My husband and mother-in-law were confidently deciding what I should buy with my bonus. But they forgot to close the door…
The entryway smelled of fried onions and other people’s audacity. The onion smell drifted in from the kitchen, where my mother-in-law, Klavdiya Timofeevna, was evidently cooking her signature “cutlets with bread and a hint of meat,” while the audacity hung in the air like a thick fog—sticky, heavy, viscous—as if you couldn’t disperse it, only shove your way through it with your shoulder. Depending on your luck.
I stood behind the half-open door of my own apartment, keys clenched in my hand, feeling like a spy behind enemy lines. Though, to be fair, the enemy was so confident of its impunity that it hadn’t even bothered to latch the front door.
“Edik, just think about it!” boomed Klavdiya Timofeevna’s voice. It sounded like a cement mixer in operation: just as insistent, rumbling, and migraine-inducing. “Your Vika is a striking woman, sure, an actress, God forgive us, but what does she need that much money for? Three hundred thousand! It’s unimaginable! And Lenochka needs to fix her car. She has two children, she suffers on those minibuses like a holy martyr!”
“Mama, but it’s her bonus…” my husband bleated weakly. That one word, “Mama,” contained a complete absence of backbone. Edik worked at a construction supply store, hauling sacks of cement, but at home he turned into a human jellyfish.
“What do you mean, ‘hers’?” my mother-in-law snapped. “You’re a family! The budget is shared! What did she get that money for anyway? For smiling twice in some TV series and fainting once? That’s easy money, son. Windfall money. And easy money should go to good causes. To helping family!”
I quietly pulled the door shut, took a deep breath, put on my best stage smile—the one I usually save for greeting a director after three sleepless nights—and stepped into the “auditorium.”
“Good evening, family!” I said loudly, kicking off my shoes. “I see we’re having a party meeting? Dividing up the skin of a bear that hasn’t been killed yet? Or has it already been killed and skinned?”
Silence fell over the kitchen. At the table sat my mother-in-law, my husband Edik, and—surprise!—my sister-in-law Lenochka. Lenochka was a remarkable creature: at five foot three and barely fifty kilos, she somehow managed to occupy all available space and oxygen.
“Oh, Vikusya’s home!” Lenochka trilled falsely, hurriedly hiding a piece of expensive cheese in her cheek—the one I had bought for myself to have with wine. “We’re just having tea. Mom fried some cutlets. Your favorite, pork ones.”
“I can see that,” I nodded, walking to the sink. “And hear it too. Our walls are thin, Klavdiya Timofeevna. Just like your delicate spiritual makeup whenever the subject of someone else’s money comes up.”
My mother-in-law flushed purple, but didn’t abandon her battle stance. Adjusting the enormous brooch on her chest, she went on the attack.
“And what is there to hide, Viktoriya? We’re simple, straightforward people. Edik said you got a bonus. For your role in that detective series.”
“I did,” I said calmly, pouring myself a glass of water. “Only not for that role, but for the leading role in a drama. And I didn’t ‘get’ it—I earned it. That’s when you work, Klavdiya Timofeevna, instead of doing crosswords in the stairwell.”
“Don’t you lecture your mother!” my mother-in-law screeched, slamming her palm on the table. “I’m a veteran of labor! I devoted my life to raising Edik! And you… you’re selfish! Lenochka desperately needs that car. Her transmission is shot!”
“And apparently her conscience is shot too—has been for a long time, and at supersonic speed,” I shot back, staring straight into my sister-in-law’s darting little eyes. “Lena, where’s your husband? That great businessman?”
“Kolya is having temporary difficulties!” Lenochka flared up. “And besides, we’re family! You have three hundred thousand—what, do you begrudge your nephews that? You’re rich, you even have a fur coat!”
“I bought that fur coat three years ago on credit, and I paid it off myself,” I cut in.
Edik tried to intervene, speaking up from somewhere near the baseboard.
“Vik, come on… the car is needed. We’d pay it back later. Maybe.”
“‘Maybe’ is Edik’s favorite financial plan,” I smirked. “Klavdiya Timofeevna, let’s be honest. You’ve already divided up my money. Lenochka gets the car repair, you probably get new teeth or a sanatorium stay, and Edik gets a new fishing rod so he’ll stay quiet and not be noticed. Did I guess right?”
My mother-in-law puffed up like a toad before a storm.
“Viktoriya, don’t be sarcastic. You came into our family, we accepted you, we warmed you…”
“You came into my apartment,” I corrected softly, but with weight. “And the only thing you’ve ever warmed me with is your advice, which gives me hives.”
“Shameless girl!” Klavdiya Timofeevna hissed. “I told Edik he should’ve taken Galya from the third entrance! She may be cross-eyed, but at least she’s obedient! But this one… some burned-out theater actress! Who needs you except my golden son?”
I slowly set my glass on the table. The clink of glass sounded like a gong. My eyes filled with tears—Stanislavski technique in action, instant moisture on cue. My lips trembled.
“You… do you really think that?” I whispered, sinking into a chair. “That I’m greedy? That for the family… I do nothing?”
The relatives exchanged glances. Lenochka stopped chewing. Edik perked up, sensing weakness.
“Come on, Vik, don’t cry,” he started. “Mom’s just making a point…”
“Shut up, idiot!” I suddenly screamed so loudly that Lenochka hiccuped. “What bonus?! What are you even talking about?!”
I clutched my head and started rocking back and forth.
“I got fired!” I breathed in a tragic whisper. “This morning. The director said I’m talentless. And not only did I get fired… I smashed a spotlight. An expensive German one. It costs half a million.”
A silence fell over the kitchen, taut as a string. Klavdiya Timofeevna went pale; the red in her cheeks seemed to drain down into the region of her double chin.
“How… smashed it?” she croaked.
“To pieces!” I sobbed, hiding my face in my hands while watching their reactions through my fingers. “They sent me the bill. If I don’t pay by Monday… they’ll sue me. They’ll inventory the apartment! Edik, darling, we have savings, don’t we? Mama, Klavdiya Timofeevna, you must have some funeral money put away? Help me! We’re family, aren’t we? Lenochka, sell your car, save me! Otherwise they’ll throw us all out on the street, because Edik is registered here too! …To be continued just below in the first comment.”
The entryway smelled of fried onions and other people’s audacity. The onion smell drifted in from the kitchen, where my mother-in-law, Klavdia Timofeyevna, was apparently cooking her signature “cutlets made mostly of bread with a hint of meat,” while the audacity hung in the air like a dense fog—sticky, heavy, viscous—as if it couldn’t be dispersed, only shoved aside with your shoulder. Depending on your luck.
I stood behind the half-open door of my own apartment, my keys clenched in my hand, feeling like a spy behind enemy lines. Though the enemy was so sure of their impunity that they hadn’t even bothered to latch the front door.
“Edik, just think about it!” Klavdia Timofeyevna’s voice thundered. It sounded like a cement mixer in operation: just as persistent, booming, and migraine-inducing. “Your Vika is a striking woman, sure, an actress, God forgive me, but what does she need that much money for? Three hundred thousand! It’s unbelievable! And Lenochka needs her car repaired. She has two children, she suffers on those minibuses like some holy martyr!”
“Mom, but it’s her bonus…” my husband bleated weakly. In that one word—“Mom”—you could hear the total absence of a spine. Edik worked at a construction supply store, hauling sacks of cement, but at home he turned into a human jellyfish.
“What do you mean, ‘hers’?” my mother-in-law snapped. “You’re a family! The budget is shared! What did she even get that money for? For smiling twice in a TV series and fainting once? That’s easy money, son. Windfall money. And windfall money should go toward good deeds. Helping the family!”
I quietly pulled the door shut, took a deep breath, put on my best stage smile—the one I usually reserve for greeting the director after three sleepless nights—and entered the “auditorium.”
“Good evening, family!” I said loudly, kicking off my shoes. “I see we’re having a party meeting in here? Dividing the skin of a bear that hasn’t been killed yet? Or has it already been killed and skinned?”
Silence fell over the kitchen. At the table sat my mother-in-law, my husband Edik, and—surprise!—my sister-in-law Lenochka. Lenochka was a remarkable creature: at five foot three and barely a hundred pounds, she somehow managed to take up all the available space and oxygen.
“Oh, Vikusya’s home!” Lenochka sang in a fake sweet voice, hurriedly tucking a piece of expensive cheese into her cheek—the kind I had bought for myself to have with wine. “We’re just having tea. Mom fried up some cutlets. Your favorite, pork ones.”
“I can see that,” I nodded, walking over to the sink. “And I can hear it too. The walls are thin here, Klavdia Timofeyevna. Just like your delicate emotional makeup whenever someone else’s money comes up.”
My mother-in-law turned crimson, but she did not surrender her fighting stance. Adjusting the enormous brooch on her chest, she went on the attack.
“And what is there to hide, Viktoria? We’re simple, straightforward people. Edik said you got a bonus. For that role in the detective series.”
“I did,” I said calmly, pouring myself a glass of water. “Only not for a role in a detective series, but for the lead role in a drama. And they didn’t just ‘give’ it to me—I earned it. That’s what happens when you work, Klavdia Timofeyevna, instead of solving crossword puzzles in the apartment entryway.”
“Don’t you lecture your elders!” my mother-in-law shrieked, slamming her palm on the table. “I’m a veteran of labor! I gave my life to raise Edik! And you… you’re selfish! Lenochka desperately needs that car fixed. Her gearbox is shot!”
“And apparently her conscience is too—and it flew off a long time ago at supersonic speed,” I shot back, staring straight into my sister-in-law’s darting eyes. “Lena, where’s your husband? That great businessman of yours?”
“Kolia is going through temporary difficulties!” Lenochka flared up. “And anyway, we’re family! You have three hundred thousand—what, are you really sorry to spend some on your nephews? You’re rich, you even have a fur coat!”
“I bought that coat three years ago on credit, which I paid off myself,” I cut in.
Edik tried to interfere, speaking up from somewhere near the baseboard.
“Vik, come on… The car is needed. We’ll pay it back later. Maybe.”
“‘Maybe’—that’s so very Edik,” I smirked. “Klavdia Timofeyevna, let’s be honest. You’ve already divided up my money. Some for Lenochka’s car repair, probably some for your new teeth or a sanatorium, and some for Edik—a new fishing rod, so he’ll stay quiet and out of sight. Did I guess right?”
My mother-in-law puffed up like a toad before a storm.
“Don’t be sarcastic, Viktoria. You came into our family, and we accepted you, warmed you…”
“You came into my apartment,” I corrected softly, but with weight. “And the only thing you’ve warmed me with is your advice, which gives me hives.”
“Shameless girl!” Klavdia Timofeyevna hissed. “I told Edik to marry Galya from the third entrance! She may have a lazy eye, but at least she’s obedient! And you… some washed-up actress from a burnt-out theater! Who needs you besides my golden son?”
I slowly set my glass down on the table. The sound of the glass striking wood rang out like a gong. My eyes filled with tears—Stanislavski technique in action, instant moisture on cue. My lips trembled.
“You… do you really think that?” I whispered, sinking into a chair. “That I’m greedy? That I do… nothing for the family?”
The relatives exchanged glances. Lenochka stopped chewing. Edik perked up, sensing weakness.
“Vik, don’t cry,” he began, “Mom is just saying what needs to be said…”
“Shut up, idiot!” I suddenly screamed so loudly that Lenochka hiccupped. “What bonus?! What are you even talking about?!”
I grabbed my head and began rocking from side to side.
“I got fired!” I breathed in a tragic whisper. “This morning. The director said I have no talent. And not only did I get fired… I broke a spotlight. An expensive German one. It costs half a million.”
A silence stretched across the kitchen, taut and ringing like a tightened string. Klavdia Timofeyevna went pale, the color draining from her cheeks down somewhere into her double chin.
“How… broke it?” she croaked.
“Smashed it to pieces!” I sobbed, covering my face with my hands while watching their reactions through my fingers. “They sent me the bill. If I don’t pay by Monday… they’ll sue me. They’ll inventory the apartment! Edik, darling, we have savings, don’t we? Mom, Klavdia Timofeyevna, don’t you have your funeral money set aside? Help me! We’re family! Lenochka, sell the car, save me! Otherwise they’ll throw us all out on the street, since Edik is registered here!”
The effect was magnificent.
Lenochka recovered first. She jumped to her feet, knocking over her chair.
“Oh, I have to pick up the kids from kindergarten! I completely forgot! Kolia will kill me!” She bolted into the hallway at the speed of a cockroach spotting the light switch.
Klavdia Timofeyevna sprang to life next.
“What funeral money, Vika? Are you out of your mind? I can barely scrape together money for medicine! And anyway, it’s your own fault! All thumbs, that’s what you are! I always knew you were incompetent! Edik, get your things!”
“Where, Mom?” Edik blinked, trying to process how his world had collapsed in three seconds.
“Home! To my place!” his mother barked. “Before the bailiffs come and seal these doors! As if I’d let us get dragged into your debts! You need to divorce her, son—immediately, before they seize any property!”
“But Mom…”
“No ‘but Mom’! Take your jacket!”
They swept out of the apartment within two minutes. The door slammed shut.
I stood up, wiped my already dry eyes, and walked over to the window. I watched Lenochka running toward the bus stop while Klavdia Timofeyevna shoved Edik in the back, furiously scolding him about something.
In the silence of the apartment, the clock ticked loudly. I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app. There it was: the full bonus amount. Three hundred thousand rubles. Safe and sound.
“Well then,” I said to my reflection in the dark windowpane, “the performance is over. The audience left the theater without waiting for the curtain call.”
I dialed a locksmith.
“Hello, Sergey? Yes, this is Viktoria. You said you could urgently change the locks. Yes, right now. I’ll pay double.”
That evening I sat in an armchair booking a vacation. For myself. Alone. Because nerves do not regenerate, and husbands, as it turns out, are temporary creatures—especially when debts loom on the horizon instead of income.
And the moral is simple, girls: before you share your last shirt with your neighbor, make sure they aren’t holding scissors behind their back, ready to cut it into rags for their own needs.
