On Saturday at half past seven, Alexey’s phone started buzzing on the nightstand. Elena woke up to the vibration before her husband did and, out of habit, reached for the phone. On the screen was a message from Larisa Pavlovna:
«Today, clean the windows in the living room and kitchen, take down the curtains and wash them, defrost the fridge. And tell Lena to bring her special tile cleaner, mine doesn’t work.»
Elena put the phone back face-down and lay there for another minute, staring at the ceiling. There was a cobweb above the chandelier that had been hanging there for three months. The windows needed cleaning at home too. The sheer curtains at home also needed to be washed. But she hadn’t managed to get around to doing those in her own apartment for a long time.
This had been going on for ten years. Almost every Saturday, Elena would cross the city to her mother-in-law’s three-room apartment, put on old jeans she kept there just for cleaning, and scrub, polish, and rearrange things until evening. Larisa Pavlovna would follow her around, pointing things out. If Elena mopped the floor, her mother-in-law would find a stain under the couch. If she scrubbed the bathroom, suddenly it was time to sort through the storage cabinets. The chores in this apartment never ended.
Alexey usually came with her, sat in the living room in front of the TV, and every now and then called out, «Mom, isn’t that enough for today?» Larisa Pavlovna would reply, «Just a little more,» and that «little more» would stretch until nine in the evening.
Maria, Alexey’s younger sister, usually showed up closer to lunchtime. She rented an apartment across town with her boyfriend and worked as a wedding photographer. She’d arrive all dressed up, carrying a bag from a bakery, kiss her mom, and take a seat at the table.
«Mommy, what are we having today? Oh, stuffed cabbage rolls! Lena, why do you look so messy?» Maria laughed, watching as Elena came out of the bathroom with a bucket.
Larisa Pavlovna would heap a full plate for her daughter and then bring out a box from the bedroom.
«Mashenka, this is for you. It’s a good hair dryer—the store clerk recommended it.»
Elena had never once seen Maria being asked to even clear her own cup.
«Masha can’t do chores,» her mother-in-law had explained once. «She needs her hands for the camera. Besides, you’re used to this anyway.»
That time, Elena laughed as if it were a joke. But on the whole way home, she stared at her hands with their broken nails.
She worked as a food technologist at a bread factory. Her shift started at 6 a.m., and by Friday, Elena was completely exhausted. She earned sixty-eight thousand rubles and got a bonus once a quarter—sometimes twenty thousand, sometimes thirty. Alexey serviced elevators for a contractor and made about seventy-five thousand. They lived in a rented two-bedroom apartment for twenty-six thousand a month. They didn’t have their own place, and ten years ago, they had decided they would buy a country house first, and then maybe an apartment. Elena just wanted a small piece of land where she could do something for herself.
They were saving up through a special savings account Alexei had opened. He said it made things easier—his bank offered a better interest rate. Every month, Elena would transfer fifteen thousand rubles there, plus any bonuses she received. Alexei saved, too, but not as regularly—only when he had something left after sending money to his mom and covering his own expenses. For the past two years, Elena hadn’t gone on vacation, spent a fourth winter in the same boots, and bought nothing she could go without. She even stopped grabbing coffee on her way to work. Every spending decision felt like a luxury—so she saved instead.
«Just a little more,» Alexei would say whenever she asked how much they’d saved. «We’re almost there.»
Over the years, Elena had let her apartment go. The tiles in the bathroom were peeling, and a shelf broke in the kitchen—Alexei had been promising to fix it for three months. Laundry piled up in the basket until Sunday night. One day, a friend dropped by unexpectedly, looked around, and gently asked if Elena was feeling unwell.
«Lesha,» Elena said that evening, «let’s keep at least one Saturday a month for ourselves.»
«But I am helping.»
«You’re just sitting in front of the TV.»
«I moved the couch for her last time. Lena, why are you starting this? Mom’s all alone—it’s hard for her. Next time, I’ll handle everything myself, I promise.»
Next time, his back was hurting. Then work called. Then he had to pick up Maria at the train station.
But what stung Elena most was her birthday last year. Two weeks ahead, she’d booked a table at a Georgian restaurant by the river, for seven in the evening, right by the window. Alexei had actually suggested it himself:
«Let’s do it properly this time. Just us two. I haven’t taken you out anywhere in ages.»
She bought a dress—the first one in three years. It was blue with long sleeves, and she hung it on her wardrobe door so she could see it every morning.
The morning of her birthday, at nine, Larisa Pavlovna called. Elena only heard Alexei talking:
«Mom, today really isn’t possible… Urgent? Right now? Okay. Okay, we’re coming.»
He hung up, came into the kitchen and said his mom’s hallway wallpaper was peeling off. There’d been a leak from her upstairs neighbors, everything was bubbled up, and her friends were coming over tomorrow.
«What about the restaurant?»
«I already canceled it. I called—they didn’t mind. We’ll move it to next weekend.»
Elena looked at the blue dress hanging on the wardrobe door.
«You canceled it without even asking me?»
«Lena, it’s my mom. You should see what it looks like over there.»
All day, she stood on a step stool. She tore off old wallpaper, soaked walls, scraped with a spatula. Glue hardened on her hands; whitewash got in her hair. Alexei cut new wallpaper rolls and hauled debris to the stairs. Maria didn’t make it that day—she had a photo shoot.
That evening, Larisa Pavlovna walked down the hallway with her phone’s flashlight on.
«There’s a bubble here. And another seam here. Lena, the pattern doesn’t match. Why were you so careless? I asked you to be more careful.»
Elena left for the bathroom to scrub her hands. The glue wouldn’t wash off, and she scrubbed her palms with a brush until her skin turned red. When she came back out, her eyes were wet. Alexei saw this. He looked at her, then turned away to face his mother.
«Mom, the bubble will dry out and smooth itself.»
No one remembered the birthday that evening. Alexey never booked the restaurant for the following weekend. Elena put the blue dress back in the closet with its tag still on.
After that, she stopped expecting anything special from holidays. Birthdays, New Year’s, wedding anniversaries—they all felt the same. She refused to let herself feel hurt, because it never changed anything. The only thing that kept her going was the thought of the dacha.
In September, they finally found the right plot. Six acres in an old gardeners’ community, forty minutes from the city, with a small panel house and a gate leading straight to the lake. The owner, an elderly teacher, was asking eight hundred fifty thousand and agreed to wait until the end of October for the rest of the payment.
Elena visited the place twice. The second time, she walked down to the water and stood on the dock for a long while. The water was dark and calm, and on the opposite shore, someone was burning leaves.
«Lyosha, how much do we have in the account?» she asked that evening. «The owner is waiting for an answer by the twentieth.»
Alexey didn’t answer for a long time, scrolling through something on his phone.
«Listen, here’s the thing. Mom wanted to redo the kitchen. And new furniture for the living room. Her set is thirty years old, the doors are falling off. I transferred her the money.»
«How much?»
«Well… almost everything.»
Elena set her cup down on the table.
«Almost everything—how much is that?»
«Nine hundred fifty. Lena, she’ll pay us back. Not right away, of course. But she’s my mom. We have to help family, we’re not strangers to her.»
«And who am I to you?»
«You’re family too. That’s why I thought you’d understand.»
Elena didn’t sleep that night. She sat in the kitchen under a broken shelf, trying to remember the last time she bought herself something just because. All she could recall was the coffee she gave up last spring. That was when she first started wondering how much her marriage really cost, and who was footing the bill.
She called the teacher herself and said it wouldn’t work out. The woman was silent for a moment before saying, ‘That’s a shame. I could tell you liked it there.’
A week later, on Friday evening, Alexey came out of the room with his phone in hand, speaking cheerfully: «Tomorrow we’re going to Mom’s. They delivered her new kitchen, the installers finished everything, but it needs to be cleaned and organized. We also have to move the old furniture to the balcony. Mom asked if you could come early, around nine.»
Elena was folding towels. She finished the stack, evened it out with her hand, and set it on the shelf.
«The kitchen bought with our money?»
«Come on, Len…»
«I am never setting foot in your mom’s home again! If she needs help, you go—and don’t forget your sister!»
Alexey snorted and patted her on the shoulder.
«Alright, you’re upset, I get it. You’ll cool off by tomorrow. Lena, this isn’t right. She’s my mother, she’s older. We have a duty to our elders. She raised us.»
«She raised you. Not me.»
«What’s the difference.»
Elena put down the towel and sat on the edge of the sofa.
«Fine. Let’s be honest. Your mom has two grown children. You and Masha. Let’s divide things up. One Saturday you, one Saturday Masha. Windows, curtains, the fridge, this new kitchen. I’m not on this schedule anymore.»
Alexey stopped smiling.
«Are you serious? Masha works on weekends, she’s got weddings.»
«And I work from six in the morning. Five days a week.»
«That’s selfish, Lena. Truly selfish. Mom asked for help once in her life…»
— Once in a lifetime? Try every Saturday for the past ten years.
— You could have said no!
— Well, I’m saying no now.
Alexey stepped out onto the balcony to smoke, even though he’d quit six months ago. Through the glass, Elena could see him calling someone, waving his free hand animatedly.
When he came back inside, she said:
— Also, I want your mom to repay at least part of the money for the plot. Maybe the teacher still hasn’t sold it.
— Are you out of your mind? She’s already spent it all.
— Call her and ask.
Alexey dialed his mother right in front of her and put the call on speaker. Clearly, he was counting on Larisa Pavlovna to put his wife in her place quickly.
— Mom, Lena’s asking… About the money. How much do you have left?
— What’s going on? — His mother’s voice immediately sharpened. — The kitchen was five hundred and forty, living room furniture was two hundred and ten, that’s the couch and wall unit. The rest I gave to Masha, she needed a fridge and a washing machine, theirs were ancient. Lesha, are you keeping tabs on me now?
— No, mom, I just…
— Whose name is the kitchen registered to? — Elena asked loudly.
There was a pause on the other end.
— Mine, who else? I live here, after all. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lena. My son helped me, not you.
Alexey quickly turned off speaker mode, muttered, “Mom, we’ll talk later,” and hung up. Elena stared at him.
— Did you know about Masha’s fridge?
Alexey just shrugged.
— Yeah, I knew. Mom said she’d help her out a little.
— «A little» turned out to be two hundred thousand of our money. Give me your phone.
— Why?
— Open the bank app. I want to see every transfer from that account. And from your card too.
— Lena, this is humiliating.
— Open it.
He held the phone in his hand for a long time, then finally unlocked the app and set it on the table. He turned away toward the window.
Elena scrolled through the transaction history for almost an hour. At first, she said a few things out loud, then fell silent. The transfers stretched back for years. «L. P. Sergeeva» — fifteen thousand, twenty, eight, then fifteen again. «M. Sergeeva» for a phone, a camera lens, “for birthday,” “until payday.” Two years ago in June, forty-eight thousand went to a travel agency. That summer, they’d canceled a trip to Anapa because Alexey said there wasn’t enough money and it would be better to save for the dacha. That same June, Larisa Pavlovna and Maria went to Sochi. Back then, Elena was genuinely glad for her mother-in-law.
Even from the savings account, small amounts had been regularly transferred before the October payment—ten here, twenty there, every few months. Alexey always gave Elena a ballpark figure.
— So, while I was trudging around in old boots, — she said, — you were buying Masha a new camera lens.
— She needed it for work.
— And my boots, what were they for?
Alexey didn’t answer. Elena remembered standing last winter in front of a shoe store window, convincing herself her boots would last another season, that she could just patch up the soles. She remembered the coffee. The vacation they hadn’t taken in two years. The dress with the tag still on.
— You know, — Alexey finally said, — everything we have is shared. Your salary, my salary. I managed our money. That was my right.
— But if your mom wants something, that’s apparently not up for discussion.
— Mom is different.
That «different» was what Elena remembered the most afterward. She stood up, placed the phone back on the table face down, and went to the bedroom. That night, they slept in separate rooms.
On Saturday morning, Alexei paced around the apartment for a long time, slamming cupboard doors and loudly searching for his car keys. Elena sat in the kitchen with her tea, not even looking up.
«So, you’re not coming?» he called out from the hallway.
«I’m not,» she replied.
«Alright. I’ll manage on my own.»
He came back around eleven that night. He sat on a stool in the hallway, slowly untying his shoelaces. His hands were covered with tiny cuts from packing cardboard.
«Masha didn’t show up,» he said, still not looking at his wife. «She texted that she has a shoot until late. Mom spent the whole day saying you’re ungrateful. I cleaned all her cupboards and then she went and cleaned them again herself.»
Elena didn’t say a word. For the first time in ten years, she spent her Saturday at home. She washed the lace curtains, sorted out the laundry basket, and threw away two bags of old clothes from the closet. She didn’t feel triumphant. She just wished that, for once, he could see what it looked like from her side.
On Sunday, Larisa Pavlovna called. Not Alexei, but Elena—for the first time in ages.
«Lenochka,» she began softly, almost kindly. «I understand you’re tired, work’s tough. But you can’t treat family like this. Lesha left yesterday barely alive, his back is killing him. You’re his wife, you should take care of him. Come next Saturday, let’s have tea in the new kitchen and make peace.»
«Will I have to clean the cupboards?»
Her mother-in-law went silent for a moment.
«Well, since you’ll be here, maybe help arrange the dishes. Lesha put them all in the wrong place.»
«Larisa Pavlovna, you bought that kitchen with the money I was saving for land. Arrange it yourself.»
«Oh, so that’s how it is,» her voice instantly changed. «Counting money now, are you? I always knew you were one of those. Leshenka shouldn’t have married you—I told him so back then.»
Elena ended the call. Her hands didn’t shake, and that surprised her.
On Monday, after her shift, she took a folder with documents out of the closet: passport, marriage certificate, screenshots of transfers she’d made—taken while scrolling through his phone. A week later, after speaking with a lawyer, she filed for divorce and a division of assets.
Alexei found out from the court summons. He stormed into the room, waving the papers in his hand.
«What are you doing? Over a kitchen?!»
«Over ten years.»
«The account’s in my name. The money’s in my name. You won’t get a thing, got it? You’ll be left with nothing but your towels.»
Elena picked up the paper he threw on the bed and put it back in the same folder.
«We’ll see.»
An old classmate who’d gone through a property split herself helped Elena find a lawyer. The man, middle-aged and weary-looking, listened to her, leafed through the statements, and said calmly:
«Money saved during the marriage is shared, no matter whose name the account is in. If a spouse spent joint funds against the other’s wishes and not for the family’s needs, the court can take that into account. The 950,000 transfer to his mother a week before buying the land you agreed on—that’s a strong argument. Proving small transfers over the years will be much harder. I wouldn’t bother with those.»
Through the court, the lawyer requested complete account statements for the past three years. It turned out there was 1,260,000 on the account right before the transfer. After it, only 310,000 were left. Alexey never mentioned this leftover amount to Elena at all.
At the hearings, Alexey was confident at first. He kept explaining that his mother’s kitchen was falling apart, that he just had to help, and that his wife agreed to it. Elena quietly slid a printout of their messages across the table—the ones she sent him that very night: «You made the transfer without me. I didn’t agree to this.» Larisa Pavlovna came to one hearing, sat in the corridor with a new handbag on her lap, and didn’t say hello.
The court determined each person’s share of the savings—630,000 each. The transfer to his mother was counted as money Alexey had handled on his own, not in the family’s interest. So the 310,000 that was left went to Elena, and Alexey had to pay her another 320,000 as compensation. He took out a personal loan and sent her the money two months after the ruling, without a single word in the message.
The landlord agreed to let Elena keep the apartment they’d been renting. Alexey moved out in March to live with his mother. He took the TV, the game console, and his tools. The kitchen shelf he never mounted. Elena put it up herself the day after he left, following an online tutorial. It turned out a little crooked, but it held.
Now Larisa Pavlovna started messaging her son on Saturdays. Elena heard about it from mutual friends and sometimes from Maria’s social media. Once, a photo flashed by in her timeline: Alexey in rubber gloves standing on the windowsill in his mother’s living room, with the caption: “Our brother is golden!” Maria wasn’t in the picture—it seemed she was the one taking it.
By then, the teacher still hadn’t sold her plot. Buyers came, looked around, and left: some thought it was too expensive, some thought it was too far, and others were scared off by the old little house. In April, Elena called her again.
«Oh, it’s you!» the woman said happily. «Yes, it’s still available. I dropped the price to seven hundred fifty. Come have a look.»
They closed the deal in May. The 630,000 from the split, and the rest Elena added from what she’d been saving since October. She now kept her salary and winter bonus in her own account. The teacher handed her a ring of keys with a wooden keychain and a notebook, where the different kinds of apple trees along the fence were listed by year.
On the very first Saturday, Elena arrived at the plot early in the morning. She opened the little house, threw open the windows, took the old rugs outside to beat them. Then she walked down to the dock and took off her sneakers.
Her phone started vibrating in her pocket. For the first time since March, Alexey was texting her.
«Lena, mom’s asking if you could help with the windows this Saturday? My back’s out, and Mashka’s on a shoot.»
Elena read the message, thought for a minute, and replied:
«I’m at the dacha. I’ve got my own windows to take care of.»
She hit send, put her phone on silent and tucked it into her sneaker. The windows in the little house really were dirty, streaked from the winter. She washed all four by evening, not rushing anywhere else before nightfall.
