Again, you’re lying on the sofa?” Marina sighed wearily as she kicked off her shoes in the hallway. “You truly contribute nothing, Vasia.”
Without diverting his gaze from the laptop screen, where the vivid explosions of yet another video game flickered, Vasilij murmured, “What do you expect me to do? There’s no work.”
“There has been none for six months,” Marina retorted, walking to the kitchen, placing her shopping bag on the table, and starting to organize the groceries. “And in all that time, you haven’t even tried. Could you at least make dinner, for heaven’s sake?”
Vasilij let out a derisive click as if amused by a joke, then returned his attention to the game. Marina shook her head sadly. Half a year ago, he dramatically left his job, shut the door with pride, and proclaimed, “I’ll find something better.” However, weeks passed, and no job appeared. Initially, she understood—the unstable market, economic downturns, challenging to find a good position. But soon, she realized he wasn’t even attempting. Instead, he wasted time lounging, gaming, binge-watching series, while she worked tirelessly to make ends meet.
“Vasia, you promised you’d do the laundry,” she rebuked gently after glimpsing the overflowing laundry basket in the bathroom.
“Relax,” he replied without looking away from the screen. “I’ll do it tomorrow night. It won’t wash itself.”
Marina clenched her lips. Exhausted from her job, often taking extra tasks home to earn more, she felt unsupported.
“Listen,” she said, positioning herself before the screen and blocking his view completely. “I hustle every day, bring home the money, shop, cook, wash, and clean. Is it really too hard to start a washing machine?”
Vasilij raised irritated eyes. “Marin, can’t you see I’m in a raid with the guys?”
Her disbelief was palpable. “A raid? You’re at home all day and can’t manage anything?”
“Well, my mother never complained about my father,” he sniffed dismissively. “He worked, she ran the house. You work, but can’t do anything.”
Raising her voice, Marina shot back, “Because your mother was a housewife! I work ten hours a day! Anyway, if you speak of your mother, I’m sure she wouldn’t approve of her son living off me like this!”
Vasilij snapped his laptop closed and rose with a wounded face. “How dare you drag my mother into this! She always said a woman must both work and maintain the household. She kept things orderly, meals ready, clothes clean. And you? Total mess!”
Marina surveyed their surroundings: chip bags on the table, empty energy drink cans littering the floor—all his doing.
“This chaos is all yours,” she whispered. “I leave for work and keep the house clean, but return to a pigsty. And then I get blamed as a bad wife?”
He scoffed. “And you would be good? You don’t know how to treat a man. And as for my mother…”
“Enough with your mother!” Marina exploded, furious. “If she was so perfect, maybe you should return to her!”
“Maybe I will!” Vasilij growled. “At least she knows how to take care of a man!”
Marina stepped close, nearly breathless with anger: “You know what I think? You’re not a man. You’re a parasite who expects to do nothing just because you’re male. But that doesn’t work with me anymore.”
With that, she turned and headed to the bathroom. She knew she’d be doing the laundry alone again. Yet, she sensed something needed to change—and soon.
The following morning was interrupted by persistent doorbell rings. Checking the clock—nine o’clock—Marina noted Vasilij was still asleep, curled up on the couch, likely gaming through the night. She tried waking him, but he mumbled and turned away.
The bell rang again, louder this time. Marina, donned in a bathrobe, opened the door to find Zinaida Petrovič standing there, dignified in an expensive coat, flawless hair, and bright red lipstick.
“Good morning!” she declared cheerily, entering without waiting. “I came to visit, to see how you live.”
“Zinaida Petrovič, you could’ve given me a heads up…” Marina stammered, panic creeping in from the messy house and her disheveled pajamas.
“Warn you about what? I’m the mother-in-law. I have the right to visit my son,” she replied curtly, eyeing the cluttered hallway. “Is it always this untidy here? Don’t you ever wash?”
Marina took a deep breath to stay calm. After all, this was her husband’s mother—politeness was necessary despite everything.
“I got home late from work yesterday, didn’t have time to tidy up,” she explained quietly.
“Ah, your work…” the mother-in-law muttered, removing her coat and moving to the living room. “Where is my son?”
“He’s still sleeping,” Marina replied, following.
Zinaida’s lips pursed. “It’s morning already! Why didn’t you wake him? A man shouldn’t stay in bed until noon.”
“Maybe you should wake him?” Marina countered, fatigued.
Zinaida entered the bedroom unannounced. Moments later, a sharp voice called out:
“Vasen’ka, dear, wake up! Mom’s here!”
Marina smirked—Vasen’ka, the baby of the house at thirty years old.
A still groggy Vasilij appeared and brightened upon seeing his mother. “Momma! Such a pleasure!” he exclaimed, embracing her warmly.
“I came to check on you, to see how you live,” the woman repeated meaningfully.
Vasilij gave Marina a triumphant glance.
“What does she mean?” Marina asked, bracing herself.
“Look around!” the mother-in-law snapped. “Disorder, no breakfast, husband in bed. Is this how you live?”
“Zinaida Petrovič, it’s nine,” Marina explained, “Usually, I’m already at work at this hour. Today’s my day off, that’s why…”
“Precisely because it’s a day off you didn’t think to make breakfast! What kind of wife are you, Vasen’ka? You’re lucky.”
Vasilij shrugged in agreement.
“When I lived with dad, everything was always neat and clean,” Zinaida continued, “I did it all. And you don’t even have children, yet you can’t manage.”
Marina looked at her husband, hoping for support, but he sighed, “I told her yesterday, Mom. She doesn’t understand.”
“Then you’ll learn from me,” declared Zinaida firmly. “I’m staying for a week. I’ll teach you how it’s done.”
“A week?” Marina’s breath hitched.
“Exactly,” the mother-in-law said, heading to the kitchen, opening cupboards, and criticizing the organization. “Everything here is done poorly. Let’s fix this!”
Marina glanced at Vasilij, who was smiling with satisfaction.
“Well, didn’t expect this?” he murmured. “Mom will show you what a real wife is. Maybe you’ll learn something.”
She remained silent and hunched. That week would determine their marriage’s fate.
Three days into Zinaida’s stay, the house resembled a battlefield. Instead of armies, two women waged war; Vasilij sat comfortably watching TV.
“No, Marin, you fold the sheets wrong,” the mother-in-law criticized, snatching freshly ironed clothes from her daughter-in-law’s hands. “Vasen’ka, remind your wife how we used to keep everything at home—everything in its place.”
“Come on, Mom,” he replied, sipping beer. “It’s never too late to learn.”
Marina gritted her teeth. After work, another day of unpaid lessons. The mother-in-law had already revamped the kitchen, reorganized Marina’s wardrobe (declaring half her clothes unsuitable for a married woman), and rearranged the living room furniture without permission.
“Vasia, the phone!” called the mother from the kitchen.
Startled, Marina recognized her work number.
“It’s mine,” she said, moving toward the kitchen, but Vasilij snatched the receiver first.
“Hello? No, Marina’s busy right now. This is her husband. What’s up?”
Marina approached, trying to get the phone, but he moved away.
“That was a job offer,” Vasilij explained after hanging up. “But she has too much to do here.”
“What have you done?!” Marina exploded, feeling her face burn. “That was a chance for a bonus! You don’t have the right to decide for me!”
“Actually, I do,” the mother-in-law intervened, drying her hands. “The head of the family is the husband. He makes decisions. And you think too much about work, or else…”
“I work to feed us!” Marina shouted. “While your son has been idle for six months!”
“Maybe he just doesn’t want to,” suggested the mother-in-law. “He said he needed a break. Let him rest, yes?”
A heavy silence settled.
“Doesn’t want, or can’t?” Marina asked, voice shaking as she looked at Vasilij.
He lowered his gaze and shrugged apathetically. “Crisis. Good jobs are rare now.”
“Right,” nodded the mother-in-law, “Vasen’ka is educated and deserves something better. Not every job suits him.”
“Sure,” he agreed. “I can’t be a clerk or a porter.”
Marina watched them; the facade had shattered. Neither her husband nor mother-in-law considered her exhausting work normal. To them, she was merely the provider and an incompetent homemaker. The more she tried, the less respect she received.
Key Insight: The patriarchal mindset of the household created an environment where the woman’s efforts were unappreciated and her husband remained passive.
“Vasia, tell me,” she calmly said, “Where are your resumes? Show me your emails with potential employers.”
Swallowing, he glanced at his mother. “Actually… I made more calls than sent letters.”
“Dear,” Zinaida spoke, “You don’t have to account to your wife. She should trust you.”
But Marina had already opened her laptop and was searching her inbox.
“Strange,” she murmured, reading off the screen, “Here’s an email from Sergej Michajlovič at ‘Future Technologies.’ It says you were supposed to start two months ago but didn’t show up.”
Vasilij’s face turned pale, and the mother-in-law coughed, trying to mask embarrassment.
“Vasia,” Marina’s voice hardened, “They offered you a job and you refused?”
“Well, the pay was low and the office was far,” he tried to minimize.
“Thirty thousand a week is low?!” she exploded. “I earn that much in a whole month through sweat, and you refuse!”
“Vasia deserves better,” the mother-in-law asserted, “He has great talents and must find the right job.”
At that moment, Marina understood everything: the mother-in-law had convinced him he was too good for ordinary work, so he could linger without effort, dependent on others.
The next evening, Marina returned home to find all her laundry still soaking wet: the mother-in-law had run Vasilij’s clothes through the machine and left hers to soak.
“Even with the washing machine, you fail,” Marina said while hanging clothes. “Colors should be separated, not mixed.”
She retreated to the kitchen, barely restraining her anger. Vasilij was at the table, devouring meatballs with mashed potatoes—the dinner his mother had prepared.
“Want some?” he asked without looking up. “Real meatballs, not like yours.”
That was the last straw. Setting down her bag, Marina stood before him with calm determination.
“Vasia, I need to show you something,” she said.
She returned with a folder of documents, which he eyed with curiosity.
“What’s this?”
“Apartment papers,” she explained, placing them on the table. “Look carefully.”
“Why now?” he asked irritably as she gathered strength.
“Because we’ve been married four years. I bought this apartment, the car, and the furniture. I work, and for six months, I’ve supported you.”
Noticing the tension, Zinaida entered the kitchen.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m explaining to your son that everything we have belongs to me,” Marina said firmly. “The apartment is in my name, bought before marriage. The car belongs to my parents. We don’t have joint accounts or shared documents.”
Vasilij put down his fork, face flushed.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I am tired,” Marina declared, straightening. “Tired of being your maid, the wallet, and the target of criticism. To you, I’m never enough, but as long as I pay the bills, everything is fine.”
“How dare you!” the mother-in-law shouted. “Vasia is your husband and deserves respect!”
“Respect for what?” Marina challenged, locking eyes with her. “For spending all day playing? For refusing decent work because Mom said you deserve more? For expecting me to exhaust myself only to blame me?”
Vasilij rose violently.
“Don’t insult my son!” the mother-in-law screamed. “He is valuable!”
“Maybe,” Marina admitted, “but I deserve a real man, not a grown child. So pack your bags and leave. Now.”
Vasilij was dumbstruck, speechless.
“Are you kidding?” he hissed.
“I’m serious, Vasia,” she answered firmly.
“I won’t leave!”
“Then I’ll help you out,” Marina’s words echoed. “Out of my home, immediately! Go to your mother if you think she knows better.”
“You can’t kick us out!” the mother-in-law howled. “He’s my son!”
“I have every right,” Marina said, indicating the documents. “This apartment is mine. I decide who lives here. You’re no longer part of this family.”
Zinaida gripped her son’s shoulders.
“Come on, Vasen’ka. No need to kneel before them. You’ll find a better woman!”
Vasilij followed his mother to the door but paused, turning back.
“Marin… you’re not serious? Do you still love me?”
Marina looked at him, seeing the man she’d once loved but no longer recognized.
“I loved you,” she whispered, “but you two destroyed everything. Goodbye. Pack your bags and leave.”
A few minutes later, she watched from the window as a taxi carried away Vasilij and his mother. She felt neither pain nor regret—only relief, as if a huge burden had lifted.
She knew challenges lay ahead—legal battles, gossip, court hearings. Yet one thing was certain: she had made the right choice. Marina deserved a life where she is appreciated, not exploited; she deserved a real man, not a parasite hiding behind his mother’s skirt.
Her phone buzzed—a message from her boss inviting her to resume discussions on a project interrupted yesterday by family chaos.
Smiling, Marina answered confidently, ready at last to focus on herself, her career, and her future. No parasites, no manipulators, no spoiled child demanding the world.