Sofya Romanovna appeared in the doorway with her usual syrupy smile, her husband right behind her.
“Oh, Lyubonka, we’re here again! I thought—why cook dinner at home when you always have something ready? And it’s Sunday, you surely made something delicious.”
It was the fifth day in a row they’d come uninvited, treating Lyuba’s home like a free restaurant. A restaurant where they ordered only the most expensive dishes.
Lyuba stepped out of the living room, her patience gone.
“Unbelievable. Again? Do you see a cafeteria sign on my door? No? Then why do you keep showing up like you’re at an all-inclusive resort? Actually, scratch that—at least in a café people pay. Maybe you confused my home with a charity kitchen for the homeless?”
Sofya clutched her husband dramatically.
“Oh, I’m fainting! Fedor, I’m falling! What rudeness!”
“What’s gotten into you?” the father-in-law barked. “How dare you speak like that? And where’s our son? Why does he allow this?”
“Your son is out getting some air,” Lyuba said. “He didn’t like that I finally stopped tolerating all this.”
Earlier that day Lyuba had asked her husband:
“Call your parents and tell them not to come today.”
“Why? What happened?” Herman asked.
“What happened? They’ve been here every day. I cook, I serve, I wash, I spend money like a restaurant owner. And I have my own life, two kids, a job. And your parents? Perfectly healthy adults who expect me to feed them like infants.”
“They just want to be closer to the grandchildren,” Herman muttered.
“So close that you gave them all our savings for their new apartment—and our kids lost their summer vacation I worked so hard to afford? You blew your salary on your half-dead car, as always, and I covered everything else!”
Herman shrugged.
“They’ll return the money next year. The kids forgot already, why can’t you?”
Lyuba stared at him.
“And why must I feed your parents every day? With my money?”
“Is it really such a crime to treat my parents to a meal?” he pouted.
“No. But expecting me to feed them constantly—when they work, when your father gets a pension, when they buy expensive things for themselves—is not kindness. It’s freeloading.”
Herman snorted.
“You weren’t like this before. You’ve changed.”
“Yes. Because for a week now I’ve been a cook, dishwasher, and ATM.”
He slammed the door and left for the garage—his second home.
Lyuba sighed.
Over their ten years of marriage, his parents had always “helped” only to demand repayment immediately, and always with interest—not money, but favors. Admission to university for relatives, saving other people’s children from academic failures, political favors, bureaucratic shortcuts—things Lyuba had no power to give.
When she finally bought a small apartment with her own savings, the mother-in-law demanded all the money as a loan for a cousin’s wedding. When they refused, she held a grudge.
And when Lyuba gave birth to two kids, Herman refused to pursue a legal career, insisting he “liked cars too much” to take a real job. She worked, tutored, wrote academic papers on order—while he stagnated, and his parents fed off their household supplies like locusts: detergent, shampoo, meat, groceries, towels, dishes.
“Why let good things go to waste?” Sofya would say, stuffing items into her bag.
And now, when Lyuba finally snapped, Herman returned in the middle of the shouting.
His parents immediately jumped on him.
“She’s insulting us! Your cold, heartless wife!”
Lyuba stepped forward.
“Yes. Look at me. And say thank you. Because I’ve carried all of you on my back for years. Your lazy son who earns half of what I do? And you—grown adults who treat my home like a free buffet.”
“We economize on everything!” the father-in-law roared.
“Yes, to repay us,” Sofya added. “And you still made us return the money! Why couldn’t you give it as a gift to your parents?”
Lyuba laughed sharply.
“A gift? Did you ever give us money as a gift when we were young and struggling? Not once. Not a single ruble without demanding it back.”
Sofya grabbed her coat.
“I can’t listen to this! We’re leaving. And we’ll never return!”
“Wonderful!” Lyuba shouted after them. “Remember this—I’m not made of steel. I’m done carrying your son and both of you on my shoulders!”
And they left.
From that day on, the visits stopped.
Herman was forced to look for a real job, because Lyuba gave him an ultimatum: change or divorce.
To his mother, Lyuba reminded calmly:
“The IOU you gave us? It’s still valid. Pay it back. Winter is coming, and I’m buying summer vacation for myself and the kids. This time, nobody is touching that money.”
And for the first time in many years, the rules in her life were simple:
From now on, things will be done my way — or not at all.
