“I could line my parents’ walls with gold if I want—it’s my money! Let your mother deal with her own debts; you help her yourself.”

Marina stood by the wallpaper display, carefully studying the samples. Her parents’ apartment had long needed repairs, and their daughter had decided to take the initiative. In two years of marriage, she had learned to plan a budget so that there was enough not only for her own needs but also to help her loved ones. She worked as a chief accountant at a trading company, earning seventy-two thousand rubles a month, which allowed her to live decently.

Pavel, Marina’s husband, had spent the last four months “finding himself.” After being fired from his sales manager position due to a conflict with management, he couldn’t seem to find a suitable job. The salary was too low, or the schedule inconvenient, or the team not a good fit. As a result, the family was living on Marina’s income alone, which created a certain tension in their relationship.

“Marish, why do you need such expensive ones?” Pavel asked, walking up to his wife in the building-supplies store. “You can pick something simpler; they’re all the same anyway.”

“They’re not the same,” Marina replied, running her fingers over the wallpaper’s texture. “These are good quality, German. I want my parents to live nicely.”

“And how much is that going to cost?” her husband asked warily.

“About forty thousand for all the rooms,” Marina said calmly.

“Forty thousand?!” Pavel practically jumped. “Are you out of your mind? That’s half a month’s salary!”

“My salary,” his wife clarified. “And I can afford it.”

Pavel fell silent, but his face darkened. At home, the conversation continued in a more strained tone.

Marina’s parents, Sergei Mikhailovich and Lyudmila Vasilievna, lived in a two-room Stalin-era apartment. It was spacious, with high ceilings, but had long required cosmetic repairs. In places the wallpaper had peeled, paint was flaking off the radiators, and the linoleum was worn through to holes. Their pensions covered only the essentials—food, medication, utility bills. Repairs were out of the question.

Marina couldn’t bear to see how her parents were living. Sergei Mikhailovich had worked his whole life as an engineer at a factory, and Lyudmila Vasilievna had been a schoolteacher. Honest, decent people who never took more than they needed, never got into debt, and made do with little. When their daughter was in university, they had scrimped on everything to help her.

“Dad, Mom,” Marina said during her next visit, “let’s renovate your place. I’ve saved up the money.”

“Marinka, why spend so much?” Lyudmila Vasilievna fretted. “We’re fine as we are.”

“Mom, your wallpaper is coming off,” her daughter pointed out. “It’s not comfortable to live like this.”

“We’re used to it,” Sergei Mikhailovich waved her off. “Don’t spend money on us—buy something for yourself instead.”

But Marina was determined. She drew up a renovation plan, calculated the costs, and chose materials. In addition to wallpaper, she planned to buy a new sofa to replace the old, broken-down one and to replace the kitchen cabinets. The total came to about a hundred and twenty thousand rubles—money she had spent six months saving specifically for this.

Pavel learned about his wife’s plans and took it badly.

“Marina,” he said that evening as they sat in the kitchen, “I feel awkward. You’re spending that kind of money on your parents and don’t even ask about my mother.”

“What about your mom?” Marina was surprised.

“She’s got plenty of problems too!” Pavel protested. “She’s drowning in loans, she’s short on money. And you’re acting like you don’t even notice her.”

Marina sighed. Her mother-in-law, Tamara Ivanovna, really didn’t live in the best circumstances. But the reasons were completely different from her own parents’. At fifty-seven, the woman worked as a grocery store clerk, earning twenty-eight thousand rubles. But she managed to spend significantly more.

Tamara Ivanovna loved shopping. She was constantly buying new clothes, expensive cosmetics, and home décor. She couldn’t pass up sales, discounts, or promotions. As a result, she’d racked up loans totaling half a million rubles and was now barely keeping up with the payments. Her apartment was perfectly decent, but the money was disappearing on entirely different line items.

“Pavel,” Marina explained patiently, “my parents need repairs because they don’t have money for the basics. Your mother spends money on treats and runs into debt.”

“So what?” her husband didn’t understand. “She’s family too.”

“She is,” Marina agreed, “but I’m not going to bankroll her extravagance.”

“Extravagance?” Pavel was indignant. “A woman has the right to live nicely!”

“She does,” his wife nodded, “but on her own money.”

The conversation ended without resolution. Pavel slammed the door and went to his friends, while Marina went on planning the renovation for her parents.

The next day her husband tried a different tack.

“Marish,” Pavel said at breakfast, “maybe we could help my mom at least partially? Not with all the loans, just some of them.”

“How much is ‘some’?” Marina asked.

“Well… fifty thousand. To cover the most urgent debts.”

“Pavel, fifty thousand is almost a month of my work,” his wife reminded him. “Why should I hand over that kind of money?”

“Because she’s my mother!” he flared up.

“She’s your mother, so you help her,” Marina replied evenly. “Find a job and sponsor her all you want.”

“Oh sure, finding a job is easy right now, huh?” Pavel said sarcastically.

“Easier than sitting at home and lecturing me about whom I should be giving my money to,” Marina shot back.

After that conversation, the atmosphere at home grew tense. Pavel sulked, gave curt answers, and wore his resentment on his sleeve. Meanwhile, Marina bought the renovation materials and hired workers.

“You’ll help your parents, but you won’t help my mom? That’s not right, she’ll be offended,” Pavel exploded when he saw his wife unloading rolls of expensive wallpaper from the car. “Look how pricey those are! You want to pay for the whole renovation! And you’ve forgotten about my family!”

Marina’s patience snapped. For four months she’d been supporting her husband, putting up with his complaints, listening to his reproaches. And now he was trying to dictate how she should spend the money she earned.

“I could line your parents’ walls with gold if I want—it’s my money!” she flared. “And your mother can sort out her debts herself. You help her!”

Pavel was stunned. He had never heard such harsh words from his wife. He was used to Marina being quiet, compliant, always ready to compromise. And now this firm refusal.

“Marina, what are you saying?” he asked, at a loss. “We’re a family.”

“A family,” his wife agreed, “but being a family doesn’t mean I have to pay for someone else’s mistakes.”

“Someone else’s?” Pavel was offended. “She’s my mother!”

“Your mother is an adult,” Marina reminded him. “Let her take responsibility for her actions.”

That evening, Tamara Ivanovna called. Apparently, Pavel had complained to his mother about his wife’s cruelty.

“Marinochka,” the mother-in-law began in a sugary voice, “Pavlik told me about your conversation. This isn’t a good look.”

“What exactly isn’t good?” Marina asked.

“Well, you help your parents, but your husband’s relatives—you don’t care,” Tamara Ivanovna said reproachfully. “We’re one family now; money should be shared.”

“Tamara Ivanovna,” Marina explained patiently, “my parents live in a crumbling apartment because their money only covers food. You spend on shopping and got yourself into debt.”

“So what?” the mother-in-law said, surprised. “I have the right to buy nice things for myself.”

“You do,” Marina agreed, “but not at my expense.”

“At your expense?” Tamara Ivanovna was outraged. “I never asked you for money!”

“Not yet,” Marina clarified. “But Pavel is asking.”

“Pavlik is my son; he takes care of me,” the mother-in-law said, moved. “And you’re getting in the way.”

“I’m not,” Marina objected. “Let him take care of you with his own money.”

“What do you mean, his own money?” Tamara Ivanovna didn’t understand. “You’re a family; everything should be shared…
Continued in the comments

Marina stood outside the wallpaper store, carefully examining the samples. Her parents’ apartment had long needed repairs, and their daughter had decided to take the initiative into her own hands. In two years of marriage, she had learned how to plan a budget so there was enough not only for her own needs but also to help her loved ones. She worked as the chief accountant at a trading company, earning seventy-two thousand rubles a month, which allowed them to live decently.

Pavel, Marina’s husband, had spent the last four months “finding himself.” After being fired from his sales manager position due to a conflict with management, he couldn’t seem to find a suitable job. Either the salary offered was too low, or the schedule was inconvenient, or the team wasn’t a good fit. As a result, the family lived on Marina’s salary alone, which created a certain tension in their relationship.

“Marish, why do you need such expensive ones?” Pavel asked, walking up to his wife in the building-materials store. “We can take something simpler; they’re all the same anyway.”

“They’re not the same,” Marina replied, running her fingers over the wallpaper’s texture. “These are quality, German. I want my parents to live nicely.”

“And how much is that going to cost?” her husband asked warily.

“Around forty thousand for all the rooms,” Marina said evenly.

“Forty thousand?!” Pavel practically jumped. “Are you out of your mind? That’s half a month’s salary!”

“My salary,” his wife clarified. “And I can afford it.”

Pavel fell silent, but his face darkened. At home, the conversation continued in a more strained atmosphere.

Marina’s parents, Sergei Mikhailovich and Lyudmila Vasilievna, lived in a two-room Stalin-era apartment. It was spacious, with high ceilings, but had long needed cosmetic repairs. In places the wallpaper had peeled away, the paint on the radiators was flaking, and the linoleum was worn through. Their pensions were only enough for the essentials—food, medicine, and utilities. Repairs weren’t even on the table.

Marina could not calmly watch how her parents lived. Sergei Mikhailovich had worked his whole life as an engineer at a factory, and Lyudmila Vasilievna had been a schoolteacher. Honest, decent people who had never taken more than they needed, never gone into debt, and were content with little. When their daughter was in college, they scrimped on everything to help her.

“Dad, Mom,” Marina said during her next visit, “let’s do some renovations at your place. I’ve saved up the money.”

“Marinka, why spend so much?” Lyudmila Vasilievna fretted. “We’re fine as it is.”

“Mom, your wallpaper is coming off,” her daughter pointed out. “It’s not comfortable to live like that.”

“We’re used to it,” Sergei Mikhailovich waved her off. “Don’t waste money on us—buy yourself something instead.”

But Marina was determined. She drew up a plan for the repairs, calculated the costs, and chose the materials. Besides the wallpaper, she planned to buy a new sofa to replace the old, collapsing one, and to replace the kitchen set. The total came to about a hundred and twenty thousand rubles—money she had been saving for half a year specifically for this purpose.

Pavel learned of his wife’s plans and took it badly.

“Marina,” he said that evening as they sat in the kitchen, “I feel awkward. You’re spending that kind of money on your parents, and you didn’t even ask about my mother.”

“What about your mom?” Marina was surprised.

“She’s got plenty of problems too!” Pavel protested. “Loans hanging over her, not enough money. And you act like you don’t even see her.”

Marina sighed. Pavel’s mother, Tamara Ivanovna, really didn’t live in the best circumstances. But the reasons were entirely different from those of Marina’s parents. The fifty-seven-year-old woman worked as a sales clerk in a grocery store, earning twenty-eight thousand rubles. Yet she managed to spend significantly more.

Tamara Ivanovna adored shopping. She was constantly buying new clothes, expensive cosmetics, and home decor. She couldn’t pass by sales, discounts, or promotions. As a result, she had racked up half a million rubles in loans and was now barely coping with the payments. Her apartment was perfectly decent, but the money was leaking away on entirely different categories of expenses.

“Pavel,” Marina explained patiently, “my parents need repairs because they don’t have money for the bare necessities. Your mother spends money on pleasures and gets herself into debt.”

“So what?” her husband didn’t understand. “She’s family too.”

“She is,” Marina agreed, “but I’m not going to bankroll her extravagance.”

“Extravagance?” Pavel flared up. “A woman has the right to live beautifully!”

“She does,” his wife nodded, “but with her own money.”

The conversation ended inconclusively. Pavel slammed the door and went to see his friends, while Marina went on planning the repairs for her parents.

The next day her husband tried a different angle.

“Marish,” Pavel said over breakfast, “couldn’t we at least help my mom partially? Not with all the loans, just part of them.”

“How much is ‘partially’?” Marina asked.

“Well… fifty thousand, say. To close the most urgent debts.”

“Pavel, fifty thousand is almost a month of my work,” his wife reminded him. “Why should I hand over that kind of money?”

“Because she’s my mother!” her husband snapped.

“She’s your mother—so you help her,” Marina replied calmly. “Find a job and sponsor as much as you like.”

“Finding a job is easy right now, is it?” Pavel said sarcastically.

“Easier than sitting at home and lecturing me about whom I should be helping with my money,” Marina shot back.

After that conversation, the atmosphere at home grew tense. Pavel moped around, answered questions in monosyllables, and wore his resentment on his sleeve. Meanwhile, Marina bought the materials and hired workers.

“You help your parents, but you won’t help my mom? That’s not right—she’ll be offended,” Pavel exploded when he saw his wife unloading rolls of expensive wallpaper from the car. “Look how pricey those are! You want to pay for the repairs! And you’ve forgotten about my family!”

Marina’s patience finally ran out. For four months she had supported her husband, put up with his complaints, and listened to his reproaches. And now he was trying to dictate how she should spend the money she earned.

“I could gild my parents’ walls if I want—this is my money!” she flared. “And your mother can dig herself out of her debts; you help her yourself!”

Pavel was stunned. He had never heard such harsh words from his wife. He was used to Marina being quiet, compliant, always ready to compromise. And now—such a firm refusal.

“Marina, what are you saying?” he asked, bewildered. “We’re a family.”

“A family,” his wife agreed, “but being a family doesn’t mean I have to pay for other people’s mistakes.”

“Other people’s?” Pavel was offended. “She’s my mother!”

“Your mother is an adult,” Marina reminded him. “Let her take responsibility for her actions.”

That evening, Tamara Ivanovna called. Apparently Pavel had complained to his mother about his wife’s cruelty.

“Marinochka,” the mother-in-law began sweetly, “Pavlik told me about your conversation. This doesn’t look good.”

“What exactly doesn’t look good?” Marina asked.

“Well, you help your parents, but you don’t care about your husband’s relatives,” Tamara Ivanovna said reproachfully. “We’re one family now; the money should be shared.”

“Tamara Ivanovna,” Marina explained patiently, “my parents live in an apartment that’s falling apart because they can only afford food. You spend money on shopping and got yourself into debt.”

“So what?” the mother-in-law was surprised. “I have the right to buy myself nice things.”

“You do,” Marina agreed, “but not at my expense.”

“At your expense?” Tamara Ivanovna was indignant. “I never asked you for money!”

“You haven’t yet,” Marina corrected her. “But Pavel is asking.”

“Pavlik is my son; he takes care of me,” the mother-in-law said, touched. “And you’re getting in his way.”

“I’m not,” Marina countered. “Let him take care of you with his own money.”

“What do you mean, his own money?” Tamara Ivanovna didn’t understand. “You’re a family—everything should be shared.”

“Decisions should be shared,” Marina explained. “But I’m the only one earning money.”

“So what?” the mother-in-law shrugged. “It’s hard for a man to find work right now.”

“Hard, but possible,” Marina replied. “If he wants to.”

After the conversation with Tamara Ivanovna, Marina was completely convinced she was doing the right thing. Her mother-in-law believed that the daughter-in-law was obligated to support not only her husband but also his mother—while no one intended to curb their appetites or look for additional income.

Pavel kept pressuring his wife, demanding “fairness.”

“Marina,” he said, “you don’t understand. Mom is desperate. Debt collectors are calling, threatening. And you won’t even help.”

“I do want to help,” Marina agreed unexpectedly.

“Really?” Pavel brightened.

“Really. But I’ll help the right way.”

“How’s that?”

“I’ll find your mother a financial advisor,” his wife explained. “She needs to learn how to plan a budget. And a psychologist, so she can deal with her shopping addiction.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Pavel frowned.

“No,” Marina said seriously. “That’s real help, not throwing money into a bottomless pit.”

“Mom needs money, not advisors!” Pavel protested.

“Your mom needs to learn to live within her means,” Marina countered. “Otherwise any money will be wasted.”

The renovations at Marina’s parents’ apartment began a week later. The workers stripped the old wallpaper, smoothed the walls, and hung the new paper. The German wallpaper turned out to be genuinely high-quality—thick, with a beautiful texture and pleasant to the touch. The apartment transformed before their eyes.

“Marinochka,” said Lyudmila Vasilievna, stroking the new living-room wallpaper, “it’s so beautiful now. Thank you, dear.”

“Mom, this is only the beginning,” her daughter smiled. “We’ll bring in a new sofa and update the kitchen too.”

“Why spend so much?” Sergei Mikhailovich worried. “We’re grateful as it is.”

“Dad, Mom, you spent your whole lives on me,” Marina reminded them. “Now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

Her parents exchanged glances, tears glimmering in both their eyes. They weren’t used to such care; they had always made do with little.

One day Pavel came to look at the renovations and saw how the apartment had changed. The wallpaper did look expensive and beautiful, the new sofa was comfortable and stylish, and the kitchen set was modern and functional.

“It’s beautiful,” her husband admitted. “But it’s expensive.”

“Expensive,” Marina agreed. “But my parents deserve it.”

“And my mother doesn’t?” Pavel said, offended.

“Your mother deserves what she can afford,” his wife replied. “On her own salary.”

“Marina, you’re cruel,” Pavel shook his head.

“Fair,” she corrected.

At home Pavel launched into yet another scene.

“You spent a hundred and twenty thousand!” he shouted. “And you won’t even give my mother ten!”

“I won’t,” Marina confirmed calmly.

“Why not?!”

“Because that wouldn’t be help—it would be enabling,” she explained. “Your mother will get used to someone else paying for her mistakes.”

“What mistakes?” Pavel didn’t understand.

“Living beyond your means is a mistake,” Marina said.

“And living beautifully is everyone’s right!” her husband retorted.

“On money you’ve earned,” his wife added.

Pavel paced the apartment, waving his arms, hurling accusations of selfishness and stinginess. Marina sat on the sofa, calmly watching his tantrum.

“Finished?” she asked when he ran out of steam.

“What?” he faltered.

“Finished with the tantrum?” Marina clarified.

“I wasn’t having a tantrum,” he said, offended. “I was trying to get through to you.”

“You got through,” she nodded. “Now listen to me.”

Marina stood and walked up to her husband.

“Pavel,” she said, looking him straight in the eye, “I will no longer let you dictate whom I should help with my money.”

“I’m not dictating—”

“You are,” Marina cut him off. “And you’re demanding that I sponsor your mother.”

“She’s family!” he exclaimed.

“Family—but not my responsibility,” his wife said clearly. “If you want to rescue your mother from her debts, find a job and help her yourself.”

“Easy for you to say—find a job,” he grumbled.

“And sitting at home and making claims on your wife—that’s not hard?” Marina said with sarcasm.

Pavel fell silent, realizing he had no arguments.

“Marina,” he tried switching tactics, “think about it. Is this fair? The best for your parents, and nothing for mine?”

“It is fair,” his wife answered firmly. “My parents never asked for extra. Your mother created her problems herself.”

“But you can understand her,” Pavel tried to soften things. “A woman wants to be beautiful.”

“I can understand it,” Marina agreed, “but I cannot pay for it.”

“Then what should we pay for?” Pavel asked, baffled.

“For what’s truly necessary,” Marina explained. “Food, housing, medical care. Not handbags and dresses.”

“You’re cynical,” Pavel shook his head.

“Practical,” she corrected. “And I’m not discussing this anymore.”

The next day Tamara Ivanovna came in person. She looked agitated and held some papers in her hands.

“Marinochka,” she began, “I need to talk to you.”

“I’m listening,” Marina nodded.

“This is serious,” the mother-in-law went on, waving the papers. “The bank filed a lawsuit. If I don’t pay by the end of the month, they’ll seize my property.”

“How much do you need?” Marina asked.

“One hundred and fifty thousand,” Tamara Ivanovna blurted out.

“That’s a lot,” Marina noted.

“Marinochka, you can help!” the mother-in-law pleaded. “You have money!”

“I do,” Marina agreed.

“There, you see!” Tamara Ivanovna brightened. “So you’ll help?”

“No,” Marina replied calmly.

Her mother-in-law’s face changed.

“What do you mean, no?” she couldn’t believe it.

“Quite simply,” Marina explained. “I won’t pay for your mistakes.”

“What mistakes?” the mother-in-law protested. “I didn’t take loans for vodka!”

“What did you take them for?” Marina asked.

“For a beautiful life!” Tamara Ivanovna declared proudly. “I have the right!”

“You do,” Marina agreed. “But you should be the one to pay for it.”

“What is family for, then?” the mother-in-law didn’t understand.

“Family is for support in hard times,” Marina said. “Not for footing the bill for someone else’s whims.”

“Whims?” the mother-in-law was offended. “I didn’t buy whims!”

“What then?”

“Nice clothes, cosmetics, home decorations,” she listed. “How can you live without that?”

“The way my parents live,” Marina replied. “Within their means.”

“Your parents are paupers!” Tamara Ivanovna flared up.

“My parents are honest people,” Marina shot back. “That’s why I help them.”

“So I’m dishonest?” the mother-in-law sulked.

“You’re wasteful,” Marina said crisply. “And you shift responsibility onto others.”

Tamara Ivanovna left empty-handed, slamming the door and promising to complain to her son. But Pavel already knew his wife’s position and didn’t try to change her mind.

“Marina,” he said that evening, “Mom cried.”

“Let her cry,” his wife said coolly. “Maybe it will sink in.”

“What will?”

“That adults are responsible for their own actions.”

“You’re heartless,” Pavel shook his head.

“Sensible,” she corrected.

A month later, some of Tamara Ivanovna’s property—expensive furniture and appliances bought on credit—was indeed seized. She wept, complained about the injustice, and asked her son to stand up for her. But Marina remained adamant.

“Let it be a lesson to her,” she said. “Maybe she’ll finally learn to live within her means.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Pavel asked.

“Then she’ll keep paying for her imprudence,” Marina replied. “But not at my expense.”

Pavel realized that pressure was useless. His wife had taken a clear stance and wasn’t going to retreat. He had to find ways to help his mother himself—he started doing courier gigs, then found a job as a manager at a small firm. The pay was modest, but at least he had his own money.

“You see,” Marina remarked when her husband got his first paycheck, “you wanted to—and you found a job.”

“I had to,” Pavel muttered.

“Good that you had to,” his wife nodded. “A man should work.”

“And you still won’t help Mom?” he asked.

“I will,” Marina agreed unexpectedly.

“Really?” Pavel was surprised.

“Really. But I’ll help in my own way.”

The next day Marina made appointments for Tamara Ivanovna with a financial advisor and with a psychologist who specialized in addictions. She paid for several sessions as a birthday gift to her mother-in-law.

“It’s the best gift I could give,” Marina explained to her husband. “If she learns to plan a budget, there won’t be any problems.”

“And if she doesn’t learn?” Pavel asked.

“Then that’s her choice,” Marina replied.

That evening Marina sat in her parents’ refurbished apartment drinking tea with Lyudmila Vasilievna. The room looked completely different—bright, cozy, modern. Her parents beamed with happiness and couldn’t stop admiring the new surroundings.

“Thank you, dear,” her mother repeated for the umpteenth time. “It’s so nice now.”

“Mom, you’ve earned it,” Marina smiled. “You spent your whole lives on others; it’s time to think about yourselves.”

“And how is Pavel?” Lyudmila Vasilievna asked cautiously. “Is he angry?”

“At first he was,” her daughter admitted. “But now he’s gone to work. Maybe it was for the best. He realized a man should earn his own money, not rely on his wife.”

Marina finished her tea and looked out the window. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of pink. For the first time in a long while, she felt completely at peace. The money had been spent wisely, her parents were happy, her husband was working. And, most importantly, no one was telling her anymore how to dispose of the money she earned. And that feeling of freedom was worth more than any compromise.