“Your mother called my boss and asked him not to send me on a business trip because, apparently, a woman should stay home and take care of her husband! You gave her my boss’s number! The whole office laughed at me, and I lost my bonus! Call your mom and tell her that if she interferes with my work one more time, I’ll sue her for invasion of privacy!” his wife shouted, throwing her phone onto the couch.
The heavy phone bounced off the thick upholstery with a dull thud and landed on the parquet. Evgenia stood in the middle of the spacious bedroom. Her strict morning makeup and perfectly tailored gray blazer looked out of place against her pale face. On the unmade double bed lay an open suitcase made of dark blue polycarbonate. Just an hour ago, it had been meticulously packed for an important business trip to Dubai, where the key tender of the year was set to take place. Now Evgenia was methodically tossing things out. Pricey silk blouses, freshly pressed trousers, folders with preliminary budgets, and a pair of leather pumps were landing on the bedspread in a messy, chaotic pile.
“Your mother called my boss and asked him not to send me on a business trip because, apparently, a woman should stay at home.”
“Zhen, you’re blowing this way out of proportion,” Artyom drawled lazily. He was half-reclined on a beanbag chair, eyes glued to the huge TV screen where the menu for a sports video game blinked. He held his wireless controller with practiced ease. “Mom called me last night, asked who your boss was. Said she wanted advice about renovating the cottage and needed a discount on facade materials. I just gave her Igor Vadimovich’s contact info. How was I supposed to know she’d start lecturing him about domestic life?”
Evgenia froze, holding a black leather makeup bag in her hands. She slowly turned her heavy gaze to her husband. His relaxed position, legs stretched out in worn sweatpants, and his completely indifferent, bored tone infuriated her even more than the ruined trip itself.
“Advice about renovations? From the CEO of an international construction holding?” Evgenia spoke in a steady voice, but each word was laced with cold steel. She tossed the makeup bag aside. “Artyom, are you kidding me? Igor Vadimovich called me into the main glass conference room half an hour before I was supposed to leave for the airport. There were investors from the Emirates and our company founders there. He looked at me like I was a clueless teenager. Your mother told him my husband lives on frozen dumplings, that I’ve abandoned the house, and that my business trip would finally destroy our marriage! She begged them to keep me in Moscow so I could make you fresh soup every evening!”
Artyom reluctantly paused the game, clicked his tongue annoyed, and gave his wife a condescending look.
— The older woman overreacted, but who hasn’t? People from that generation have strict ideas about what normal family relationships should be. She’s just worried about what I eat and my health. Nothing serious happened. Someone else can go to your Dubai trip—it’s not the end of the world. You’ll stay home, get some real rest, and we can watch movies together. I even signed up for a brand-new streaming service with a paid subscription yesterday.
— Nothing serious happened?! — Yevgenia suddenly leaned forward, gripping the plastic edges of her suitcase. There was a calculated rage simmering in her chest. — Because of your mother’s stunt, the major project was given to Denis from the neighboring department. Along with the project, that twerp got my bonus—one and a half million rubles that I earned over the last eight months, working without weekends. Igor Vadimovich doesn’t need managers who have relatives calling to keep an eye on them. He made it clear for everyone to hear that the company can’t trust multimillion contracts to someone whose family acts out like this. I was removed from the tender and became the laughingstock of the whole office!
Artem grimaced, as if he tasted something bitter, and carelessly tossed the plastic gamepad onto the glass coffee table.
— There you go again, with your millions and climbing the corporate ladder. Lately, all you care about is your status. Maybe my mother is partly right? You come home at nine in the evening, bury yourself in your laptop, and type away until deep into the night. A man needs a proper dinner on the table and attention, not a robot in a skirt. So you didn’t get that million and a half—somehow, we’ll survive. At least now you can get home at six and cook for a change.
Yevgenia looked at her husband, feeling the last remnants of respect for him burn away and crumble into ashes inside her. He felt cozy and at ease in his sluggish, lazy routine, and now he was openly pleased to watch her tough career come crashing down.
— Here’s what’s going to happen, — Yevgenia said coldly, straightening her back. — You’re going to take your phone, call Galina Pavlovna on speaker, and clearly tell her that because of her actions, we lost the money meant for your car upgrade. And you’re going to explain to her, in detail, that if she ever calls again, she’ll be dealing with my employer only through official complaints for protecting business reputation. Go on. Call her. Right now.
— I’m not going to upset my mother over your office drama, — Artem said with a frown, stubbornly crossing his arms. — You turned one trip to the desert into a tragedy. Calm down and go to the kitchen, the chicken fillet’s been thawing since yesterday. Make us a decent dinner instead.
Yevgenia didn’t move an inch. She looked down at her husband, her gaze utterly devoid of the vulnerability he relied on during their rare household quarrels. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t throw threats. She simply stated the facts—as ruthlessly as a bank auditor listing the assets of a bankrupt client.
“Chicken fillet?” Evgenia repeated, her voice flat and steely. “You’ll be gnawing on that fillet raw, Artem, if you don’t hit the call button right now. Let me remind you: the transmission repair for your SUV cost two hundred and thirty thousand rubles. You begged me for two months to pay that bill from your future bonus. There’s no bonus. You can go get a subway pass if you want. Now pick up the phone and call.”
Artem’s face fell a bit. Clearly, the idea of losing his car and riding in crowded subway cars was outside his comfort zone. He huffed in annoyance, slowly got up from the bean bag chair, picked up his wife’s smartphone from the floor, and stabbed the screen, putting it on speaker. The phone rang with long beeps. Evgenia stood still, arms crossed, waiting for someone to answer.
“Yes, Tyomochka, I’m listening,” came the lively, self-satisfied voice of Galina Pavlovna from the speaker. In the background, there was a mechanical hum, like the sound of an elevator in motion.
“Mom, Zhenya is freaking out about the business trip,” Artem muttered reluctantly, clearly unhappy as he stared out the window. “Why did you call Igor Vadimovich and tell him about our lives? Now I’m the one getting blamed.”
“And who was supposed to do it if you don’t have the guts to put your wife in her place?!” Galina Pavlovna shot back immediately, her voice louder and more insistent. “I explained everything to that Igor perfectly clearly. I told him my son survives on store-bought meals while his wife is off warming office chairs. That your gastritis got worse while she’s living it up abroad. I told him outright—not to send her off to these foreign trips, she’ll just be lounging around with Arabs at resorts while Tyoma has to go to work in un-ironed shirts! A decent boss ought to have some conscience and not destroy someone’s family!”
Evgenia listened to this stream of words, and the ugly truth became clear in her mind, snapping together like a puzzle.
“How does your mother know about the Emirates, your gastritis, and your shirts, Artem?” Evgenia asked quietly, barely moving her lips as she looked him straight in the eye.
Artem immediately looked away, his Adam’s apple twitching nervously. It was crystal clear now—he hadn’t just accidentally given his manager’s number to his mother. He’d been regularly, methodically sharing every detail of their lives, complaining about his wife, and talking about her work schedule, painting himself as the abandoned martyr.
“I did everything right!” his mother continued triumphantly over the speaker. “A wife should take care of her husband, not hop around to tenders. I put your boss in his place quick—he didn’t even dare argue, just agreed immediately that a woman should put family first.”
At that moment, the mechanical hum in the background faded. There was a sharp metallic click, and then, the sound of a key turning in the lock didn’t come from the phone but from the entryway of their own apartment.
Evgenia snapped her head around. The heavy front door swung open. There stood Galina Pavlovna on the threshold, wearing a practical, quilted mustard-colored coat, and gripping huge, tightly packed fabric bags from the supermarket in both hands. Her phone was still wedged between her shoulder and ear. Spotting her daughter-in-law and son, she ended her call, completely unfazed by the fact she’d just been on speaker.
“See? I told you, there’s no way you were getting on that flight,” Galina Pavlovna announced triumphantly, kicking off her boots right onto the light-colored entry rug. She strode into the hallway like an inspector arriving to check up on her domain. “Don’t look at me like that, Evgenia. I brought my son some decent food. If you can’t give a man a proper hot dinner, his mother will step up.”
She hauled her heavy bags straight to the kitchen, trailing a faint but stubborn aroma of garlic and fried onions. Sensing reinforcements, Artem’s spirits lifted right away. He squared his shoulders and followed his mother, visibly siding with her every move. Evgenia silently turned and went after them. There was no more anger or hurt left in her—only a cold calculation and the absolute certainty that these people were about to learn a lesson they would never forget.
The kitchen greeted Evgenia with thick, heavy smells of garlic, fried pork fat, and dill. This country kitchen vibe was completely at odds with the minimalist design, the smooth graphite cabinet fronts, and the pristine white quartz countertop. Galina Pavlovna had already settled in at the kitchen island as if she owned the place. With swift, confident motions, she unpacked an endless supply of plastic containers from her enormous bags. Onto the immaculate counter appeared jars of cloudy red borscht, trays dripping with greasy cutlets, and glass bowls filled with some sort of many-layered mayonnaise salad.
Artem perched himself on a tall bar stool. By now, he’d helped himself to a slab of dark bread and was openly enjoying watching his mother bustle around, looking for all the world like a starving teenager finally getting something real to eat.
“Just look at that, Tyoma, your fridge is practically empty,” Galina Pavlovna broadcast loudly, swinging open the built-in fridge and wrinkling her nose as she surveyed the shelves. “Two yogurts, a piece of cheese, and a bottle of mineral water. Is that what you call food for an adult working man? No wonder your complexion looks grey. Don’t worry, mama’s here to feed you. I went to the market first thing this morning and got fresh meat.”
Evgenia silently approached the kitchen island. She didn’t shout or snatch containers from her mother-in-law’s hands. Instead, she calmly circled around the table, pulled open the bottom drawer of the cabinetry, and took out a sturdy trash bag. Then she slid the first tray closer to her.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Artem frowned, pausing with his bread half-chewed.
Evgenia didn’t say a word. With perfect calm, she flicked her fingernail under the tight plastic lid of the container holding the meatballs, tore it off, and in one swift motion, dumped the contents over the trash bin. Five big, breadcrumb-coated meatballs hit the garbage bag with a dull thud. Without giving her relatives a chance to react, Evgenia grabbed a glass bowl of salad and emptied it into the trash too, tapping the rim of the dish against the edge so the last bits of mayonnaise would fall out.
“Are you completely out of your mind?!” screeched Galina Pavlovna, rushing to the table and trying to shield the remaining jar of soup with her body. “I spent four hours at the stove! This is home-cooked, healthy food for my son!”
«There will be no stench of fried grease or garlic in my apartment,» Evgenia said in an icy, emotionless voice, staring straight at her mother-in-law’s reddened face. «You brought this garbage here without my permission. You interfered with my work without my permission. Your so-called caring is costing me far too much.»
Artem jumped off the bar stool, his face twisted in anger. He stepped toward his wife, thrusting his shoulder forward aggressively.
«You’ve gone too far! My mother put in effort, brought groceries, and you’re acting insane! You have no limits with your ambitions! Do you think just because you earn money, you can do whatever you want?!»
Galina Pavlovna grinned triumphantly, feeling the solid support of her furious son behind her. She planted her hands on her hips, and her voice took on a shrill, victorious tone.
«She’s nothing special! Always pretending to be some big boss! If Tyoma didn’t regularly send me photos of your work schedules, we’d have no idea where you were running around all day! You have no shame, no conscience! A husband should know everything about his wife’s income, but you’re hiding your bonuses like a rat!»
Evgenia’s hand, reaching for the jar of borscht, froze in midair. She slowly turned her head to Artem. In an instant, a clear and disgusting chain of events formed in her mind.
«Photos of my work schedule?» Evgenia repeated quietly, looking at her husband as if he were some strange insect. «You’ve been sending her my corporate calendar?»
Artem twitched his cheek and tried to look away, but it was too late. His cowardly silence spoke louder than any words and confirmed what his mother had said. Galina Pavlovna, oblivious to the fact that she had just hammered the final nail into the coffin of their marriage, kept spilling more details.
«He sent the calendar and showed me your pay stubs too!» the mother-in-law announced proudly, straightening her shoulders. «We calculated everything. Last quarter, you earned more bonuses than Tyoma makes in half a year! And instead of helping your husband pay for a new gearbox, you’re transferring that money to your own accounts! He’s absolutely right to report everything to me. There shouldn’t be any secrets in a family! I saw right away that you weren’t going to Dubai for work—you just want to spend money behind the family’s back! That’s why I called your Igor, to bring you back down to earth!»
Evgenia took a step back from the kitchen island. The illusion of an unfortunate coincidence, some dumb luck or random chance, was shattered. Standing in front of her were two people who had been spying on her, day after day. Her husband, who dug through her laptop while she slept or showered, photographed her financial documents, and sent them to his mother so they could discuss them together. This wasn’t just interference with her work—it was a calculated, filthy act of sabotage, organized by the person she shared a bed with.
«So, you two spent your nights calculating my bonuses together,» Evgenia said, her voice flat, as if she were reading off the dry numbers from a quarterly report at a board meeting. She gave her husband a long, critical look that made Artem visibly wish he could sink through the ceramic floor. «While I slept, you secretly opened my work laptop, took photos of my pay slips, and sent them to your mom, so you could both decide how to spend the money I earned. What a remarkable show of family togetherness.»
«You have no right to hide your income from your husband!» Galina Pavlovna shot back instantly, pressing her chest against the kitchen island. Red blotches covered her face, and her short fingers dug forcefully into the edge of the light countertop. «My son is the head of this house! He’s a man! He has every right to know how much you make and control the budget! You’ve gotten too arrogant in your positions, you’ve forgotten your proper place!»
«The head of this house?» Evgenia tilted her head slightly, fixing her mother-in-law with a cold, dissecting stare. «Galina Pavlovna, let’s stick to nothing but facts. Your so-called man is thirty-two years old and works as a junior logistics specialist, making seventy thousand rubles a month. He spends half of it on gas and computer games. He can’t even afford to repair his own gearbox, which is why he’s been begging for my bonus for the past two months. He wears faded sweatpants because he’s too lazy to go to the store, and waits for me to come home from work at ten at night so he can be served dinner.»
Artem jerked forward sharply, his face twisted with a mix of anger and humiliation. He took an aggressive step toward her, clenching his fists.
«Shut your mouth!» he barked, trying to tower over his wife. «You’re talking to my mother right now! Who do you think you are? If it weren’t for me, you would’ve just wasted away alone in your precious Moscow! I’m the one giving you a reliable home front while you chase your corporate parties and tenders!»
«Your idea of security, Artem, is that dented bean bag chair in front of the TV,» Evgenia stood her ground, her voice steady as she hammered out each word like steel nails into concrete. «You’re not a provider. You’re not even a partner. You’re just an adult, lazy freeloader who found himself a comfortable source of free meals. And when your free meal decided to fly off to Dubai and make some money, you panicked at the thought of being left unsupervised for a few days. Instead of supporting your wife, you ran to your mother, leaking my company’s corporate information. You’re both petty, envious people, sabotaging my career out of nothing more than fear of losing your daily comforts.»
Galina Pavlovna gasped dramatically, outraged. She grabbed the plastic lid off a container on the table and angrily hurled it to the floor. The piece of plastic bounced noisily off the tiles.
«Who would want you with all your money?!» the mother-in-law screamed, spraying spit as she finally lost all traces of composure. «No real man will live with you! You’re not a woman, you’re a Terminator in a skirt! Tyoma will find himself a proper, homely girl—someone who respects him and makes him soup—while you’ll die alone with your millions!»
«Sounds like a wonderful future,» Evgenia retorted with complete calm, not a flicker of emotion on her face. «Why don’t you and your real man and your soup and cutlets go find him a good little homemaker. Start today.»
Artem blinked in confusion, his aggression suddenly cracking wide open. The real meaning of her words finally started to sink in.
«What? You’re kicking me out? Just because my mom called your boss?» he smirked crookedly, trying to look confident, but his eyes darted around nervously. «Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll freak out, calm down—I’m not going anywhere.»
«This apartment belonged to me before our marriage,» Evgenia told him, her disgust unmistakable—like she was staring at a parasite that needed to be removed. «The only things here that are yours are that old desktop and your clothes. You’ve just destroyed everything connecting us with your own hands. You robbed me of my project of the year. You made a joke out of me in front of management. You dug through my finances behind my back like cheap scammers. I don’t want a saboteur for a husband or a controlling mother-in-law.»
She walked around the kitchen island, came right up to Artem, and said this straight to his face, enunciating every syllable:
«You have exactly two hours to collect your things and leave my place together with Galina Pavlovna. In two hours I’ll call the locksmith service and change the front door lock. If any of your stuff is left here, it’ll go straight to the dumpster along with those cutlets.»
«You wouldn’t dare!» Galina Pavlovna screeched, but for the first time her voice was filled with genuine, animal fear. The illusion of control she once had shattered completely.
«Time starts now, Artem,» Evgenia ignored her mother-in-law, turned around and walked out of the kitchen.
She didn’t wait to see their reaction or get drawn into another pointless argument. Instead, she walked into the bedroom, where her half-packed suitcase was still lying on the bed. From the next room, she heard frantic shuffling, Artem’s anxious muttering, and his mother’s panicked instructions. They finally realized this wasn’t a bluff, nor an empty threat. The scandal ended with the total collapse of their plan. All that remained in the apartment was the lingering, nauseating smell of garlic—something Evgenia planned to air out the moment those two left her home for good…
