My mother-in-law decided to take her grandchildren’s maternity capital for renovating her summer house
“Your maternity capital will go toward repairing my dacha. You live with me anyway!”
Tamara Ilyinichna lowered herself heavily onto the stool.
She adjusted the front of her bulky knitted cardigan and placed her plump hands on the tabletop. Her gaze was heavy, possessive, like that of a хозя́йка sure of her authority. A sunflower-patterned oilcloth covered the table. Olya had bought it herself because the old one had dried out and was crumbling at the edges.
Olya shook the water from her fingers.
Her back had gone stiff after washing the dishes. Her younger son was asleep in the back room. The older one was rolling a plastic tractor across the laminate flooring in the hallway. She and her husband had laid that flooring themselves, board by board, measuring the level carefully. Just like everything else in that apartment.
Olya wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and fixed her eyes on her mother-in-law.
“The maternity capital will go toward repairing my summer house, since you’re living with me anyway!”
Tamara Ilyinichna lowered herself heavily onto the stool.
She adjusted the front of her bulky knitted cardigan and placed her plump hands on the tabletop. Her gaze was heavy, proprietorial. The table was covered with a sunflower-patterned oilcloth. Olya had bought it herself, because the old one had dried out and was crumbling at the edges.
Olya shook the water from her fingers.
Her back was stiff after washing the dishes. The younger son was asleep in the far room. The older one was rolling a plastic tractor across the laminate flooring in the hallway. She and her husband had laid that flooring themselves. They had fitted every plank. Measured every level. Just like everything else in this apartment.
Olya dried her hands on the kitchen towel and fixed her eyes on her mother-in-law.
“What do you mean, for the summer house?”
“Exactly that,” the woman said crisply.
Five years ago, she and Vitya had moved into this one-room apartment. Back then, her mother-in-law had made a grand gesture and handed them the keys as a wedding gift. The apartment had been unfinished. Bare concrete walls. Exposed wires. Drafts blowing through gaps in the windows. The floor screed was uneven and lumpy.
Olya and Vitya took out two consumer loans.
They leveled the walls, installed new wiring, bought a kitchen set, a built-in wardrobe, and good plumbing. Two months ago, their second son had been born. The state issued them a maternity capital certificate. Decent support for a family. And now Tamara Ilyinichna had come to collect what she saw as her due.
“The roof is leaking,” her mother-in-law continued matter-of-factly.
“So?”
Olya leaned against the sink.
“We’ll hire a crew. Put siding on the house. Build a new veranda. The fence needs replacing, the posts are completely crooked. Otherwise Lyudochka and the children will have nowhere to relax in the summer.”
Olya narrowed her eyes.
“Lyudochka? Your daughter?”
She paused. In the next room, the baby stirred, then went quiet again.
“You transferred that summer house to her three years ago. You signed it over as a gift. It’s her personal property. What do we have to do with it?”
“And what’s wrong with that?” her mother-in-law flared up.
She planted her hands on her hips. Red blotches spread across her face.
“Lyuda is a girl. She needs it more. Her husband earns pennies at that factory of his. But Vitya is a man, he’ll earn it himself. He’s strong.”
Tamara Ilyinichna swept her hand around the kitchen.
“Besides, I gave you a whole apartment! You live here with everything ready-made. You don’t know hardship. Sitting here in warmth and comfort. Not paying rent.”
“That money is for housing for our children,” Olya said dully.
She walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down opposite her mother-in-law.
“By law. It can’t be spent on someone else’s summer house. The Pension Fund won’t approve transactions like that. The capital is earmarked.”
“Oh, look how righteous we are!” her mother-in-law snorted.
She waved her hand, and the cheap bracelets on her wrist clinked.
“People cash it out. Through different agencies. Realtors know how to do all that. You’ll write it off somehow. Work something out. Give a percentage to whoever needs it, and transfer the rest of the money to me.”
“That’s a criminal offense, Tamara Ilyinichna. There’s an article for fraud in obtaining benefits. Are you suggesting I go to prison?”
“And is it legal to live at my expense?”
Her mother-in-law leaned forward, her eyes narrowing.
“I inherited this apartment from my father. I could have rented it out. I could’ve made good money. But I gave it to my own son. Let my daughter-in-law in. Registered your little brats here.”
Olya did not back down.
“You let us into a concrete shell. We did the renovation here. From scratch. There wasn’t even a toilet. We poured every paycheck into this place. Paid off loans for five years. Denied ourselves everything.”
“You were doing it for yourselves!” her mother-in-law shot back. “It’s not like I threw you out into the street.”
“We bring you bags of groceries every week. Meat, fish, expensive medicine. Vitya breaks his back doing side jobs. On weekends he digs beds at your summer house while Lyudochka lies in the sun.”
“I’m his mother! You could bring more often. You owe me for the rest of your lives. Who took you in with that pathetic little salary of yours?”
Olya felt a dull, prickly anger rising inside her.
“Vitya paid for your teeth this winter. Left a nice round sum at the clinic. We had to cancel our trip to the sea. Our older son was sick all year, and the doctors told us to take him south. But instead, we got you implants.”
“You’re throwing that in the face of your own family?” Tamara Ilyinichna wailed.
She slammed her palm on the table so hard the salt shaker jumped.
“If you were renting, you’d be paying three times more to some stranger! I did the math. You owe me millions! So your certificate is fair payment for living here. Go to one of those agencies and cash out the money.”
Vitya appeared in the kitchen.
Hunched, wearing a stretched-out T-shirt and sweatpants. He scratched the back of his head. Apparently he had heard the shouting from the hallway.
“Mom, why are you yelling? Pashka just fell asleep.”
“Your wife is lecturing me about the law!”
Her mother-in-law jerked her chin toward her daughter-in-law.
“Threatening me with the criminal code! Doesn’t want to help her own mother. Greedy thing. I always knew you made a mistake, Vitenka.”
Vitya shifted from one foot to the other. He always did that when a scandal was brewing. Avoided eye contact. Hunched over. Tried to blend into the wallpaper. He hated conflict.
“Olya, well… Mom is right in some ways,” her husband muttered.
He stared at the toes of his slippers.
“We really don’t pay rent. And the summer house is falling apart. Lyuska called yesterday, crying. Said the veranda floor is rotting. The roof is leaking right onto the children’s bed. It’s dangerous for the kids to run around there.”
Olya exhaled slowly.
She looked at her husband carefully, as if she were seeing him for the first time in five years.
“And you’re ready to give your sons’ money to repair your sister’s summer house? Cash it out through shady schemes? Commit a prosecutable offense for the sake of Lyuska’s rotten floors?”
“Oh, Olya. We’re family.”
Vitya tried to smile. It came out pitiful.
“We have to help. Lyusa’s having a hard time. Mom has done a lot for us. She gave us the apartment, after all. Let’s talk about it later, without getting worked up. I already promised Lyusa we’d help with the repairs.”
“Promised?” Olya’s voice became dense, like ice.
“Well, yes. She asked for a loan, but we still have debts. So I told her we’d be getting the certificate soon. We’d think of something. Find a realtor. People do it.”
At that moment, something seemed to clear in Olya’s mind.
She didn’t burst into shouting. She simply understood one obvious thing. A person does not change. Vitya would always hide behind his mother’s back. He would always put his sister’s interests above the interests of his own children.
And Tamara Ilyinichna would never have enough. It would always be too little for her. Today it was the maternity capital. Tomorrow they would ask them to take out a car loan for Lyudochka. The day after tomorrow they would tell them to send their older son to a worse kindergarten so they could save money for her mother-in-law’s vacation.
A week earlier, Olya had secretly gone to the bank.
Just to ask about the terms. She had looked at apartments in a new district. Filled out an application. Yesterday, preliminary mortgage approval had come through. The maternity capital would go toward the down payment. The developer was offering a discount. Everything was completely legal.
She had wanted to make her husband happy that evening. Buy a cake. Discuss floor plans. Show him the brochures. Now the plans had changed.
“Here’s how it is,” Tamara Ilyinichna declared sharply.
The woman heaved herself up from the chair, straightened her shoulders, feeling her son’s support, and loomed over the table.
“If you won’t help your mother willingly, then move out!”
“Mom, come on,” Vitya whined.
“That’s right! My living space, my rules. Tomorrow I’ll let in tenants. In one year they’ll pay me back for all these repairs. There’s no shortage of people. And you can pack your things! Go out into the street and defend your rights there. We’ll see who needs you.”
Olya did not flinch.
“Fine.”
Her mother-in-law faltered. Her mouth remained half open.
Vitya stared at his wife in shock.
“What do you mean, fine?” Tamara Ilyinichna asked, confused.
“We’re moving out. Today. Right now.”
Olya turned and walked into the hallway.
She took down the large checkered bags from the top shelf. Set them on the floor. Went back into the bedroom. Opened the sliding wardrobe doors. Started pulling clothes out together with the hangers.
Her mother-in-law followed and snorted.
“Oh please, trying to scare me. Putting on a show. Where exactly are you going to go?”
She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms over her chest.
“With two little hangers-on. On maternity leave. No job. Who needs you in a rental apartment? Landlords don’t even want pets, let alone two babies. You’ll come crawling back tomorrow, begging at my feet!”
Olya silently packed the children’s clothes.
Snowsuits. Onesies. T-shirts. Not a single word. Every movement was sharp and quick. She pulled shoe boxes out from under the bed and shoved them into the bags.
“Vitya, say something to your crazy wife!” her mother-in-law shouted into the hallway.
Vitya hovered in the doorway, wringing the hem of his T-shirt.
“Olya, stop this circus. We got carried away, that’s all. Mom is just tired. Her blood pressure is up. Put everything back. Let’s have some tea. We’ll talk it over calmly tonight.”
Olya walked over to the dresser and pulled out the bottom drawer.
She took out a yellow plastic envelope with a snap button and slipped it into her backpack. Then she took out her phone, scrolled through her contacts, and dialed a number.
“Hello. Moving service? Yes. I need a truck. A bigger van.”
She clearly dictated the street and building number.
“And two strong movers. Hourly pay. Some furniture will need to be taken apart. I’m waiting.”
“Have you completely lost your mind?” her mother-in-law shrieked.
The woman pushed herself off the doorframe. Her face went blotchy again.
“You told us to move out. So we’re moving out. Vacating the premises.”
“I said it figuratively! So you’d grow a conscience! So you’d start respecting your mother! I’m trying to teach you a lesson!”
Olya zipped up the huge bag and straightened up.
“And I took you literally. The lessons are over. So is the respect.”
The cargo Gazelle van arrived an hour and a half later.
The movers came up to the floor—two sturdy men in blue work uniforms. Olya immediately pointed them toward the bedroom.
“Take apart the bed. Carry out the mattress. The crib goes too. Don’t touch the sliding wardrobe, it’s built in.”
Tamara Ilyinichna froze in the middle of the hallway.
“Hey! Where are you taking my furniture? Leave it! Police!”
Olya pulled the yellow envelope out of her backpack, snapped it open, and took out a thick stack of faded receipts and bank statements.
“The furniture is ours, Tamara Ilyinichna. And the appliances too.”
She waved the papers.
“You gave us bare walls. All of this was bought with money from my personal account. From my grandmother’s inheritance. I have records of every transfer. By law, it’s my personal property, not marital property. It isn’t subject to division.”
“Vitya!” the woman wailed loud enough for the whole stairwell to hear. “They’re robbing your mother! I’ll call the police! Thieves!”
Vitya jerked forward and tried to grab one of the movers by the sleeve.
The man shot him a grim look from under his brow and nudged him aside with his shoulder. Vitya immediately stepped back against the wall.
“Olya, this is ridiculous. What are we supposed to sleep on? What are we supposed to wash dishes in? In an empty apartment?” he stammered.
Olya stopped in front of him and looked carefully into his darting eyes.
“The children and I will sleep in a new apartment. My mortgage was approved yesterday. A two-room place in a new district. I’ll get the keys from the developer in two weeks, and until then I’ll rent a place by the day. I have the money. The certificate will go toward our housing. Legally.”
She paused. The apartment echoed with the movers’ footsteps.
“The mortgage is being taken out in my name. If you want, come with us. But you’ll pay half the payment. Strictly. And if you want to stay with your mother, stay. You can sleep on concrete and save up for Lyudochka’s siding.”
The work moved fast.
The movers carried the washing machine out of the bathroom. Unscrewed the light fixtures in the living room. Took out the microwave and the heavy double-door refrigerator. Olya even made them remove the roller blinds from the windows. She had bought them with her first maternity-leave payments.
Her mother-in-law darted around the increasingly empty apartment.
She wailed, clutched at her heart, threatened lawsuits and child protective services. Promised to curse her daughter-in-law. Demanded they leave at least the stove. Olya paid no attention. Calmly and methodically, she packed the dishes into cardboard boxes, wrapping the plates in old newspapers.
Three hours later, the apartment had returned to its original state.
A bare concrete shell. A single dim bulb hung forlornly from the ceiling on a thick black wire. The floor screed showed through where the baseboards had been torn away. Cold echoes wandered through the empty corners.
Olya dressed the children, slung the backpack with the documents over her shoulder, and stepped over the threshold.
“Vitya, are you coming?” she threw over her shoulder.
Her husband looked at his crying mother.
Then he shifted his gaze to the empty gray walls of the apartment. Lowered his head. Picked up his duffel bag with his things and silently trudged after his wife toward the waiting elevator.
Two months passed.
Olya was putting away clean plates in the new kitchen. Yes, the apartment was mortgaged. Yes, they would be paying for a long time—almost twenty years. But no one came barging in with surprise inspections. No one reproached them over a crust of bread and a free square meter. No one demanded they cash out the maternity capital.
Vitya got an evening side job driving a taxi.
He had no choice anymore—the strict loan payment schedule disciplined him better than any family arguments ever had. He still called his mother on weekends, but he no longer sent her money. There was simply no money to send. His character had not changed; he still hated arguments. Only now, circumstances forced him to obey the bank’s schedule.
And Tamara Ilyinichna stayed in her apartment.
Without a washing machine. Without a bed. Without free farm-fresh groceries on weekends. She never did manage to get tenants in. Who would want bare walls on the outskirts of town without even a proper toilet or a stove?
So the woman had to take out a consumer loan from the bank.
For the cheapest furniture, a secondhand refrigerator, and cosmetic repairs for future tenants. She no longer mentioned repairing Lyudochka’s summer house. Paying off her own debts turned out to be much harder than disposing of someone else’s money.
