— We’re talking about fairness! Don’t you understand? How did you even manage to build your business in the first place? It would be right and honest if you gave Oksana a share. Made her your full partner and co-owner. You’ve been lucky enough as it is—you only have Sonya, while she has three children to feed. You have to share!
There is one very strange and destructive stereotype deeply rooted in our society. For some reason, people believe that if someone has reached a certain level of prosperity, it must be the result of some incredible stroke of random luck. As if success were a winning lottery ticket that simply blew through an open window.
And as soon as you have something worthwhile, people instantly appear around you, sincerely convinced that you are obligated to share this “luck” with them. Especially if those people are your relatives. My story is a bitter lesson about how years of hard, exhausting work were devalued by the people closest to me, and how, for the first time in my life, I had to enter into open conflict in order to defend my right to my own life.
My name is Yulia. I am thirty-two years old, I have a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter named Sonya. I also have a small marketing agency. It is not a multinational corporation, not an empire with millions in turnover, but a modest, stable, and much-loved organization that allows our family to live comfortably. And it was this modest agency that caused a massive split in my family, which consists of my mother, Evgenia Petrovna, and my older sister, Oksana.
Oksana and I grew up in the same family and were raised by the same mother, yet somehow we absorbed completely different attitudes toward life. Oksana, who is four years older than me, had always been remarkably carefree since her youth. She never liked taking responsibility. Studying seemed boring to her, and building a career felt like an exhausting activity that required unjustified effort. She always looked for easy paths and for people who could solve her problems for her.
Oksana married early, choosing a man just as irresponsible as herself, and by the time she was thirty, they already had three children. They lived noisily, chaotically, and were constantly in a state of financial crisis. There was never enough money. Oksana’s husband often changed jobs, while my sister devoted herself to motherhood, sincerely believing that the status of a mother of many children automatically entitled her to comprehensive help and leniency from everyone around her.
And she received that help in full. Our mother, Evgenia Petrovna, had always considered Oksana weak and in need of care. Mom gave her the lion’s share of her pension, constantly babysat the grandchildren, and also bought them food and clothing.
But her attitude toward me was completely different. Since childhood, I had been used to relying only on myself. I knew that no one would bring me what I wanted on a silver platter. When I got married and Sonya was born, my husband and I found ourselves in a very difficult situation. He was the only one working, his salary was modest, and most of it went toward rent and basic necessities. We were catastrophically short of money, even for basic groceries and diapers.
That was when, sitting on maternity leave with a small child in my arms, I made a decision that changed my entire life. I decided to learn internet marketing.
If anyone knew what my current well-being had cost me, they would never dare call it “luck.” My path into the profession was paved with sleepless nights, liters of strong coffee, and chronic exhaustion.
During the day, I was an ordinary mother: I cooked lunch, walked with the child, played with blocks, and cleaned the apartment. But as soon as Sonya fell asleep, my second shift began. I opened my laptop and studied. I took free courses, read articles, learned about social media algorithms, advertising settings, and copywriting. My eyes would close from exhaustion, my back ached from the uncomfortable chair, but I did not give up.
When I began searching for my first clients, I took any job I could get. I managed other people’s pages for literal pennies, and sometimes even just for a testimonial for my portfolio. I endured clients’ whims, redid work ten times over, and gradually built experience and a reputation.
And the most hurtful part of that period was that my mother and sister did not support me at all. When I shared my first modest successes with them, they merely waved me off condescendingly.
“Yulia, why are you wasting your time on nonsense?” Evgenia Petrovna sighed, stirring sugar into a cup in my kitchen, where she had stopped by for five minutes on her way to Oksana’s place. “Some little pictures on the internet, some texts. Is that really work? It’s nothing but fooling around! You’d be better off spending more time with your child or ironing your husband’s shirts more often. When your maternity leave is over, you’ll get an office job and live like all normal people.”
Oksana also never missed a chance to mock me. When I couldn’t go wandering around the mall with her because I had a project “on fire,” she was genuinely indignant:
“Oh, stop playing with your toys! As if you’re earning millions there! You just sit and stare at a screen, ruining your eyesight.”
It hurt and offended me. Not once did either of them offer to sit with Sonya for even a couple of hours so I could calmly finish a project or simply sleep. All of my mother’s help went to Oksana, because she had three children, because it was harder for her, while I had only one daughter—and besides, I was doing “some kind of nonsense.”
But time passed. My persistence began to bear real fruit. From an inexperienced beginner working for testimonials, I became a sought-after specialist. Word of mouth did its job: clients began recommending me to one another. There were so many orders that I physically could no longer handle them all.
That was when I registered as a sole proprietor and hired my first assistants. That was how my tiny marketing agency appeared. We began earning steadily. My husband and I finally took out a mortgage and moved into our own apartment. We began saving for Sonya’s education and allowed ourselves our first proper seaside vacation in many years.
During that period, seeing how difficult Oksana’s financial situation was, I tried to extend a helping hand. I had an opening for a moderator—someone who simply had to respond to comments using prepared templates and publish posts at scheduled times. The job was elementary, completely remote, and required only a couple of hours a day. I offered this position to my sister, promising her a decent salary for that kind of work.
Oksana listened to me with a face as though I had suggested she go unload freight cars.
“Yul, are you out of your mind?” she snapped. “I have three children! I have borscht to cook, homework to do with the oldest, and developmental classes to take the youngest to. When am I supposed to sit in your internet? I’m a free person. I don’t want to tie myself to a computer every day. No thanks, find yourself some other workers for pennies!”
I only shrugged. As she wished. I found a capable student for the position, and the subject was closed. Or so it seemed to me at the time.
The real storm broke out six months ago. My agency completed a very large, complex, and profitable project. Together with our family savings, that money was enough to fulfill an old dream of mine. I bought a brand-new car from the dealership. It was not a luxurious supercar, just a good, reliable, modern vehicle that was comfortable to drive.
But for my mother and sister, that shiny car smelling of fresh leather became a red rag. In their system of values, a person who bought a car from a dealership automatically moved into the category of millionaires with nowhere to put their money. And therefore, that person was obligated to start solving their financial problems.
Two weeks after I bought the car, Evgenia Petrovna invited me to her home for Saturday tea. I bought a nice tasty cake and came over, suspecting nothing. Oksana was already waiting for me in the living room. The atmosphere was somehow unnaturally solemn and tense. Mom poured tea into the cups, sat opposite me, and sighed heavily and meaningfully.
“Yulenka,” Mom began in a heartfelt tone, folding her hands on the table. “Oksana and I have been thinking and discussing the situation for a long time… In short, we need to make one important decision.”
I became wary. Nothing good usually followed introductions like that.
“What decision, Mom? Did something happen?”
“What happened is that we are living completely unfairly,” Oksana joined in. Her eyes darted around. “Look at yourself, Yul. An apartment, a brand-new car from the dealership, vacations at resorts. You got lucky. You settled well in life. Your own business, you’re the boss. And I’m struggling like a fish on ice. Kolya’s salary was cut, the children are growing, their clothes wear out, and we also have to pay for their activities. We can barely make ends meet.”
“Oksana, I’m very sorry you’re having such difficulties,” I answered gently. “I offered you work. If you want, I can look again and see what tasks I could delegate to you. I’ll teach you the basics, and you’ll be able to earn money…”
“What does your work have to do with anything?!” my sister cut me off sharply. “I don’t need your handouts in the form of a few thousand for sitting there pressing buttons! I don’t have time for that!”
“Then what are we talking about?” I genuinely stopped understanding the essence of her complaint.
Evgenia Petrovna cleared her throat, straightened her back, and delivered the phrase:
“We are talking about fairness, Yulia. Don’t you understand? How did you even manage to build your business? Since you have an entire agency that brings in so much money, it would be right and honest if you gave Oksana a share. Made her your full partner, a co-owner. Fifty-fifty. You’ve been lucky enough as it is—you only have Sonya, while she has three children to feed. You have to share!”
I sat there, frozen, staring at my mother and sister. It felt as if I had ended up in some strange scene from a movie.
“A co-owner?” I repeated in a hoarse voice. “A partner? Mom, do you even understand what you’re asking?”
“What’s so terrible about it?” Mom was sincerely outraged. “You’ll sign half the firm over to your sister. She’s not a stranger!”
“Mom, my agency is not a sack of potatoes that can simply be split in half! It is a legal entity, taxes, responsibility to clients, and salaries for my employees! It is not a source of endless money! Oksana has no idea how marketing works. She doesn’t know what sales funnels, analytics, or deadlines are! What kind of partner would she be?!”
“What difference does it make whether I know those fancy words of yours or not!” Oksana jumped in, turning red with anger. “You’ll keep working like you did before—you know how to do everything—and we’ll split the profit in half. You’ve got a new car now, you won’t become poor! I have three children, Yulia! Three! You are obligated to help!”
They sat before me—two grown women sincerely convinced they were right. My sister was not asking me to help pay for my nephews’ activities or lend her money for apartment repairs. She was demanding that I give away half of my business, into which I had invested my health, my nerves, and years of my life.
I had always been a gentle person and tried to avoid conflict. But at that moment, the cup of my patience simply overflowed.
I abruptly stood up from the table.
“Here’s how it’s going to be! Let’s put everything in its place. My agency is neither a lottery nor luck. My success is years of labor. It is the time when I rocked Sonya with one hand and wrote texts for clients with the other, clients who paid me pennies. It is red eyes, back pain, and the constant fear that I wouldn’t be able to earn enough for food!”
I turned my gaze to my mother.
“Where were you when things were hard for me? You laughed at me! You, Mom, said I was wasting my time on nonsense. Not once did you come to sit with your granddaughter so I could at least sleep, because you had to babysit Oksana’s children! Both of you devalued everything I was doing!”
“How dare you speak to your mother that way?!” Evgenia Petrovna tried to protest, clutching at her heart.
“I’m not finished yet!” I snapped. “Oksana, you refused the real work I offered you because you were too lazy to make an effort. And now you’ve suddenly decided that you have the right to simply come and take half of everything, hiding behind my nephews?”
“You’re just selfish!” my sister screamed, jumping to her feet. “A greedy, mercenary egotist! You’d choke over pennies! Your own sister is drowning in debt, while you drive around in a new car! Choke on your agency!”
“I certainly will,” I replied with complete calm. “It is my agency. My life and my money. And I will not give a single penny from my business to people who want to parasitize my labor while hiding behind loud words about family. My family is only my husband and my daughter.”
I took my handbag, threw on my coat, and walked toward the exit. Behind my back flew my sister’s curses and my mother’s lamentations that I had destroyed the family, that money had ruined me, and that blood meant nothing to me anymore.
I went outside, breathed in the frosty air, got into my new car, and started the engine.
Several months have passed since that scandalous day. My relationship with my mother and sister has been reduced to formal communication on holidays. They still have not forgiven me for my “selfishness” and my refusal to support Oksana’s family. In the eyes of numerous relatives, I became the main villain—a “spoiled businesswoman” who grudged her mother-of-many sister a piece of bread.
But you know what?
I absolutely do not care.
I continue developing my small agency. We hired another employee. Sonya started at an excellent school, and my husband and I are planning business expansion and a second child. And I no longer feel any guilt at all.
