“Taia, transfer money to my card right now. Mom has to pay the interest on her loan,” Yura demanded

“Again? Yura, but I’ve already given you almost my entire salary this month,” Taisia whispered into the phone, stepping into the far corner of the archive so her coworkers wouldn’t overhear.

“Taia, transfer money to my card right now. Mom has to pay the interest on her loan,” her husband’s voice rang with a cold, metallic edge. “Five thousand. Immediately.”

“I’ve got only seven thousand left for groceries until payday! That’s ten more days I still have to somehow get through.”

“It’ll be fine. We’ve got potatoes. We’ve got pasta. You won’t starve,” Yura cut her off. “Mom’s in a tough situation—you know that.”

Taisia stared at the stack of files she still had to sort before the workday ended. Her modest archivist paycheck was melting away at a terrifying speed, but her husband and his mother acted like they didn’t even notice.

“Yura, why can’t Iraida Petrovna pay the interest herself? She’s a store manager—her salary is a third higher than mine.”

“Are you serious?” Yura snapped, offended. “Mom has a ton of expenses! And you’re counting every penny.”

Taisia exhaled and opened her banking app.

“Fine. I’ll send it. But this is the last money I have, Yura. There’s nowhere else to take it from.”

“Thanks, sweetheart!” his tone softened instantly. “I’ll swing by tonight and pick up the card. Mom will be so grateful.”

Taisia hit “transfer” and ended the call.

It had been the same for three straight months: urgent transfers, empty cupboards, her mother-in-law’s mysterious “loan.” Something didn’t add up, but Taisia couldn’t yet see what.

“More family troubles?” asked Anna Sergeyevna gently—Taisia’s coworker, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes.

“Oh, just… the usual,” Taisia forced a smile.

“Listen, I’ve been wanting to invite you out. My nephew is back from an expedition—he’s a geologist. Tomorrow we’re having a small dinner. Come! It’ll do you good to get out.”

“Thank you, but I’m not sure my husband will allow it,” Taisia admitted uncertainly.

“Don’t ask him,” Anna Sergeyevna winked. “Sometimes a woman needs to live a little for herself. And you’ll meet interesting people.”

That evening, Taisia cooked dinner in silence when Yura burst into the apartment.

“Give me the card!” he demanded from the doorway. “Mom’s already waiting.”

“It’s in my bag, in my wallet,” Taisia replied, not turning from the stove.

Yura found the card quickly and was already heading back out.

“You’re not even going to ask how my day went?” Taisia asked quietly.

“What’s there to ask?” Yura sounded genuinely puzzled. “You sit in a dusty archive, shuffling papers. Mom has real problems!”

“Then maybe you can tell me what kind of loan your mother has. Why does more and more money go to interest every month?”

“You don’t need to know that,” Yura snapped. “I’m going. Don’t wait for me to eat.”

The door slammed, and Taisia was left alone in the empty apartment. She sank slowly into a chair. Something inside her cracked tonight. Maybe it was the last straw. Or maybe Anna Sergeyevna’s invitation made her see her life from the outside for the first time.

Taisia picked up her phone and typed:

“Anna Sergeyevna, I’ll come tomorrow. Thank you for the invitation.”

Anna Sergeyevna’s home was a cozy two-room apartment in an old building. When Taisia arrived, a few people were already there: Anna Sergeyevna herself, her husband Viktor Andreyevich, an elderly neighbor Elena Pavlovna, and a tall man of about thirty-five with sun-browned skin and bright, laughing eyes.

“And here’s Taisia!” Anna Sergeyevna cheered. “Everyone, this is my nephew—Dmitry.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dmitry said with a warm smile, shaking Taisia’s hand. “Aunt Anna has told me a lot about you.”

“I hope nothing terrible,” Taisia said, embarrassed.

“Only good,” he replied. “She says you’re a real pro.”

At dinner, conversation flowed easily. Dmitry talked about geological expeditions, about the beauty of faraway corners of the country, about funny moments with his team. Taisia caught herself thinking she hadn’t felt this peaceful in a very long time.

“Where are you from, Dmitry?” she asked when the conversation drifted to childhood and youth.

“I’m local,” he said. “Born and raised here. I even went to School No. 43 nearby.”

“School No. 43?” Taisia blinked. “My husband studied there too.”

“What’s his name?” Dmitry asked with interest.

“Yury Kovalyov.”

Dmitry’s expression changed. His eyebrows lifted slightly.

“Yurka Kovalyov? Iraida Petrovna’s son?”

“Yes—do you know him?” Taisia asked, even more surprised.

“Know him? Of course. We were in parallel classes. And I remember his mother very well,” Dmitry hesitated. “Back then she worked at the school cafeteria.”

“And later she became a store manager,” Anna Sergeyevna added. “Remember the scandal, Dima?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dmitry said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Taisia—I don’t want to speak badly about your mother-in-law, but there were rumors at school about how she got that position.”

“What rumors?” Taisia felt her stomach tighten.

“They said she was having an affair with the director of the retail chain. A married man. And that’s why Yura’s father left the family—he couldn’t take her constant cheating anymore.”

Taisia went pale. The pieces started fitting together.

“Are you sure?” she asked quietly.

“Back then the whole neighborhood talked about it,” Elena Pavlovna confirmed. “I lived in the next building. Iraida was gorgeous, sure—but her temper? Good grief. Always yelling, always scandals. Her husband suffered for years, then finally snapped and left—went somewhere up north.”

“And what about Yurka?” Dmitry asked. “What kind of husband is he?”

Taisia hesitated, unsure what to say.

“I can see it’s not exactly smooth,” Dmitry nodded, understanding. “Like mother, like son, as they say.”

“Dima,” Anna Sergeyevna scolded gently. “Don’t meddle in someone else’s family.”

But to Taisia, those words hit like revelation. Suddenly she could see a possible truth behind the “loans.” What if the story was repeating itself? What if Iraida Petrovna still had a married lover and the money wasn’t going to interest at all—but to gifts, restaurants, hotels?

“Where were you?” Yura pounced the moment Taisia came home. “I called you ten times!”

“At a coworker’s dinner,” Taisia answered calmly. “Weren’t you with your mom?”

“I was—but I came back early. Thought you were sitting at home, and you’re out visiting people!”

“Yura,” Taisia decided to take the risk, “tell me honestly—what does your mom spend the money on that we give her?”

“I already told you—loan interest!” Yura barked.

“Then what loan? How much? Which bank?”

“What does it matter?” Yura exploded. “Are you really that stingy about helping your husband’s own mother?”

“It’s not stinginess,” Taisia shook her head. “It’s strange that someone who earns more than I do is constantly short on money for interest. And it’s also strange she never borrows from her sister or other relatives—only from us.”

“What are you implying?” Yura narrowed his eyes.

“Nothing,” Taisia said evenly. “I just want to understand where our money is going.”

“It’s not ‘our’ money—it’s yours!” Yura blurted out. “And you’re supposed to help my family!”

“And what are we?” Taisia asked softly. “Aren’t you and I a family?”

Yura didn’t answer. He only snorted and walked into the other room.

The next day, Vika—Yura’s cousin—stopped by the archive. She rarely appeared in their lives, but she’d always been kind to Taisia.

“Hi!” Vika smiled, approaching the counter where Taisia worked. “I came to warn you.”

“About what?” Taisia asked, startled.

“Aunt Ira was at our family lunch yesterday. She told everyone you waste money and that it’s hard for Yura to live with you.”

“What?” Taisia couldn’t believe her ears.

“Yeah,” Vika nodded. “She says you spend everything on yourself, and she has to pick Yura up from work by taxi because he ‘doesn’t have money for the bus.’ And apparently you run the household wrong and you’re a terrible wife.”

“That’s not true!” Taisia protested. “I give her nearly my whole paycheck for some so-called loan!”

“What loan?” Vika frowned. “Aunt Ira doesn’t have any loans. She was bragging the other day that she bought a new fur coat for thirty thousand.”

The ground seemed to tilt beneath Taisia’s feet. Thirty thousand was almost exactly what she and Yura had handed over to his mother in the past two months.

“Vika… are you sure?” Taisia whispered.

“Absolutely. She even showed photos. It’s gorgeous. I wanted one too, but I can’t afford it.”

In that instant, Taisia understood: she’d been lied to the entire time—by her mother-in-law, and by her own husband.

That evening, Taisia called her friend Marina, who worked at a bank.

“Marin, I need your help,” she said without any preface. “Can you check if someone has a loan at your bank?”

“Taia, are you out of your mind? That’s confidential!” Marina protested.

“I know, I know—listen. Every month Yura and I give his mother money for ‘loan interest.’ And now I’ve learned she bought a fur coat for thirty thousand.”

“So,” Marina said slowly, “you want to know if she even has a loan at all.”

“Yes. Because I’m starting to think we’re being scammed.”

“I can’t officially tell you,” Marina hesitated. “But… in our bank—definitely not. I saw her file recently when I was processing documents for credit limit changes in my department. Iraida Petrovna Kovalyova—the store manager on Lenina Avenue, right?”

“Yes,” Taisia confirmed.

“She has great credit history. But no active loans. None. Maybe it’s another bank?”

“Maybe,” Taisia answered, but deep down she already knew the truth.

A plan formed unexpectedly. Taisia decided to expose her mother-in-law at the next family dinner—every first Sunday of the month, hosted by Iraida Petrovna. Everyone came: Iraida’s sister Galina, Vika with her husband, other relatives. The perfect setting to put everything on the table.

But first she needed more pieces.

By chance, Taisia ran into Dmitry at a café near the archive. He was eating alone. Fighting her embarrassment, she sat down at his table.

“May I?” she asked.

“Of course!” Dmitry brightened. “I’m glad to see you, Taisia.”

“Just Taia,” she smiled. “Dmitry, I wanted to ask… you know a lot about my husband’s family. That retail-chain director your story mentioned—Alexander Nikolayevich Kovalyov… is he still working there?”

Dmitry studied her carefully.

“You’re suspecting something, aren’t you?”

“There are… strange things with money,” Taisia replied carefully.

“I understand,” he nodded. “As far as I know, Alexander Nikolayevich still runs the chain. He never divorced his wife, by the way. They have two kids—already grown.”

“Thank you,” Taisia said quietly. “That matters.”

They kept talking—about work, the city, life. Taisia didn’t notice how quickly time passed. She hadn’t felt this light and free in ages.

Then she looked up—and saw Yura standing in the café doorway, staring at them with rage.

“So this is how you ‘have lunch at work’!” he hissed, striding toward their table. “With random men!”

“Yura, this is Dmitry—my coworker’s nephew,” Taisia said calmly. “We ran into each other.”

“Kovalyov,” Dmitry stood and offered his hand. “We went to school together. Don’t you remember?”

Yura, confused, shook the hand.

“You look… familiar.”

“Parallel classes. I played soccer for the school team,” Dmitry reminded him.

“Oh—right,” Yura eased slightly, then frowned again. “And you decided to take my wife out for lunch?”

“We just bumped into each other,” Taisia repeated. “Yura, don’t make a scene.”

“By the way,” Dmitry changed the subject smoothly, “how’s your mom? Iraida Petrovna, right?”

“Fine,” Yura grunted. “Why?”

“Just curious. She’s still the store manager at the ‘Pyaterochka’ on Lenina, yes?”

“Yes,” Yura grew wary. “Why?”

“No reason. My mom shops there often—says it’s a good store,” Dmitry said casually. “And I heard Alexander Nikolayevich Kovalyov still runs that chain. Not a relative of yours by any chance?”

Yura’s face went white.

“How do you know about Kovalyov?”

“Everyone does,” Dmitry shrugged. “Big businessman. Well-respected. People say he’s still with his wife—never divorced. Good for him, kept his family together.”

Taisia saw Yura swallow hard. He knew more than he was showing.

“Taisia, we’re leaving,” he said sharply, grabbing her wrist. “We need to talk.”

“What are you doing?” Yura snapped once they were outside. “Lunching with strange men, asking questions about my mother!”

“I told you—we ran into each other,” Taisia said firmly. “And the conversation turned to your mother. A very interesting conversation.”

“What do you mean?” Yura tensed.

“I mean I’m starting to understand where our money is going. And it’s definitely not loan interest.”

“You don’t understand anything!” Yura exploded.

“Then explain it!” Taisia demanded. “Explain why your mother, earning more than I do, constantly demands money. Explain why she bought a thirty-thousand fur coat when we were supposedly paying her interest. Explain why, according to the bank, she has no loans at all.”

“Are you spying on my mother?” Yura shouted.

“No—I’m trying to understand why my family is living on scraps while we hand money to someone who doesn’t even need it!”

“You’re just jealous because I love my mother!” Yura accused.

“No, Yura,” Taisia shook her head. “I want the truth. And I’ll get it at the family dinner this Sunday.”

Sunday dinner at Iraida Petrovna’s began as usual: overflowing food, small talk about work, gossip about the latest news. Iraida Petrovna was in top form—wearing her new fur coat, sporting a fresh hairstyle, glowing as she accepted compliments.

“Irisha, you look stunning!” her sister Galina admired. “A new fur coat? Must’ve been expensive.”

“Oh, stop,” Iraida Petrovna waved it off. “Got it on sale—almost free.”

Taisia exchanged a look with Vika. They both knew it was a lie.

“And how are you two, young ones?” Iraida Petrovna asked Taisia and Yura. “How’s life?”

“Thrifty,” Taisia replied evenly. “All our money is going to the interest on your loan.”

Silence fell over the table. Iraida Petrovna laughed too loudly.

“What interest? What are you talking about, Taechka?”

“The interest you’ve been taking almost all our money for every month,” Taisia said, staring straight into her eyes. “The same money you used to buy this fur coat for thirty thousand.”

“Taia!” Yura warned through clenched teeth, but she couldn’t stop now.

“Tell everyone here, Iraida Petrovna—what do our money transfers actually go to?” Taisia continued. “Gifts for Alexander Nikolayevich Kovalyov? Dinners with him? Hotels?”

“What are you saying!” Iraida Petrovna jumped up. “Yura, shut your wife up!”

“She won’t,” Taisia said firmly. “Because I have the right to know where the money I earn goes. And everyone here has the right to know you’ve been lying to your own son.”

“It’s true, Aunt Ira,” Vika suddenly backed her up. “You tell everyone Taia wastes money, but you take the last of it from them.”

“And you don’t have any loan,” Taisia added. “I checked.”

“Ira…” Galina said quietly, “maybe that’s enough. How long are you going to keep lying? Everyone already knows about you and Sasha.”

“Knows what?” Iraida Petrovna went pale.

“That you’re still seeing him,” Galina said bluntly. “That you spend money on gifts for him. That you squeeze the last kopecks out of your son and daughter-in-law so you can buy more and more things to keep a married man’s attention.”

“It’s not true!” Iraida Petrovna screamed, but her fear showed through the outrage. “Yura, don’t listen! They’re all lying!”

Yura’s gaze darted from his mother to his wife.

“Mom… is it true? You don’t have a loan?”

“Of course I do, sweetheart!” Iraida Petrovna seized his hand. “It’s just… unofficial. I borrowed from acquaintances—at interest.”

“Which acquaintances?” Taisia asked. “Name one person you owe.”

Iraida Petrovna opened her mouth—and couldn’t answer.

“Got it,” Taisia nodded. “Yura, let’s go home. We need to talk.”

They drove in silence. But the moment the front door shut behind them, Yura exploded.

“Why did you make that circus? You humiliated my mother in front of everyone!”

“Me?” Taisia stared at him in disbelief. “Your mother lied to us and took our money—and I’m the villain?”

“You don’t understand! She might have her reasons!”

“What reasons, Yura? What reasons justify cheating your own son?” Taisia’s voice shook with anger. “She’s using you to keep a married man interested! And you let her do it—on my back!”

“She’s my mother!” Yura repeated stubbornly.

“And I’m your wife!” Tears rose in Taisia’s throat. “But apparently that means nothing to you.”

Yura said nothing. He grabbed his jacket and slammed the door. Taisia knew exactly where he’d gone—to comfort his mother, who would once again paint herself as the victim.

The next morning, as Taisia was getting ready for work, the doorbell rang. On the doorstep stood Iraida Petrovna—perfectly dressed, perfectly made up.

“We need to talk,” she said coldly.

“Come in,” Taisia stepped aside.

“I’m here to tell you to stop sowing discord in our family,” Iraida Petrovna began without any greeting. “You’re turning Yura against me—his own mother!”

“I just want the truth,” Taisia replied calmly. “Where our money is going.”

“That’s none of your business!” her mother-in-law snapped. “Yura decides how the family budget is spent.”

“No. You decide it for him,” Taisia said quietly. “And for me, too.”

“You’re jealous,” Iraida Petrovna smiled venomously. “Because he loves me more than he loves you.”

“That’s not love. That’s unhealthy,” Taisia shook her head. “You manipulate him. You use him. Just like you probably use your lover.”

Iraida Petrovna’s face twisted with fury.

“How dare you speak to me that way! You understand nothing, foolish girl! Alexander is the only man who truly values me and takes care of me!”

“And that’s why you spend our money on gifts for him?” Taisia didn’t back down. “A married man who will never leave his family for you?”

“How would you know—” Iraida Petrovna blurted out, then froze, realizing she’d exposed herself.

“So you finally admitted it,” Taisia said softly.

Her mother-in-law changed tactics instantly, her voice turning pleading.

“Taechka, you’re a smart girl. Understand—everyone has weaknesses. I’ve loved Sasha for twenty years. He promised we’d be together soon. He just needs time… a little more time…”

“Twenty years wasn’t enough?” Taisia shook her head. “He’s never leaving his wife, Iraida Petrovna. And you’re destroying our marriage for an illusion.”

“What’s going on here?” Yura appeared in the doorway, looking rumpled and sleep-deprived. “Mom, why did you come?”

“To talk to your wife,” Iraida Petrovna snapped back into her offended mask. “She keeps spreading filthy rumors about me.”

“They’re not rumors, Yura,” Taisia said, exhausted. “Your mother just admitted the money we gave her went to gifts for her lover—Alexander Kovalyov. The same man she’s been ‘loving’ for twenty years.”

“Mom?” Yura looked at her, stunned.

“Don’t listen to her! She twists everything!” Iraida Petrovna cried.

“Then tell the truth,” Taisia insisted. “Do you have a loan or not? Where did the thirty thousand go that we gave you these last two months?”

Iraida Petrovna stayed silent, her lips pressed tight.

“Mom,” Yura asked quietly, “answer.”

“Son, I’ll explain,” she said at last. “But not in front of her. Come to my place—we’ll talk calmly, without this… person.”

Yura looked from his mother to his wife, torn.

“No, Mom. If you have something to say, say it here. Right now. Taia and I are a family. There shouldn’t be secrets.”

Iraida Petrovna went pale. She could feel him slipping out of her grasp.

“So you’re choosing her over your own mother?” she cried dramatically. “After everything I’ve done for you?”

“I’m not choosing,” Yura said. “I want the truth. Taia is right—we’ve barely been getting by while giving you almost all of her salary. If you really have a loan—show the papers. If not—why did you take the money?”

Cornered, Iraida Petrovna’s eyes flicked around like a trapped animal.

“Fine,” she spat. “No, I don’t have a loan. I spent the money on myself. On clothes, on beauty salons. I want to look good too! I’m not young anymore—I have to take care of myself!”

“And you lied to us for that?” Yura looked sick. “You made us give you our last money?”

“So what?” Iraida Petrovna snapped. “I’m your mother! You’re supposed to help me!”

“Not like this, Mom,” Yura shook his head. “Not through lies.”

“And not to keep a married man’s attention,” Taisia added quietly.

Iraida Petrovna whipped toward her.

“You! This is your fault! You turned my son against me!”

“No, Mom,” Yura said, his voice steady. “You did this yourself with your lies. You should leave. Taia and I have a lot to discuss.”

“You’ll regret this!” Iraida Petrovna grabbed her purse and stormed toward the door. “You’ll come crawling back to me on your knees when she leaves you!”

The door slammed. Yura and Taisia were alone.

“I’m sorry,” Yura broke the silence first. “I was blind. I didn’t want to see it.”

“You just love your mother,” Taisia said softly. “That’s normal.”

“But I let her manipulate me, trick us. Because of me, you were practically starving.”

“Not only because of you,” Taisia shook her head. “I could’ve been firmer sooner. I could’ve started asking questions earlier.”

Yura stepped closer and hesitantly took her hands.

“So what do we do now?”

“Start over,” Taisia said. “No lies. No manipulation. Just you and me.”

“And Mom?”

“She’s your mother,” Taisia replied. “You can’t erase her from your life. But now you know the truth—and you can set healthy boundaries.”

Yura nodded, but she could see uncertainty in his eyes.

Three weeks passed. Yura tried to rebuild things with his mother, but every conversation ended in accusations and attacks against Taisia. Iraida Petrovna refused to admit fault and kept trying to pit her son against his wife.

More and more often, Taisia wondered if their marriage could survive this. Yura was torn between her and his mother, unable to make a final choice.

At the archive, Dmitry began stopping by frequently—he was working on a geology report and needed historical records. Their friendship grew, though it stayed strictly platonic. Taisia valued his steadiness and his ability to listen without judging.

One evening, returning home, she found Yura sitting at the kitchen table with a suitcase by his feet.

“You’re leaving?” she asked quietly, her heart tightening.

“I don’t know what to do, Taia,” he admitted honestly. “Mom says she’s sick, that she needs me. That she’ll fall apart without me.”

“And you believe her? After everything?”

“She’s my mother,” Yura spread his hands helplessly. “I can’t just turn my back on her.”

“But you can turn your back on me?” Taisia asked bitterly.

Yura said nothing—yet that silence answered more loudly than words.

“I’m not asking you to choose,” Taisia said. “I’m asking you to understand this: your mother will never accept me. She’ll keep manipulating you, wedging herself between us. Are you ready to live like that forever?”

“I don’t know,” Yura confessed. “I love you, Taia. But she’s my mother.”

“Then maybe we should take a break,” Taisia suggested. “You need time to figure yourself out—your feelings, your boundaries. And I need time to understand whether I can live with someone who can’t protect our marriage from outside manipulation.”

“So you’re leaving me?” Yura’s voice carried hurt.

“No,” Taisia shook her head. “I’m giving both of us a chance to see what we really want. Go to your mom. Help her if you truly believe you should. Then decide whether you’re ready to build a life with me without her constant interference.”

Yura looked at her for a long time, then nodded, grabbed the suitcase, and went to the door.

“I’ll call,” he threw over his shoulder.

A month later, Taisia sat in the park, soaking up the spring sun. Yura had called only twice—short, formal conversations that sounded more like obligations than longing. She didn’t blame him. Breaking free from a manipulator is hard—especially when that manipulator is your mother.

In that month, Taisia had rethought everything. She realized she deserved a relationship built on respect and trust. She applied for a part-time distance program in the history department—an old dream she’d postponed because family drama always swallowed her energy.

“May I sit?” a familiar voice asked.

Taisia looked up and saw Yura. He seemed exhausted, but determined.

“Of course,” she shifted to make room on the bench.

“How are you?” he asked, sitting down.

“Good,” she answered honestly. “And you?”

“Not great,” Yura admitted. “Mom keeps manipulating, blaming you for everything. I’m only now starting to see how she does it.”

“And what did you decide?”

“I want to come back, Taia. I miss you. I miss our home.”

Taisia studied him carefully.

“And your mother?”

“I’ll help her,” Yura said. “Financially, with errands. But I can’t live with her anymore. And I won’t let her interfere in our life.”

“Are you sure you can stand up to her?” Taisia asked, doubt in her voice. “It won’t be easy, Yura.”

“I know,” he nodded. “But I’m willing to try. For us.”

Taisia fell silent. Part of her wanted to believe him, to give their marriage another chance. Another part of her knew how brutal it would be to fight Iraida Petrovna’s pull.

“I don’t know, Yura,” she said honestly. “I need time. This relationship has drained me.”

“I understand,” he nodded. “I’ll wait as long as you need.”

They sat quietly, watching the trees turn greener. Their future was still unclear, but Taisia knew one thing for certain: she would never make peace with Iraida Petrovna. Some bridges burn for good—and sometimes that’s a gift.

Iraida Petrovna kept trying to pull strings, but fewer people believed her unquestioningly now. Vika, Galina, and the rest of the family had seen her true face and started keeping their distance.

And Taisia found a new confidence in herself. Whether Yura returned to her or not, she knew she would never again let anyone manipulate her life—and that was what mattered most.