs a fortune! Expensive electricity, purified water, hard-working maids, a buffet! You can’t just walk in off the street and take someone else’s property for free, no matter what family excuse you use!”
I deliberately paused for several long seconds.
“You have an amazing and very selective way of seeing things, Inna,” I said, looking straight into her darting eyes.
My voice was calm and steady.
“Your hotel maids, sure, they work for real money. Your electricity costs money. But apparently, my hard work, my groceries, my personal weekends and my stressed-out nerves—they’re an unlimited, totally free resource. All because ‘we’re family’?”
Receptionist Denis was now openly grinning from ear to ear, pretending to be deeply engrossed in his empty computer screen.
“That’s completely different…” Inna squeaked miserably.
Her confidence popped like a cheap birthday balloon.
“It’s actually exactly the same thing,” I concluded confidently.
I adjusted my bag on my shoulder.
“My outstanding bill is still waiting for you in your app. And time is ticking. This Friday evening, I’m going to the circus with a different child—so don’t you dare try and drop Kirill off at my door.”
I turned and walked slowly toward the exit. Behind me, I could hear the heavy, tense breathing of a defeated administrator.
Thursday went by in a totally normal work routine. In the morning, I was making intricate dinosaurs out of salt dough with three-year-old Masha, and later took hyperactive five-year-old Ignat to the pool. My phone stayed stubbornly silent the whole time.
But in the evening, right at 7:00 PM, as Andrey and I enjoyed a quiet dinner of fried potatoes with mushrooms, my phone suddenly beeped on the table. The screen lit up with a long-awaited notification from the bank:
“Deposit. 9000 rubles. Sender: Inna Igorevna K.”
Andrey raised his thick eyebrow high, still chewing on his potatoes.
“So, did that broken elevator finally start working?” he grinned.
“It did, my dear,” I nodded.
I pressed the green button to confirm the transaction.
“But now it has taken a completely different route.”
Exactly three minutes later, my phone rang insistently. I picked up.
“I transferred your money!” Inna’s voice sounded so strained, it was as if she was ripping those crisp bills from her heart without anesthesia.
“Choke on your thousands! That’s it, the incident is completely settled. Tomorrow at exactly 6:30 PM, I’ll bring Kirill to you. Buy him some soft Conference pears—he asked for them yesterday.”
“Inna,” I set my fork down on the edge of my plate.
“I explained everything to you as clearly as possible yesterday at the hotel. I’m not taking your son this weekend. Or next weekend, either.”
“What do you mean, you’re not taking him?!” There was a sudden, tense silence on the other end.
Then came an outraged shriek:
“I paid you! I fully paid this stupid debt! Now you have to take him!”
“I don’t owe you anything, Inna. By sending those nine thousand, you only paid off the previous debt for last weekend. You paid for the work I already did, and well. And for these upcoming weekends, my schedule is completely booked.”
“What do you mean, booked?!” my sister-in-law shrieked into the phone.
“Who booked it?!”
“I did, personally. Friday night, I’m going to the drama theater. On Saturday morning, I’m working with another wonderful child at the official double weekend rate. And on Sunday, your brother and I are going to our country house to prune old apple trees. There’s no more space in my work calendar for your problems.”
“Lena, you can’t treat me so unfairly!” Inna’s voice suddenly took on a real, unmistakable note of panic.
“My hotel is at 100% capacity! An international delegation is checking in! My manager will tear me to pieces if I don’t show up for my shift! Today, I personally called every nanny in our district. Every single one of them refused! Some nasty lady named Galina even told me that I’m blacklisted in the area!”
“This is the reality of market economics, Inna,” I remarked with a smirk, pouring myself some stewed fruit.
“Sometimes, demand suddenly far exceeds the available supply.”
“Lenochka…” My sister-in-law suddenly switched to an incredibly pitiful, whining tone, like a begging dog.
“Come on, please! I’ll pay you, okay? I’ll pay your regular rate. Three thousand a day, just like we agreed. Look, I can send you an advance right now!”
“My official rate for emergency or urgent calls is five thousand rubles a day,” I replied calmly.
“But right now, it’s not even about the money. The thing is, I’m already committed to other things.”
“What am I supposed to do now?!” wailed Inna, almost in tears.
“I have no idea. You could try calling one of the elite city agencies. They offer an urgent staff call service. But their rates start at seven thousand per day, plus you have to pay for the nanny’s taxi both ways.”
“Seven thousand?! They’ve lost their minds over there! I’d earn much less on my shift than I’d be paying that stranger! What’s even the point?! Where’s my personal benefit in this?”
I glanced at Andrei. My husband was sitting at the table, his unshaven cheek resting in a heavy fist. He was clearly enjoying our conversation on speakerphone.
“The benefit, Innachka,” Andrei rumbled in his deep voice, “is that you’re finally not trying to drive to paradise on someone else’s gas. If you’re out of gas, your car stays in the garage. Stay home with your own son. Family—that’s sacred.”
Inna hung up so abruptly that the speaker crackled.
That Friday evening, Andrei and I were strolling leisurely to the theater. The weather was wonderful, the air filled with the scent of dry autumn leaves and a pleasant freshness. As we passed the large playground near our apartment building, we stumbled upon an unforgettable scene.
Inna was sitting on a wooden bench. She wore an old, stretched out gray tracksuit. Her hair was hastily pulled back into a short ponytail. There was no sign of her peacock silk scarf or the vanity of her administrator role.
Beside her, leaning on a cane, stood Zinaida Markovna—our downstairs neighbor, and a former stern theater critic. She was a woman with an incredibly sharp gaze and an even sharper tongue, able to cut glass with her words.
Meanwhile, Kirill was happily digging in the sandbox, building a castle.
“…So I told our manager: Mikhail Petrovich, I simply can’t cover three shifts in a row!” Inna was loudly complaining to the neighbor.
She nervously crumpled an empty paper coffee cup in her hands.
“I have absolutely no one to leave my child with! And he just tells me coldly, ‘Inna Igorevna, in that case you forfeit your intensity bonus.’ I’ve lost fifteen thousand rubles because of that stubborn Lenka! She just coldly wrecked all my financial plans!”
Zinaida Markovna majestically adjusted the shawl on her thin shoulders. She looked down at the frazzled Inna over her horn-rimmed glasses and spoke in that same voice they announce intermission with at the theater before a disappointing second act:
“My dear, your grand plans were built from the start on the rotten foundation of someone else’s free labor. And let me tell you, that’s one of the most unreliable building materials out there. The moment it faces harsh reality, it will crack wide open.”
Inna angrily kicked a chestnut lying nearby with the toe of her sneaker.
“I’ll find myself a proper nanny anyway!” she muttered stubbornly.
“A cheap one! Someone who knows their place and is grateful for every little penny!”
“Go ahead and look, dear,” Zinaida Markovna nodded condescendingly.
She leaned on her cane with both hands.
“They say at the city flea market, sometimes you can buy old papier-mâché dolls for next to nothing. They’re always quiet, never ask for food, and will sit for hours with someone else’s kids. Of course, they’re only useful for a very short time.”
Andrei and I walked right past, not even speeding up. Inna didn’t notice us at all—she was far too busy counting her massive losses and dwelling on how unfair the world was.
“You know,” my husband said, taking my arm.
“My sister really hasn’t learned anything in her life. She’s still completely convinced that you cruelly let an amazing opportunity slip away.”
“Let her think what she wants,” I replied.
I adjusted the high collar on my autumn coat.
“The main thing is that her constant hunt for personal gain will never park itself in my life again.”
Monday morning found me sitting in my bright kitchen with my notebook open. A brand new workweek ahead, scheduled hour by hour. An hour of my professional work costs a thousand rubles. And my peace of mind? Truly priceless.
A short beep sounded from my phone—it was a new message from Galina the nanny:
“Girls, our local star Inna ended up hiring an emergency nanny from that elite agency on Saturday. She shelled out eight thousand rubles for a single day. The nanny made her sign a strict legal contract, pay for a full restaurant lunch delivered in, and order her a business-class taxi home. They say Inna literally cried real tears as she transferred the money.”
I put my phone down on the table and took a big sip of hot tea. Then I picked up my pen and carefully crossed Inna’s name out from the very end of my notebook—the section titled ‘Possible backups for an emergency.’
I crossed it out thick and bold, with a permanent black marker. So her name would never accidentally show through onto the next page of my life.
