Maria stood in the kitchen, reading the message. A second time. A third.
“Transfer 50 thousand for mother’s anniversary. I’m tight on money.”
From Andrey. Her ex-husband.
The very same one who a year ago said:
— We’re grown-ups, Masha. Why do we need courts, alimony, all this circus? I will help. I promise.
And she believed him.
Twelve years of marriage… Could it have meant so little?
A year ago. A civilized divorce.
The divorce went quietly. No scandals, no property disputes. Like civilized people.
Andrey methodically packed his things. Folding shirts into a suitcase, taking diplomas off the wall, packing books.
— The apartment is yours, — he said then without looking up. — I’m moving in with my mother. Temporarily, then I’ll buy a small place or rent one.
“Temporarily” stretched into a year.
Maria sat on the sofa, watching her life crumble. The children were at school. Seven-year-old Maxim and ten-year-old Anya didn’t yet know that their father was leaving.
— How do we explain it to the children? — she asked.
— We’ll say he’s just living with grandma for now — she needs his help, but he’ll visit them regularly.
— And alimony? — Maria barely uttered the word.
Andrey stopped. Turned to her.
— Why make it official? We’re not enemies. I’ll send money, as much as needed. Plus or minus thirty thousand a month — as I used to spend on the family.
That sounded reasonable.
— But if you go to court… — he shrugged. — Then that’s it. Only by paper. No trips to the sea, no extracurriculars beyond the minimum. You understand?
Maria nodded.
Of course, she understood. Why ruin the relationship? The kids loved their father. He was the one who hurt and betrayed her; the children had nothing to do with it. Anya went to music school — 500 rubles per lesson. Maxim did karate — 800 rubles. Plus English for both.
— Okay, — she said. — We’ll try.
— You’ll see, everything will be fine. Even better than before.
Better…
Maria didn’t understand then who it would be better for.
The first months of euphoria
At first, everything really went smoothly.
Andrey sent money regularly. On the first of every month — plus when necessary — Maria just forwarded a message from the coach or teacher and Andrey transferred without questions. No delays, no reminders.
He picked up the kids every weekend. Took them to the movies, parks, bought ice cream and toys. Returned them happy and tired.
— Mom, Dad said we’re going to the sea this summer! — Anya told her. — To Turkey! With water parks!
— And I’m flying too? — Maxim asked.
— Of course! The whole family!
The whole family… Maria didn’t specify if she was part of that family. But most likely, no…
— See? — Andrey said, picking up the kids on another Saturday. — And you worried.
Maria worked as a manager in an advertising agency. She used not to worry about her salary size — she liked her job, she was good at it, and that was the main thing.
But expenses grew. Andrey used to cover utilities. Now it was her responsibility. Four thousand rubles a month minimum.
Groceries. Clothes for the kids — they grew fast. School supplies, transport passes, pocket money.
Maria started taking extra jobs. Freelanced in the evenings when the kids were asleep. Made presentations, designed logos, wrote texts for websites. She thought about hiring a couple of juniors to delegate orders to.
She slept four hours a night. But managed.
— You’re a heroine, — her friend Lena said. — I couldn’t do it.
— I could. When it’s necessary — I could.
First warning signs
Her mother-in-law — Lidiya Stepanovna — called once a week:
— Maria, how are you? Isn’t it hard on your own?
A caring, sympathetic voice. But Maria heard the subtext.
— Thanks, Lidiya Stepanovna. We’re managing.
— And work? Don’t overwork yourself?
— Fine. Everything’s fine.
— Good, good. Take care of yourself. The children need a healthy mother.
After such talks Maria felt uneasy. She was the one asking, no offer of help came.
Once Maxim overheard a conversation between Galina Petrovna and Andrey and told it almost verbatim to Maria. The children were at their place, Maria came to pick them up.
Maria coughed loudly and entered the kitchen.
— I’m taking the kids.
— Of course, — Lidiya Stepanovna smiled. — How are things? Work?
— Good, thanks.
— Not tired? You look… unwell.
Unwell. Of course. Four hours of sleep and chronic fatigue do not look good.
— Everything’s fine, — repeated Maria.
On the way home Maxim said:
— Mom, when we were at grandma’s, I heard her say to Dad: “You shouldn’t have left her the apartment. Now she’ll bring men home. What will the kids see?”
Maria froze.
— And what did Dad say?
— He said: “Mom, don’t start.” But grandma kept going: “I’m telling the truth. A young woman, an apartment, freedom. Think she’ll stay alone long?”
— I see, — Maria said quietly. — Maxim, forget that conversation.
But she thought: What men? When? Between work and housework?
She worked from morning till night. Came home tired. Had dinner with the kids, checked homework, put them to bed. Then sat at the computer — the side jobs didn’t stop.
Weekends — laundry, cleaning, groceries. If the kids were at their father’s — she could sleep in. Luxury.
What men are they talking about?
Autumn changes
By September something changed.
Andrey started taking the kids less often. Not every weekend, but every other.
— Dad, when will we go to the zoo? — Maxim asked on the phone.
— Soon, son. Dad’s got a lot of work right now.
— And the theater? You promised for “The Nutcracker.”
— I promised. We’ll definitely go.
But the promises weren’t kept.
Maria saw how the children waited. How Anya packed a bag with pajamas on Fridays, hoping Dad would take her to grandma’s.
— Is Dad coming today? — Maxim asked.
— I don’t know, sunshine. Call him yourself.
— He doesn’t answer.
— Then let’s wait.
They waited until evening. Then Maria wrote Andrey:
“Kids were waiting for you. Could’ve warned.”
“Sorry. Work’s piled up. Next weekend for sure.”
Next weekend something always came up too.
But he transferred money regularly. Thirty thousand on the first of each month.
— Lena, I want to seriously talk to him — she shared with her friend Lena.
— About what?
— About the kids. He hasn’t seen them for a month.
— And he gives money?
— He does.
— Then what’s the problem?
— The kids need a father, not a sponsor.
— Masha, he’s not obligated. You’re divorced.
Not obligated… Interesting logic.
October. First conflicts
Maria’s patience snapped in October.
Anya got sick. Fever, cough. She had to take sick leave.
Maria stayed home with her daughter when Andrey called:
— How are things?
— Anya is sick.
— Seriously?
— Acute respiratory viral infection. But the fever is high.
— Got it. Get well soon.
— Andrey, can you come? She’s asking for you.
Pause.
— I can’t now. Working.
— In the evening?
— I have a meeting in the evening.
— On the weekend?
— I’m going to Kosta’s dacha on the weekend. We planned it long ago.
Maria was silent.
— Masha, you there?
— Here.
— What’s wrong?
— When was the last time you saw the kids?
— I don’t remember. Why?
— A month ago, Andrey. A month.
— So what? I haven’t disappeared. I pay regularly.
— It’s not about money.
— Then what? I work. I get tired. I can’t entertain them every weekend.
Entertain… As if they were nephews, not his own children.
— You’re their father.
— I know. And I help. More than many.
— Than many?
— Than those who pay only alimony. I pay more. And I communicate with the kids.
— When do you communicate? Once a week on the phone?
— Masha, don’t start. I have enough problems as it is.
— And I don’t?
— You have a job, money from me, an apartment. What’s there to complain about?
What’s there to complain about…
Maria hung up.
Anya lay in bed, pale, eyes shining with fever:
— Mom, will Dad come?
— I don’t know, sunshine. He’s busy.
— Always busy, — Anya whispered and turned to the wall.
November. Escalating conflict
In November Andrey disappeared altogether.
He sent money. But didn’t answer calls and replied to messages with monosyllables.
Maxim brought home a failing grade in math.
— Why didn’t you do your homework? — Maria asked.
— Didn’t understand the topic. And no one to ask.
— How no one? Ask me.
— You don’t explain math well.
True. Maria is a humanities person. She’s always had trouble with math.
— Dad knows, — Maxim added. — But he doesn’t come.
Maria called Andrey. He didn’t answer immediately.
— Yeah?
— Maxim needs help with math.
— So?
— Can you explain the topic to him?
— On the phone?
— Can you come?
— Masha, I have no time for lessons now.
— He’s your son.
— I know. But I’m not a teacher. Hire a tutor.
Tutor… With what money?
— Andrey, what’s going on with you?
— Nothing. I’m just tired of carrying everything alone.
— What are you carrying?
— You. The three of you. Money, problems, worries. I want to live for myself too.
For myself…
— And the kids?
— The kids are fine. They have a mother, money, a roof over their heads. Everything else is your problem.
Your problem.
Not ours. Yours.
December. The last straw
New Year was approaching fast.
Maria planned a trip to her mother in the village. Her mother lived alone in the old house where Maria grew up. She was seventy-two, health not good.
The house needed care. A lot of snow had fallen this year — knee-deep. Paths had to be cleared, the roof checked, the gate fixed.
Most importantly — take mother to the doctor. The district hospital was careless. Tests were needed at a good clinic.
Maria saved for this trip for about two months. Setting aside three to four thousand rubles from side jobs.
And then Andrey called.
— Masha, I have news.
A cheerful, satisfied voice.
— What?
— I’m flying to the Maldives! With Kosta. Can you imagine? The tickets were almost free — caught a super cheap tour.
Maria was silent.
— Masha, you there?
— Yes. Listening.
— Cool, right! I dreamed about the tropics for years. And now this chance!
— Congratulations.
— Thanks! Leaving December 28th. Two weeks under the palms!
December 28th. Just before New Year.
— And the kids? — Maria asked.
— What kids?
— New Year. Holidays.
— Ah… yeah. Listen, I won’t be able to take the kids for New Year. But we’ll come up with something later. Maybe go somewhere in January. To Kosta’s dacha.
— And now?
— Now it’s impossible. But I’ll transfer money for their gifts! Five thousand. Not bad, right?
Five thousand. For two.
Maria quickly calculated. School matinees — costumes needed, gifts for classmates. New Year holidays — two weeks. Shopping centers, movies, entertainment. The kids had been waiting for the holiday all year.
Five thousand for two — that’s nothing.
— Andrey, but five thousand… that’s very little. For two children.
— Little? — his voice got colder. — Sorry, I’m not a millionaire, Masha. You work too. And I hear you earn well.
— I earn, but I have to take side jobs.
— Well then. Plus my thirty — that’s quite a lot.
— But it’s the holidays. The kids will be home for two weeks. They need something to do.
— So what? Occupy them with something. Books, cartoons, games at home. We used to manage somehow without constant trips to malls.
Maria felt irritation rise.
— It’s not about malls. You’re their father. They’re waiting for you.
— I know I’m their father. And I do more than I should. Much more.
— What do you mean more than you should?
— That’s what I mean. We’re divorced, Masha. I might not help at all. By law I have to pay a third of my salary — that’s about fifteen thousand. But I pay thirty. Twice as much!
— How can that be not helping?
— Like this. Forget about you and live for myself. Many do that.
— But you’re not many. You’re their father.
— A father who pays regularly and talks to the kids. Though I could not talk at all.
Maria squeezed the phone tighter.
— So communication with the kids is a favor for you?
— Don’t twist my words. I’m saying I try to be a good father. And you… you’re just spoiled.
Spoiled.
The word hit.
— I see, — Maria said quietly. — Have a good rest.
And hung up.
Plans collapse
The trip to her mother was canceled.
Maria sat at the table and recalculated the family budget. If Andrey gave only five thousand, and the holidays lasted two weeks…
There would be pennies left for entertainment.
And mother in the village waited. Called every day:
— Mariночка, you’re coming, right? I cleaned the rooms, baked pies.
— I don’t know, mom. Maybe postpone till spring.
— What happened? Work?
What to say? That the ex-husband preferred the Maldives to his children?
— Yes, work piled up. I can’t go.
— What a pity. I prepared so much…
Disappointment was heard in mother’s voice. She rarely saw her daughter. Last time was summer.
— In spring we’ll definitely come, all together then — Maria promised.
— Okay. Spring then.
Mother didn’t pry. She was delicate. Never meddled in her daughter’s affairs.
But Maria knew — mother waited. Bought candies, prepared rooms.
And all in vain.
The message
Three days after the conversation with Andrey.
Maria was at the computer, working on a client presentation. Another side job — three thousand for two days of work.
The kids watched cartoons in the next room. The sounds distracted her but there was no alternative.
The phone vibrated.
A message from Andrey.
Maria opened it mechanically — and froze.
“Mash, transfer 50 thousand for mother’s anniversary. I’m tight on money.”
She reread. Again.
Fifty thousand.
For mother-in-law’s anniversary.
From the man who was going to the Maldives and couldn’t give the children more than five thousand for two.
Maria stood up. Walked around the kitchen.
Fifty thousand…
That’s one and a half of her salaries. Or a trip to her mother with treatment in a private clinic. Or the repair in the children’s room postponed for the second year.
The phone vibrated again.
“Did you get the message? Urgent. Anniversary the day after tomorrow. All the relatives gathered.”
Relatives… The very ones who never considered Maria a person.
Lidiya Stepanovna, who whispered: “She’ll bring men home.”
His sisters, who smiled stiffly at meetings and said: “Andrey lost weight. The single life is doing him good.”
Maria started typing a reply. Deleted. Typed again.
Her hands shook with indignation.
— Mom, what’s wrong? — Anya stood in the doorway, scared.
— Nothing, sunshine. Everything’s fine. Go finish watching your cartoon.
— Why are you so angry and pacing?
— Not angry. Everything’s fine.
But nothing was fine.
And the fatigue had nothing to do with it.
Maria sat down at the table. Put the phone in front of her.
What had she become to this man? An ATM?
A year ago he said they were grown-ups. That everything would be solved reasonably.
And now he demands money for his mother. As if it’s owed. As a given.
The same Lidiya Stepanovna who now would get a gift at the expense of the former daughter-in-law.
Maria typed the reply:
“Doesn’t concern me. Your relatives — you’re their son, so you pay.”
Sent it.
A second later added:
“I’m not your wife. And no longer her daughter-in-law. We’re divorced!”
And one more message:
“I’m filing for alimony tomorrow.”
Sent it and turned off the phone.
The call
Andrey started calling half an hour later.
Maria didn’t answer.
He called for an hour. Two. Sent messages:
“Mash, pick up. We need to talk.”
“What are you doing? We agreed!”
“Alimony is nonsense. You understand.”
By evening Maria turned on the phone. Seventeen missed calls.
He called immediately.
— Finally! — his voice trembled with anger. — What are you doing?
— What exactly?
— Alimony! We agreed to solve everything reasonably!
— We agreed on many things. You didn’t keep a single promise.
— That’s not true! I pay! Regularly! Thirty thousand every month!
— When it suits you. How it suits you. On your terms.
— What terms?
— The kids don’t see you. They ask for help — you’re busy. But when your mother needs money — you remember me.
— That’s my mother!
— Yours. Not mine. So you pay.
— Masha, don’t ruin everything. I’m trying. I meant well!
— Better for whom? For the kids? Who wait for you every weekend? Or for yourself?
— I’m busy…
— In the Maldives?
Pause.
— What do the Maldives have to do with this?
— That you have money for a vacation. But not for your own children. Five thousand for two for the New Year holidays. And fifty thousand for your mother’s anniversary.
— Those are different things!
— Money is not different, Andrey. Either it exists or it doesn’t.
— You’ll ruin everything! The kids will lose their father!
— The kids lost their father a year ago. When you decided that communicating with them is a favor.
Andrey was silent.
— I’m not your cash machine, — Maria said calmly. — I’m the mother of your children. But that doesn’t mean I should pay for your life.
— Fifty thousand is not my life. It’s my mother’s anniversary.
— Your mother. Who never considered me family.
— She respects you…
— She tolerated me. Big difference.
— You’re touchy.
— I’m a realist.
Long pause.
— Masha, let’s do without alimony. I’ll increase payments. To forty thousand.
— No.
— To fifty!
— No, Andrey. Enough bargaining.
— Why?
— Because tomorrow you’ll find a reason to cut that fifty. Or not pay at all. And the day after tomorrow you’ll demand money for your uncle’s anniversary.
— I won’t ask…
— You will. Because you’re used to it. You think it’s normal.
He was silent.
— Goodbye, Andrey.
One month later
The claim was filed in January. After the New Year holidays.
When the court decision came, Maria couldn’t believe her eyes.
Alimony was set at eighty thousand rubles per month.
Eighty! Not fifteen, as she expected.
So Andrey’s salary was not forty-five thousand, as he said, but more than two hundred and forty.
He lied. Lied all year about his income.
The truth about the apartment also came out. Andrey didn’t “leave” it to Maria out of nobility. By law, after divorce the home stays with the one who lives with the children. He simply had no choice.
Eighty thousand came automatically. Bailiffs supervised.
No calls asking for money. No bargaining. No conditions.
Maria saved money and took her mother to a good private clinic. Tests showed her health was not as bad as feared. Treatment just needed adjustment.
— Thank you, daughter, — her mother said. — I thought it was really bad.
— Everything will be fine, Mom.
And indeed — it got better.
The kids adapted to the new life faster than Maria expected.
Andrey now picked them up strictly by schedule — every other weekend. No more, no less. Set by the court.
The man decided to hide his income from the kids — stingy, right?
