Maria woke up to the sharp sound of her phone ringing. She reached for the nightstand, squinting at the bright screen. Six in the morning on a Saturday. Who would be calling at this hour? The number was familiar — Anna Petrovna, her mother-in-law.
“Hello,” the woman mumbled sleepily.
“Mashenka, good morning! Did I wake you?” her mother-in-law’s voice sounded cheerful and carefree.
“No, no, I’m already up,” Maria lied. Beside her, Dmitry was snoring softly, not even stirring at the call.
“Mashenka, I’ve got a little problem. My washing machine has completely broken down. The repairman said it can’t be fixed, I’ll have to buy a new one. And I have no money at all. My pension won’t come for another two weeks.”
Maria rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling a heavy ache settling in her head.
“How much do you need, Anna Petrovna?”
“Well, I looked around… Twenty-five thousand should be enough for a decent one. I don’t want some cheap junk.”
“All right. Dima will bring it over tonight.”
“Oh, Mashenka, thank you so much! You’re such a good, understanding girl! My Dimochka found himself such a wonderful wife!”
Maria hung up and lay back down. She no longer felt like sleeping. Twenty-five thousand. Last month it had been fifteen for the dentist. The month before that, ten for a new television. Before that, eight for some pills.
Maria worked as an accountant at a trading company, earning a stable salary of eighty thousand after taxes. Dmitry worked as a sales manager at a small firm. His income fluctuated — sometimes thirty, sometimes fifty, and in good months it reached sixty. But for some reason, her mother-in-law always asked Maria for money through her son.
That evening, when Dmitry came home from work, Maria handed him an envelope with the money.
“Take this to your mother. For the washing machine.”
“Thanks, Masha,” her husband kissed her on the cheek and took the envelope. “You’re the best, truly.”
“Dima, maybe your mother should learn how to plan her budget?” Maria began carefully as she set the table. “You understand, every month there’s something new…”
“Masha, she’s alone,” Dmitry shrugged, pouring tea into the cups. “Her pension is small. What is there for her to plan?”
“But last month we gave her money for her teeth. And the day before yesterday, she showed me a new handbag — not a cheap one.”
“Well, a woman needs a handbag,” her husband smiled as if explaining the obvious. “Masha, let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill. Mom doesn’t ask for no reason. She really needs it.”
Maria nodded and said nothing. She did not want to argue. But irritation was building inside her. For three years they had been living in her one-room apartment. For three years Anna Petrovna had regularly been asking for money. And always through Dmitry, who came to his wife looking as though he himself were helping his mother.
Two weeks later, her mother-in-law called again.
“Mashenka, dear, I’m sorry to bother you. The utility bills came in. For some reason they’re higher than usual this month. And I still have a week until my pension.”
“How much, Anna Petrovna?”
“Well, it came to four and a half.”
Four and a half thousand. It seemed like a small amount, but again. Maria sighed and agreed. Dmitry once again brought his mother the money, and once again returned pleased and grateful.
And so it went on, month after month. Maria had already grown used to setting aside a separate amount from her salary for her mother-in-law. Ten, fifteen, twenty thousand — depending on the “urgency” of the problem. Meanwhile, Anna Petrovna continued buying new blouses, going to beauty salons, and ordering ready-made food delivery.
One morning, in mid-October, Maria received a registered letter. It was from a notary. She opened the envelope right in the hallway before even reaching her apartment. She scanned the text. Then read it again. And again.
Aunt Vera. Her mother’s cousin. The elderly woman had died three months earlier, leaving Maria an inheritance. One million rubles. The money was in an account; she needed to come in to complete the paperwork.
Maria leaned against the wall of the entrance hall, clutching the letter in her hands. A million. A whole million rubles. She had never held that kind of money in her life. She could not even imagine ever seeing such a figure in her bank account.
As soon as she entered the apartment, Maria grabbed her phone and called her mother.
“Mom! You won’t believe it!” her voice trembled with excitement.
“What happened, sweetheart?” Natalya Ivanovna asked anxiously.
“Aunt Vera left me an inheritance. One million rubles, can you imagine?”
Her mother gasped on the other end of the line, then laughed through tears.
“Mashenka! Lord, what happiness! Vera really was wonderful! She always said you were a clever girl.”
They talked for half an hour. They discussed how Maria would complete the documents and where she would put the money. Then Natalya Ivanovna sighed dreamily.
“Oh, Mashenka… And I keep thinking about a dacha. I’ve dreamed of one for so many years.”
Maria straightened on the sofa. A dacha. Of course. Her mother had been saving for so many years, putting aside every spare kopeck. She had gone to look at plots outside the city, studied listings, calculated how much more she needed. She dreamed of growing tomatoes, cucumbers, and strawberries.
“Mom, what if we buy one?” Maria blurted out. “I have the money now!”
“Don’t be silly, Mashenka! It’s your money! You and Dima…”
“Mom, I’m serious. I want to. You’ve dreamed of it for so many years. Let’s find you a dacha.”
Natalya Ivanovna sobbed into the phone. Then laughed through her tears.
“My dear daughter… Would you really do that for me?”
“I really would, Mom. Tomorrow we’ll go look at plots.”
They talked for another hour. They made a list of requirements: a small but solid house, six hundred square meters of land, not far from the city, with a river or lake nearby. Her mother cried with happiness, called her daughter golden-hearted, and thanked her again and again.
Maria hung up, feeling warmth in her chest. At last, she could do something truly important for her mother. Natalya Ivanovna had never asked for money. She lived on her small pension, saved on everything, but never complained. And now Maria could make her dream come true.
That evening Dmitry came home late. Tired, disheveled. He threw his briefcase into the hallway and went into the kitchen. Maria had already set the table — pasta with cutlets, salad, and compote.
“How was your day?” his wife asked, pouring him some compote.
“Fine. Tiring. Clients were annoying.”
They ate in silence. Maria waited for the right moment. When Dmitry leaned back in his chair and stretched, she made up her mind.
“Dima, I have news.”
“What is it?” her husband glanced at her absentmindedly.
“I received an inheritance. From Aunt Vera, my mother’s cousin. One million rubles.”
Dmitry abruptly straightened, his eyes widening.
“A million?! Seriously?”
“Seriously. The notary sent a letter. I need to complete the documents, but the money is already in the account.”
Her husband jumped up, walked around the table, and hugged her.
“Masha! That’s incredible! A million! Can you imagine?”
“I can,” Maria smiled, though unease stirred inside her.
Then he grabbed his phone and went out onto the balcony. Twenty minutes later, he returned.
“Listen, what if…” Dmitry sat back down and leaned toward his wife. “What if we renovate? Or buy a new car? Huh, Masha?”
“Dima, I’ve already decided,” the woman began softly. “I want to buy my mother a dacha.”
Dmitry froze. The smile slowly slid from his face.
“What?”
“A dacha for my mother. She’s dreamed of one for so many years. She saved, but never had enough. Now I can help her.”
Her husband’s face darkened. His brows drew together, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Mashka, are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” the woman straightened, meeting his gaze. “My mother has never asked for anything. She carried everything on her own her entire life. I want to give her a gift.”
“Did you think about me?!” Dmitry’s voice rose. “About us?!”
“Dima, this is my inheritance. I decide how to spend it.”
Her husband jumped up so sharply that the chair fell backward. Maria flinched.
“Are you out of your mind?!” Dmitry shouted, waving his arms. “I already promised that money to my mother!”
Maria slowly stood up, unable to believe what she had heard.
“What did you say?”
“I promised Mom!” her husband kept shouting, red blotches appearing on his neck. “She’s wanted to go to the seaside for ages! I already told her we’d give her the money!”
“What right did you have to promise my money?!” Maria’s voice rose too. “It’s my inheritance! Mine!”
“We’re family! Everything should be shared!” Dmitry slammed his fist on the table, making the plates jump.
“Shared?!” Maria stepped toward him. “And when your mother drains money from me every month, is that shared too?”
“Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that!” her husband jabbed a finger at her. “She’s in need!”
“In need?! She spends everything on nonsense! New handbags, restaurants, beauty salons! And then she calls and cries that she has no money!”
“It’s her right to spend her own money as she wants!” Dmitry shouted at the top of his lungs. “She earned it!”
“She earned it?!” Maria felt her hands start to tremble. “And my mother didn’t? She worked her whole life and raised me alone! She never asked for anything! And now I want to give her a gift!”
“Your mother! Always your mother!” her husband paced around the kitchen. “And you don’t think about my mother?!”
“I’ve been thinking about your mother for three years!” Maria was nearly shouting. “Every month! Have you ever counted how much money I’ve given her?”
“It was necessary!”
“And the seaside is necessary?!” the woman crossed her arms. “Dima, wake up! This is my inheritance! Not yours! Mine!”
Dmitry stopped and turned toward her. His face was twisted with rage.
“I already planned everything. A vacation package for Mom, a car for myself, and the rest for renovations.”
Maria froze, unable to believe her ears.
“You… you planned out my money?”
“Our money!” her husband thumped himself on the chest. “We’re family!”
“No,” Maria said quietly. “It’s my money. And my mother will get her dacha.”
“You don’t dare!” Dmitry stepped toward her, looming over her. “I already promised! Do you understand?! Already!”
“Then go and cancel your promise,” the woman did not step back. “I don’t owe anyone anything.”
Her husband grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.
“Masha! Come to your senses! Mom will be shocked! She’s already looking at vacation packages!”
Maria broke free from his grip and stepped back.
“Your mother needs to learn to live within her means. And you need to stop disposing of my money.”
“You’re selfish!” Dmitry shouted. “You only think about yourself!”
“I’m thinking about my mother! The one who never drained money from me!”
“Because she has stupid pride! Normal people help their relatives!”
“They help when they’re asked, not when they’re ordered!”
They shouted for another hour. Dmitry dug in his heels, repeating the same thing over and over — he had promised his mother, he could not let her down, it was family money. Maria stood her ground — the inheritance was hers, and the decision was hers.
When the clock showed midnight, the woman sank tiredly into a chair.
“Dima, enough. I’m tired.”
“So you’re refusing my mother?” her husband’s voice trembled with hurt and anger.
“I’m buying my mother a dacha,” Maria repeated calmly. “That is my final decision.”
Dmitry stood silently for a while, clenching and unclenching his fists. Then he turned and went into the room. Maria heard him throwing things around and slamming wardrobe doors.
Half an hour later, Dmitry came out with a stuffed bag.
“I’m leaving,” he snapped, pulling on his jacket.
“Go,” Maria nodded wearily.
The door slammed. Silence covered the apartment. Maria sat in the kitchen, looking at the remains of dinner scattered across the table. Inside, she felt strangely empty and, at the same time, light.
In the morning, the woman called her mother.
“Mom, get ready. We’re going to look at plots.”
“Mashenka, what about Dima?..”
“Mom, it doesn’t matter. Are we going?”
“I’m going, sweetheart. I’m going.”
They spent the whole day driving around settlements outside the city. They looked at plots, bargained, calculated. By evening, they found the perfect option — six hundred square meters, a wooden house with a veranda, a bathhouse, a well, and a lake nearby. Four hundred and fifty thousand. Maria paid the deposit immediately.
Natalya Ivanovna cried the whole way back. She thanked her daughter and kept repeating that she could not believe it.
“Mom, stop,” Maria squeezed her mother’s hand. “You deserve this. You have for a long time.”
A week later, they finalized the deal. A month after that, they made cosmetic repairs to the little house. Natalya Ivanovna moved there at the beginning of spring, as soon as the snow melted.
Maria visited every weekend. She helped her mother set up the vegetable garden and plant seedlings. Natalya Ivanovna glowed with happiness, working in the beds from morning until night.
Dmitry called a couple of times. He demanded the money back and threatened to sue. Maria calmly explained that an inheritance was personal property and was not subject to division. Her husband shouted, accused her, and hung up. Then he stopped getting in touch.
They finalized the divorce. Maria received the divorce certificate, looked at the document, and understood that she did not regret her decision.
A year passed.
It was a hot July day. Maria sat on the veranda of the dacha with a cup of cold kvass. Natalya Ivanovna was busy in the kitchen, making berry pies — strawberries from their own garden.
“Mashenka, come try them!” her mother called.
The woman stood up and stretched. The sun was blazing, but under the canopy it was cool. In the garden, tomatoes, cucumbers, and zucchini were ripening. Her mother had put so much work, so much love into this land.
At the table, Natalya Ivanovna arranged the pies on a plate and poured tea.
“My daughter, I thank God for you every day,” her mother said quietly. “You gave me my dream.”
Maria wrapped an arm around her mother’s shoulders and kissed her temple.
“Mom, you gave me life. A dacha is nothing compared to that.”
Natalya Ivanovna sniffled and leaned against her daughter.
“It’s good that you no longer have that husband. He didn’t value you.”
“I know, Mom. I realized it myself.”
That evening, as the sun was sinking toward the horizon, Maria sat by the lake. The water was warm and calm. Somewhere, frogs croaked and grasshoppers chirped. Silence and peace.
The woman thought about Dmitry. She wondered how he was doing. Had he found someone else who would sponsor his mother? Or had Anna Petrovna finally learned to live within her means?
But it no longer mattered. That life was behind her. Maria no longer felt obligated to finance someone else’s whims. She no longer heard the constant calls asking for money. Now, every weekend, she came here, to her mother. She helped around the dacha, rested her soul, and planned her future.
At work, she had been promoted to chief accountant, and her salary had increased. She had savings now — savings that no longer flowed into her mother-in-law’s pockets.
Life had fallen into place. Without Dmitry, without his mother, without constant pressure and demands. Just a quiet, peaceful life with her beloved mother, the dacha, and dreams of the future.
Maria smiled, looking at the sunset. The sun was setting behind the forest, painting the sky in pink and orange tones.
Beautiful.
Peaceful.
Good.
And she needed nothing more.
