“Mom, why on earth did you take her card?” my husband exploded.
“And what? I thought your money was shared!” my mother-in-law defended herself.
Raisa closed her laptop and stretched, rubbing her stiff shoulders. Her workday had only just ended, even though the clock already showed nine in the evening. She got up from the table, walked across the living room, and opened the window. Fresh air rushed into the room, carrying the coolness of the spring evening with it.
Vladimir appeared in the doorway with two cups of tea.
“Working late again?” her husband handed her a cup and sat down beside her on the couch.
“I had to finish the report by tomorrow morning,” Raisa said, gratefully taking the tea and leaning against his shoulder. “Management is demanding it.”
“You’re amazing for handling it all,” Vova said, putting an arm around his wife. “I know how hard it is for you.”
Raisa smiled. Vladimir had never been upset that his wife earned more than he did. When acquaintances started joking about it, he would calmly reply that he was proud of Raisa’s success.
She held the position of Deputy Director for Development at a large trading company, earning a salary of two hundred and fifty thousand rubles plus bonuses. Vladimir worked as an engineer at a factory, and his salary barely reached sixty thousand.
“Do you want me to make dinner tomorrow?” Vladimir offered. “You can rest and watch a series.”
“We’ll manage together, like always,” Raisa kissed him on the cheek. “We’re a team, right?”
“A team,” Vova agreed.
Raisa truly worked hard. She had entered university right after school, studied excellently, and graduated with honors. She started at the company in a junior position and gradually moved up. She attended training programs, professional development courses, and read industry literature. The path to deputy director had taken ten years of hard work. Every ruble of Raisa’s salary she had earned through her own efforts, without favoritism or connections.
Vladimir understood that. He saw how exhausted his wife came home, how she sat over reports late into the night, how she worried over every project. Raisa poured her heart into her work, and Vladimir respected her for it.
The only person irritated by Raisa’s success was her mother-in-law, Lyubov Borisovna. The woman regularly came to visit and always started asking questions.
“Raisochka, dear, just how much do you make at your job?” her mother-in-law would lean across the table, her eyes shining with curiosity. “You’ve got such an important position, they must pay you well, right?”
“Enough, Lyubov Borisovna,” Raisa would sip her tea and smile evasively. “Vladimir and I have enough.”
“Well, obviously you have enough,” her mother-in-law would press on. “But specifically? One hundred thousand? One hundred fifty? Or more?”
“We have enough for everything we need,” Raisa repeated. “Food, clothes, vacations.”
“I’m not asking out of curiosity!” Lyubov Borisovna would throw up her hands. “I’m Vladimir’s mother, I have a right to know how my son is living.”
“Mom, we’re doing well,” Vova would step into the conversation. “Really, don’t worry.”
Lyubov Borisovna would frown, but back off. At the next visit the story would repeat itself: her mother-in-law would start asking again, and Raisa would avoid giving a direct answer again. Not once had Raisa ever named the exact amount she earned. She understood that if her mother-in-law found out the numbers, the requests for money would begin, along with hints about helping out and demands to pay for something.
Vladimir sensed where his mother’s questions were leading too, but preferred not to interfere. He believed that if Raisa didn’t want to share that information, it was her right.
Lyubov Borisovna did not give up. She tried to find out the information in different ways—asking about purchases, inquiring about prices, casually mentioning how much somebody else’s son-in-law earned. Raisa firmly held her ground, replying with vague generalities.
On Wednesday evening, just as Raisa had returned from work, Lyubov Borisovna called.
“Raisochka, I just happened to be passing through your neighborhood. May I stop by for half an hour?” her mother-in-law’s voice sounded far too cheerful. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. I’ve missed you.”
“Of course, Lyubov Borisovna, come by,” Raisa agreed, though something inside her grew wary.
Her mother-in-law arrived twenty minutes later. Lyubov Borisovna stepped into the apartment, kissed her daughter-in-law on the cheek, and took off her shoes. She looked around as if she were seeing the living room for the first time.
“Oh, everything is so spotless here!” her mother-in-law exclaimed. “It’s all sparkling. How do you ever manage to keep up with everything?”
“Thank you,” Raisa went into the kitchen to put on the kettle. “Vladimir’s still at work, he’ll be back in an hour.”
“That’s all right, I’ll wait,” Lyubov Borisovna stayed in the living room.
Raisa made the tea, brought out some cookies, and returned with a tray. Her mother-in-law was standing by the bookcase, looking at the photographs on the shelf.
“Lyubov Borisovna, the tea is ready,” Raisa called.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” her mother-in-law quickly stepped away from the shelf and sat down at the table.
The women drank tea and talked about the weather and news from distant relatives. Lyubov Borisovna was acting strangely—too lively, talking too much, her gaze constantly wandering around the room. Raisa noticed her mother-in-law glance several times toward the entryway, where the hostess’s handbag lay on a small cabinet.
“Raisochka, may I use the bathroom?” Lyubov Borisovna asked.
“Of course, you know where it is,” Raisa nodded toward the hallway.
Her mother-in-law left the room. Raisa finished her tea, carried the cups into the kitchen, and returned to the living room. Lyubov Borisovna was already sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine.
“Oh, I really have to go now,” her mother-in-law suddenly announced. “I completely forgot I still have things to do.”
“So soon?” Raisa was surprised. “Vladimir will be home any minute, he wanted to see you.”
“No, no, send my greetings to my son,” Lyubov Borisovna hurriedly put on her shoes. “I’ll come some other time, when he’s home.”
She left as abruptly as she had arrived. Raisa closed the door and frowned. Lyubov Borisovna’s behavior seemed suspicious. She had been too nervous, too eager to leave. Something was wrong.
When Vladimir came home from work, Raisa met him in the hallway.
“Your mother stopped by,” his wife told him. “She was acting kind of strange.”
“Strange?” Vladimir took off his shoes and went to the kitchen to wash his hands. “What was wrong?”
“I don’t know, she seemed nervous. She kept looking around, then suddenly left without even waiting for you.”
“Mom is a strange person in general,” Vladimir shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Maybe she was just in a bad mood.”
Raisa nodded, but the uneasiness would not go away. She returned to the living room, picked up her phone to check her work email. A notification from the bank flashed on the screen. Raisa opened the message and froze…
To be continued just below in the first comment.
Raisa closed her laptop and stretched, rubbing her stiff shoulders. Her workday had only just ended, even though the clock already showed nine in the evening. She stood up from the desk, walked through the living room, and opened the window. Fresh air rushed into the room, bringing with it the coolness of a spring evening.
Vladimir appeared in the doorway carrying two cups of tea.
“Working late again?” her husband asked, handing her a cup and sitting down beside her on the couch.
“I had to finish the report by tomorrow morning,” Raisa said, gratefully taking the tea and leaning against his shoulder. “Management insisted.”
“You’re doing great,” Vova said, putting his arm around her. “I know how hard it is for you.”
Raisa smiled. Vladimir had never been bothered by the fact that his wife earned more than he did. When acquaintances started making jokes about it, her husband would calmly reply that he was proud of Raisa’s success.
Raisa held the position of deputy director of development at a large trading company, earning a salary of 250,000 rubles plus bonuses. Vladimir worked as an engineer at a factory, and his salary barely reached 60,000.
“Want me to make dinner tomorrow?” Vladimir offered. “You can rest and watch a show.”
“We’ll handle it together, like always,” Raisa said, kissing him on the cheek. “We’re a team, right?”
“A team,” Vova agreed.
Raisa truly worked hard. She had entered university right after school, studied excellently, and graduated with honors. She got a junior position at the company and gradually worked her way up. She attended training sessions, took professional development courses, and read industry literature. The road to becoming deputy director took ten years of persistent hard work. Every ruble of her salary Raisa had earned by her own efforts, without connections or favoritism.
Vladimir understood that. He saw how his wife came home exhausted, how she sat over reports late into the night, how she worried about every project. Raisa put her soul into her work, and Vladimir respected her for it.
The only person irritated by Raisa’s success was her mother-in-law, Lyubov Borisovna. The woman visited regularly and always started asking questions.
“Raisochka, dear, how much do you make at your job?” her mother-in-law would lean across the table, her eyes shining with curiosity. “You’ve got such an important position, they must pay you well, right?”
“Enough, Lyubov Borisovna,” Raisa would say, taking a sip of tea and smiling evasively. “Vladimir and I have enough.”
“Well, of course you have enough,” her mother-in-law persisted. “But specifically how much? One hundred thousand? One hundred fifty? Or more?”
“We have enough for everything we need,” Raisa repeated. “Food, clothes, vacations.”
“I’m not asking out of curiosity!” Lyubov Borisovna would throw up her hands. “I’m Vladimir’s mother. I have a right to know how my son is living.”
“Mom, we’re doing well,” Vova would step in. “Really, don’t worry.”
Lyubov Borisovna would frown, but back off. Then at the next visit the same story would repeat itself—her mother-in-law would start prying again, and Raisa would avoid giving a direct answer again. Not once did she name the exact amount of her salary. Raisa understood that if her mother-in-law found out the numbers, there would immediately be requests for money, hints about help, demands to pay for things.
Vladimir also sensed where his mother’s questions were leading, but preferred not to interfere. He believed that if Raisa didn’t want to share that information, it was her right.
Lyubov Borisovna did not give up. She tried to find out in all kinds of ways—asking about purchases, inquiring about prices, casually mentioning how much so-and-so’s son-in-law earned. Raisa held the line firmly, answering with vague generalities.
On Wednesday evening, just as Raisa had returned from work, Lyubov Borisovna called.
“Raisochka, I happen to be passing through your area, may I stop by for half an hour?” her mother-in-law’s voice sounded overly cheerful. “It’s been so long, I missed you.”
“Of course, Lyubov Borisovna, come by,” Raisa agreed, though something inside her grew wary.
Her mother-in-law arrived twenty minutes later. Lyubov Borisovna stepped into the apartment, kissed her daughter-in-law on the cheek, and took off her shoes. She looked around as if she were seeing the living room for the first time.
“Oh, your place is so spotless!” her mother-in-law exclaimed. “Everything is shining. How do you manage to keep up with it all?”
“Thank you,” Raisa said, heading into the kitchen to put the kettle on. “Vladimir’s still at work. He’ll be back in an hour.”
“That’s all right, I’ll wait,” Lyubov Borisovna said, staying in the living room.
Raisa made tea, took out some cookies, and came back carrying a tray. Her mother-in-law was standing by the bookshelf, looking at the photographs on the shelf.
“Lyubov Borisovna, the tea is ready,” Raisa called.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” her mother-in-law said quickly, stepping away from the shelf and sitting at the table.
The women drank tea and talked about the weather and news about distant relatives. Lyubov Borisovna behaved strangely—too animated, talking too much, her eyes constantly wandering around the room. Raisa noticed how her mother-in-law looked several times toward the entryway, where the hostess’s handbag lay on a small cabinet.
“Raisochka, may I use the bathroom?” Lyubov Borisovna asked.
“Of course, you know where it is,” Raisa said, nodding toward the hallway.
Her mother-in-law left the room. Raisa finished her tea, took the cups into the kitchen, then returned to the living room. Lyubov Borisovna was already sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine.
“Oh, I really have to go,” her mother-in-law suddenly announced. “I completely forgot I still have things to do.”
“So soon?” Raisa asked in surprise. “Vladimir will be here soon. He wanted to see you.”
“No, no, say hello to my son for me,” Lyubov Borisovna said hurriedly while putting on her shoes. “I’ll come some other time when he’s home.”
Her mother-in-law left as abruptly as she had arrived. Raisa closed the door and frowned. Lyubov Borisovna’s behavior seemed suspicious. She had been too nervous, too eager to leave. Something was not right.
When Vladimir returned from work, Raisa met him in the hallway.
“Your mother came by,” his wife told him. “She was acting kind of strange.”
“Strange?” Vladimir took off his shoes and went into the kitchen to wash his hands. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, she seemed nervous. Kept looking around, then suddenly left without even waiting for you.”
“Mom’s a strange person in general,” Vladimir shrugged. “Don’t worry. Maybe she was just in a bad mood.”
Raisa nodded, but the unease didn’t leave her. She went back into the living room and picked up her phone to check her work email. A bank notification flashed on the screen. Raisa opened the message and froze.
“Transaction on card ****1234. 1,000 rubles charged. ‘Groceries Near Home’ store.”
Another notification followed.
“Transaction on card ****1234. 2,000 rubles charged. Pharmacy.”
And another one.
“Transaction on card ****1234. 5,000 rubles charged. ‘Clothes for Everyone’ store.”
Raisa went cold. All three purchases had been made within the last hour. She quickly opened the banking app and blocked the card. Her hands trembled as she reached into her bag for her wallet.
The wallet was in its usual place. Raisa opened it and looked into the card compartment. The bank card was gone. In its place was emptiness.
“Vova!” Raisa called to her husband. “Come here right now!”
Vladimir ran out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel.
“What happened?”
“My card is missing,” Raisa said, showing him the empty wallet. “And someone already spent eight thousand rubles on it. Look at the time of the purchases—it was after your mother’s visit.”
Vladimir took his wife’s phone and looked at the notifications. His face darkened.
“That can’t be,” Vladimir muttered. “Mom couldn’t have…”
“She could,” Raisa cut him off. “Remember how strangely she was acting? Looking around the whole time, then running off to the bathroom. She must have taken the card from my bag then.”
“My God,” Vladimir ran a hand over his face. “I’m going to her right now.”
“I’m coming with you,” Raisa said firmly.
The couple quickly got dressed and left the apartment. Lyubov Borisovna lived on the other side of the city, and the drive took half an hour. The whole way, Vladimir was silent, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Raisa could see how tense his jaw was, how deeply his brows were furrowed. When the car stopped in front of his mother’s building, Vladimir got out first and headed decisively for the door. Raisa hurried after him.
Lyubov Borisovna opened the door, saw her son and daughter-in-law, and smiled.
“Vovochka! Raisochka! What a surprise! Come in, I was just—”
“Mom, why on earth did you take her card?!” Vladimir exploded right there in the doorway. “What are you doing?!”
The smile slid off Lyubov Borisovna’s face. She stepped back, pressing a hand to her chest.
“Vova, what are you talking about? What card?”
“Don’t pretend!” her son said as he entered the apartment, Raisa following behind him. “You were at our place today. After you left, Raisa’s bank card disappeared. And eight thousand rubles have already been spent on it!”
Lyubov Borisovna went pale and looked away.
“I… I thought…”
“What did you think?!” Vladimir raised his voice. “You stole my wife’s card from her wallet!”
“What? I thought your money was shared!” his mother defended herself, her voice trembling. “You’re husband and wife! What’s hers and what’s yours is all the same! I didn’t steal anything, I just took a little!”
“A little?!” Raisa snapped. “Eight thousand rubles is ‘a little’?!”
“Oh, come on, it’s only eight thousand,” Lyubov Borisovna waved a hand dismissively. “You earn so much! You wouldn’t begrudge your family that much, would you?”
“Family?!” Raisa’s voice rose into a shout. “You stole my card! That’s a crime!”
“What crime? I’m Volodya’s mother!” Lyubov Borisovna protested. “I have a right to help from my daughter-in-law!”
“Help?!” Vladimir clutched his head. “Mom, you stole a bank card! That’s theft! Do you understand that?!”
“Why are you yelling at me?!” Lyubov Borisovna burst into tears. “I didn’t mean anything bad! I needed money! For medicine, for groceries! And you two live in comfort and deny yourselves nothing!”
“If you needed money, you should have asked!” Vladimir clenched his fists. “Asked properly, not stolen it!”
“Asked?!” his mother wiped away her tears. “What would be the point? Your Raisa won’t even tell me how much she makes! She hides it, keeps it secret! That means she’s greedy! Hoarding all the money for herself!”
“Lyubov Borisovna,” Raisa said, taking a breath and trying to stay calm, “my money is my salary. I earned it. I have every right not to tell you how much I make.”
“You have every right!” her mother-in-law mocked. “And I have every right to help! I’m the mother, I’m entitled to it!”
“Entitled?!” Vladimir roared. “Entitled to steal?!”
“Don’t shout at me!” Lyubov Borisovna stamped her foot. “I’m older than you! I gave birth to you, raised you! And now because of this… because of her, you’re yelling at me!”
“Because of her?!” Vladimir stepped toward his mother. “Mom, Raisa is my wife! And you stole her card! Give it back right now!”
“I won’t,” Lyubov Borisovna shook her head stubbornly. “I haven’t bought everything yet.”
“I blocked the card, so you can keep it if you want. Now it’s just a piece of plastic. But return the money,” Raisa demanded. “Eight thousand rubles. Right now.”
“I don’t have eight thousand,” her mother-in-law said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I spent it on necessities. Bought medicine, groceries, some new clothes. Everything I needed.”
Lyubov Borisovna went into the kitchen and returned with the bank card. She threw it onto the table.
“Here, take your precious card. Miser. We don’t need anyone else’s things!”
Raisa picked up the card and slipped it into her pocket. Vladimir looked at his mother with such disappointment that Lyubov Borisovna turned away.
“Mom, how could you?” Vladimir asked quietly. “I never thought you were capable of this.”
“And what did I do that was so terrible?!” his mother burst into tears again. “I took a little money! You have everything! And I live alone, with a tiny pension!”
“If you needed money, I would have given it to you,” Vladimir shook his head. “I always help you. But to steal…”
“I didn’t steal!” Lyubov Borisovna shouted. “I took it from family! That’s different!”
“No, Mom,” Vladimir said firmly. “That is theft. And I can’t forgive it.”
“What?!” Lyubov Borisovna’s eyes widened. “You’ve traded your own mother for her?!”
“I haven’t traded anyone,” Vladimir answered tiredly. “I’m simply protecting my wife. You stole Raisa’s card and spent her money. That’s wrong.”
“Wrong!” Lyubov Borisovna clutched at her heart. “You’ve driven me to this! I’m going to have a heart attack!”
“Enough of the theatrics,” Vladimir cut her off. “We’re leaving. And until you apologize to Raisa and return the money, don’t come to our house.”
“What do you mean, don’t come?!” Lyubov Borisovna shrieked. “I’m your mother! I have a right to see my son!”
“No, you don’t,” Vladimir said, taking Raisa by the hand. “Not until you apologize.”
The couple left the apartment to the sound of Lyubov Borisovna shouting. She screamed about ingratitude, about Raisa ruining the family, about Vladimir regretting it. Her son did not look back; he just led his wife to the car.
When they got inside, Vladimir lowered his head onto the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I never thought Mom was capable of something like that.”
“It’s not your fault,” Raisa said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for standing up for me.”
“I’ll always protect you,” Vladimir raised his head and looked at his wife. “You’re the most important thing in my life.”
For the next week, Lyubov Borisovna called every day. Vladimir didn’t answer. His mother sent messages—sometimes complaining about her health, sometimes accusing her daughter-in-law of destroying the family, sometimes demanding that her son come over. Vladimir deleted all the messages without reading them.
Raisa did not insist on reconciliation. She understood that it was hard for Vladimir, but he had made his choice. He chose his wife, not his mother. He protected his spouse from unfair accusations.
Three weeks later, Lyubov Borisovna sent a short message: “Forgive me. I was wrong.” Vladimir showed it to Raisa.
“What do you think? Should I answer?” he asked.
“She’s your mother,” Raisa said gently. “It’s up to you.”
Vladimir typed a reply: “You need to apologize to Raisa. And return the money.”
Lyubov Borisovna did not respond. A month passed. She no longer called or wrote. Vladimir sometimes felt sad, but he did not regret his decision. He understood that his mother had acted wrongly, and until Lyubov Borisovna admitted her guilt, there could be no real relationship.
Raisa kept working, and Vladimir supported his wife in everything. Peace reigned in their home. The couple learned to value each other even more after the conflict. Vladimir proved that he was willing to stand by his wife even against his own mother. Raisa realized that she had married a real man.
One evening, while the couple were sitting on the couch watching a movie, Vladimir wrapped his arm around his wife.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about the situation with Mom,” he began. “And I realized one thing. Family isn’t only about blood. Family is also a choice. I chose you. And I don’t regret it for a second.”
Raisa leaned against his shoulder, feeling warmth and safety. The conflict with her mother-in-law had been a difficult trial, but the couple had gone through it together. Lyubov Borisovna never truly apologized, never returned the money. Their relationship remained cold and formal. But in Raisa and Vladimir’s home, understanding, respect, and love reigned. The husband chose his wife. And that choice made their family stronger.
