The wheeled patient transport trolley left black rubber streaks on my bleached oak parquet floor.
Two medical workers, breathing heavily and unevenly, pushed the stretcher into my living room, which was in a three-room apartment on Vernadsky Avenue. On it lay my mother-in-law, Galina Petrovna.
She had a fractured femoral neck. The surgery had been performed under a state quota, but ahead of her lay a long, strict period of bed rest.
My husband, Anton, and his older brother, Maksim, fussed nervously around her.
– Put her here, near the window – Maksim ordered, scanning the living room with a possessive gaze. – There’s a big TV here, mom won’t be bored.
Galina Petrovna, groaning, shuffled onto my Natuzzi sofa, which cost over 380,000 rubles. The first thing she did was reach with a trembling hand into the pocket of her worn-out robe, pull out a cheap “Java” cigarette and a lighter.
– Irka, open the balcony, I’m going to smoke. I can’t take it anymore, I haven’t smoked for a week in the hospital – she said hoarsely.
Then she brought her hand to her mouth and began tearing at the skin around her nail beds. It was her disgusting habit: she bit the hardened skin until it bled, then spat the wet pieces onto the floor.
– Galina Petrovna, there is no smoking in my house – I said calmly, watching another piece of skin fall onto my light-colored carpet.
– Oh, stop it already! – Anton cut in immediately. – Mom is already unwell, she’s stressed! You’ll air it out later! We are family, Ir, you need to be understanding!
Maksim patted his brother on the shoulder.
– Alright then, we’re leaving. Ir, you work from home anyway, it’s nothing for you. Change diapers, feed her, that’s it. My wife has a job and three kids, there’s no space. And you have plenty of room. Alright, I’m off.
And he left, slamming the door loudly.
And I stood in the middle of the living room, watching my mother-in-law, who had already lit her cigarette, and I knew: they genuinely believed I would swallow all of this.
My internal accounting system never failed. I was a senior financial analyst. My mind operated in numbers, assets, and liabilities. And now the “family balance sheet” was catastrophically off.
Two years earlier, Galina Petrovna had triumphantly announced that the old family summer house in Kratovo was falling apart. The plot was 15 acres of land with towering pines, but the house itself was rotten.
Anton, earning his modest 80,000 rubles a month, looked at me with pleading eyes:
– Irka, let’s invest in it. Mom said she would transfer it to us later. Maksim doesn’t need it anyway.
I believed it. I invested 3.2 million rubles from my savings.
Roof replacement, gas installation, sewage system, insulation, heating – everything was done to a premium standard. Every weekend I went there myself to supervise the workers, while Galina Petrovna sat in a rocking chair, smoked, and spat into the garden.
The renovation turned it into a property worth at least 12 million rubles.
In the spring, I accidentally found the property registry extract.
The owner of the house and land in Kratovo was Maksim.
That same evening, I placed the document in front of them.
Galina Petrovna didn’t even blush. She spat a nail fragment onto the table.
– So what? – she shrugged. – Maksim has three children. He needs it. You two are living well in the city anyway. You have a salary, you’ll earn more. This is family, we don’t count things.
Anton, with his head down, only muttered:
– Mom is right…
I didn’t scream. I simply cut off the shared finances.
From that moment on, it became clear: my money and labor were resources, according to their rules.
– Ir, why are you standing there? – Anton snapped me back. – Warm up soup for mom. Bring an ashtray too.
I opened the window, and the cold November air rushed in.
– Anton – I said quietly – pack your mother’s things.
– Where?
– Into bags. The large black garbage bags.
Galina Petrovna choked on her smoke.
– Have you lost your mind?! I just got out of the hospital!
– In finance, there is a rule – I said to her. – Whoever receives the asset also takes the liability. The house is with Maksim. Then he carries the burden too.
Anton exploded.
– That’s my mother!
– And this is my apartment.
I ordered a private medical transport.
Forty thousand rubles. I paid without hesitation.
Then came the screaming, the threats, the “I will curse you” outbursts. But the decision was already made.
Forty minutes later, the paramedics arrived.
– Take her – I said calmly. – Kratovo, Pine Street.
Anton stood in the doorway.
– If you do this, it’s over!
– It’s already over.
And I stepped out of the system they called family.
The transport happened. At Maksim’s house, there was chaos, his wife screamed that she wanted nothing to do with this. The paramedics placed her on the bed and left.
Three days later, Maksim called:
– Take mom back, this isn’t working!
– No.
The divorce was quick. There was nothing to divide against me.
Now Anton lives in that same country house with his mother and his brother’s chaotic family. He changes diapers, cleans, and “family love” has taken on a very financial form.
And I bought a new car, had the apartment perfectly cleaned, and went on a trip. In my home there is silence. No one uses my body, my time, and my money under the label of “family duty.”
The only question that remains is this: should I really have endured all this for the sake of marriage, or did such betrayal deserve exactly the response it got — a paid one-way ride in the opposite direction?
