“Withdraw the deposit. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to the bank. Mom found somewhere to invest the money,” Roman declared flatly, without even taking off his work jacket.
He stood in the hallway of my two-room apartment, which I had inherited from my parents before we had even met. He squared his shoulders and put on the expression of an important executive who had just closed the deal of the century.
Though in reality, all he had done was bring someone else’s order home.
Lidia Arkadyevna emerged from behind him. My mother-in-law squeezed into the entryway, striding in like an inspector who already knew exactly which warm stone she intended to bask on that day.
I silently stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall.
Eight years.
For eight years, I had packed candy at a factory, absorbing the smell of vanilla and powdered sugar so deeply that even my winter coat smelled of them.
I had started saving money long before I met Roman. By the time we got married, most of the sum was already sitting in my account, and we had always kept our finances separate. My husband had no access to that money.
I worked double shifts and denied myself new boots and vacations by the sea so that I could have an untouchable financial safety net.
And now that safety net was apparently needed to support someone else’s ambitions.
“Go ahead, sharks of capitalism,” I said calmly, folding my arms across my chest. “Tell me where we’re investing my entire life.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Alyona!” my mother-in-law snapped, settling onto the ottoman as though she owned the place and instantly taking up all the space around her. “I found the perfect opportunity.
“A stall at the old market. Household goods! Buckets, mops, cleaning powders—people will always need those things.
“The owner, Gennady, is retiring. He’s selling the remaining stock, shelving, cash-register equipment, and the right to keep operating from his rented spot, subject to approval from the market administration.
“He doesn’t own the land or the pavilion itself, which is why he’s practically giving it away. If we don’t bring him cash tomorrow, he’ll sell it to someone else.”
“And how exactly are the roles divided in our corporation?” I asked.
I watched my husband anxiously nod at every word his mother said, looking like a circus poodle waiting for a lump of sugar.
“Very simply!” Lidia Arkadyevna exclaimed enthusiastically, her eyes flashing greedily. “I’ll handle the overall management and collect the cash from the register. Romochka will register as an individual entrepreneur and officially become the owner.
“And you, Alyonochka, will pay for the deal. After your shift at the factory, you can do the bookkeeping. And on weekends, you can work behind the counter. We’re not going to hire a stranger—they’ll rob us blind!”
Family ties tighten most firmly around the neck of the person who has savings.
I stared at the two of them, amazed by the sheer scale of their shamelessness.
“What an incredible business model,” I said with a smirk, without raising my voice. “So I buy the stage, then I mop the floors and perform on it, while you two sit in the front row collecting flowers and ticket money?
“No, Roma. My savings are staying exactly where they are.”
“You don’t believe in family!” my husband shouted, almost choking with outrage. “Mom checked everything! There are no risks! You’re just greedy!”
“I simply know how to count,” I replied sharply. “And that concludes our board meeting.”
The next day, after my morning shift, I went to the old market. Something about all that frantic rushing and the demand that I empty my account refused to leave me alone.
I quickly found Gennady’s stall. First, I stopped at the neighboring knitwear kiosk, bought a pair of socks, and struck up a conversation with the lively saleswoman, learning the general situation.
Then I went straight to Gennady.
He turned out to be a tired but perfectly decent and honest man.
After listening to me, he sighed heavily and pulled a folder out of his desk.
“I explained everything to them right away,” Gennady said, placing the papers in front of me. “This entire row will be closed for reconstruction no later than October.
“But they could set the final date earlier, provided they give twenty-one days’ notice. Here’s the official notification from the administration.
“And here’s the preliminary agreement. They said they understood the risk and would have enough time to sell everything.”
I stared at Roman’s and Lidia Arkadyevna’s clear signatures at the bottom of the page. They had confirmed in writing that the buyers had been informed of every risk.
An icy clarity spread through my veins.
Lidia Arkadyevna, that ravenous manager of someone else’s wallet, had already mentally chewed a neat tunnel straight through my savings.
The plan was brilliant in its ugliness.
Buy the business with my money, quickly pocket all the revenue, and when the market row was demolished, shrug innocently and blame everything on unforeseen circumstances.
My husband was ready to burn years of my hard work just so his mother could play businesswoman.
I said nothing to them.
I simply made one visit to the bank.
Meanwhile, outright madness began at home.
Determined to get around my refusal, Roman and Lidia Arkadyevna switched to their backup plan—to force me to pay.
Roma borrowed three hundred thousand rubles from his acquaintance Viktor. My mother-in-law dramatically contributed fifty thousand rubles from her own savings.
From that money, they paid Gennady one hundred and twenty thousand rubles as an advance under the preliminary agreement.
And with the remaining two hundred and thirty thousand, Roman began carrying boxes into my apartment like a crazed ant.
Cheap mops, rubber mats with a harsh chemical smell, sponges, and assorted household junk filled the hallway all the way to the ceiling.
My mother-in-law had convinced him that once I saw all the merchandise and learned about the debts, I would panic.
I would crack, withdraw my savings, and pay the remaining amount.
We notice a speck in someone else’s eye but dig into someone else’s wallet with an excavator.
I watched the whole performance in silence.
The reckoning came three days before they were supposed to sign the final contract.
Roma stumbled into the apartment, pale and with trembling hands. Lidia Arkadyevna crept in behind him.
Her usual arrogance had vanished, leaving nothing but confusion and darting eyes.
“The administration issued the final order,” Roma forced out hoarsely, staring at the wall. “The entire market row has to be vacated in three weeks.”
“Gena is offering to cancel the agreement and refund one hundred thousand,” my mother-in-law wailed, crumpling a handkerchief in her hands. “He’ll keep twenty thousand because he has already started dismantling the display cases.
“But we’ve already bought all the merchandise! What are we supposed to do with all these mops?! Roma, we should still take the stall! We’ll manage to sell everything! We have to take the risk!”
Roma slowly turned his head and looked at his mother.
It seemed that at that moment, the gears in his brain finally creaked into motion.
He realized that his mother had just suggested he willingly step into a cement mixer.
“Mom,” his voice trembled. “You said we’d make it to October! You said everything would pay for itself!”
He suddenly turned toward me.
There was raw animal fear in his eyes.
“Alyona. I borrowed three hundred thousand from Viktor and signed an IOU. I gave him a copy of the vehicle title as security.
“I have to repay him by Friday, plus another thirty thousand in interest. If I don’t, he’ll take me to court. I’ll have to sell the car.
“Withdraw the deposit. Please. We made a mistake, but we’re family!”
I looked at the man I had shared my bed with.
And all I saw was a slug who had tried to crawl up my spine and had now slipped into his own puddle.
“Family?” I smirked, looking him straight in the eyes. “Family means protecting each other.
“You and your mother decided to gamble with my money. You deliberately hid the demolition deadline from me.
“You wanted to buy Lidia Arkadyevna a toy, and once it broke, dump the losses on me.”
“How did you…” my mother-in-law squeaked, shrinking back against the ottoman.
“I know how to read documents with your signatures on them, Lidia Arkadyevna,” I said, looking down at her coldly.
Then I took a folder out of the dresser drawer and tossed it onto the cabinet.
“I converted my savings into an irrevocable three-year savings certificate. Under its terms, the bank will not redeem it early.
“And I am not going to sell it to a third party at a major loss just to cover your debt.”
Roman stared at the certificate as though it were a concrete slab that had suddenly dropped between him and my money.
His face turned deep red. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out.
Lidia Arkadyevna gasped for air, as though she had forgotten how breathing worked.
“You borrowed that money without my consent, after I explicitly refused, and not for the needs of our family,” I said, articulating every word clearly, feeling neither pity nor the slightest desire to rescue them again. “I didn’t sign that IOU, and I’m not going to save your store.”
The hallway fell completely silent.
“Now listen carefully, Mr. Businessman,” I said, pointing at the mountain of junk. “You’re taking all those boxes to your mother’s place today.
“And you’re going with them. Leave the keys on the cabinet. Tomorrow, I’m filing for divorce.”
Three days later, Gennady refunded the agreed one hundred thousand rubles.
They desperately tried to sell the cheap merchandise they had bought for two hundred and thirty thousand through classified ads.
But they got next to nothing for it—barely eighty thousand rubles.
To pay off the three-hundred-and-thirty-thousand-ruble debt to Viktor, Roman had to urgently sell his beloved car.
My savings certificate remained untouched in its folder.
And so Lidia Arkadyevna finally became the owner of her own store after all.
Twenty boxes of mops filled her hallway, while Roman remained their director—without a car, without a wife, and without access to my money.
