Congratulations on your promotion!” Dad raised his glass to toast, yet his smile failed to reach his eyes.
I glanced around the dinner table. Mom sliced the Olivier salad with meticulous care, her movements suggesting obligation more than delight. My brother Maxim picked at his food, seeming displeased, while his girlfriend Alina was engrossed in her phone, clearly disengaged.
“Head of department…” Mom pronounced the words slowly, as if savoring them. “At thirty-three… well done, Katya.”
Key Insight: Pride was absent. Beneath the surface lurked a sense of calculation, a careful appraisal rather than genuine joy.
“Is your salary better now?” Maxim finally broke the silence.
“It’s okay,” I answered vaguely.
“Come on, tell us how much,” he leaned closer, almost whispering, “We’re family; no need to keep secrets.”
Alina suddenly lifted her eyes from her phone, interested.
“Maxim, don’t push,” Dad said, though his tone was weak.
“Oh, Dad. Katya’s a boss now; she should support her family.”
I stiffened; the moment I dreaded had arrived within thirty minutes.
“Speaking of support,” Mom said, setting down her knife. “You promised to help Max get a laptop for work.”
“I said I’d consider it.”
“So, have you thought about it?” Maxim smirked. “Or are department heads too busy for family now?”
Alina stifled a laugh, confirming their pre-arranged plan — even down to who would ask and how.
“Fine, I’ll buy the laptop,” I said quietly. “But it’s a gift, not an obligation.”
“Of course, a gift!” Mom smiled immediately. “I knew you wouldn’t forget your brother. You two were always close.”
Close. An ironic word. Memories of Maxim taking money from my backpack, laughing at my scholarship setbacks, and forgetting my birthday for three years came to mind.
“I need a dress,” Alina interjected suddenly. “For a friend’s wedding. Maybe we could shop together? You have great taste.”
Those were the first words she had directed at me in two years of being with Maxim — and immediately, a request followed.
“We’ll see,” I replied curtly.
“Good!” Mom nodded approvingly. “Family should stick together, right Katya?”
I nodded, feeling the warmth of the celebration evaporate. After five years of hard work, overtime, and constant study, this evening boiled down to them seeking financial favors.
“More salad?” Mom pushed the dish towards me.
“No, thank you, I’m full.”
“Why are you acting like a stranger?” Maxim took offense. “We’re proud of you. Now, it’s normal for you to help your family a bit, isn’t it?”
Normal. I looked into his confident, almost arrogant eyes and wondered: when did they start viewing me not as a person, but as an ATM with a face?
- The laptop was purchased.
- A dress for Alina was bought.
- Mom got a new phone.
- I helped Dad with car repairs.
Each time, I promised myself it would be the last favor. Each time, I hoped they’d understand that I wasn’t an inexhaustible source of financial aid.
One afternoon, while working at home on reports, my phone rang. It was Mom.
“Katya, we must meet urgently. It’s important.”
“Mom, I have a deadline tomorrow.”
“It’s a family matter! Please come.”
I sighed, knowing that “family matter” was always code for an upcoming demand.
An hour later, I found myself once again at the family table. The previous year’s forced joviality had been replaced by tense businesslike atmosphere.
“Sit,” Mom directed. “Tea?”
“Let’s just get to the point.”
Maxim and Alina exchanged looks; she placed her hand on his shoulder, and a gleaming wedding ring caught my eye.
“We’ve set the wedding for three months from now,” Maxim announced abruptly.
“Congratulations.”
“The ‘Golden Pheasant’ is the venue,” Alina added. “You should see the hall!”
I nodded, anticipating the request that would follow.
“The problem is the cost,” Mom said firmly. “There are 150 guests; everything must be perfect. The guys, well, they’re not yet affluent.”
“Maxim is thirty-five,” I noted.
“So what?” Mom responded with a frown. “He’s just starting his career. Not like some people.”
My accomplishments had simply become a backdrop to new financial demands.
“We need help,” Maxim leaned back. “You won’t refuse your brother, will you?”
“How much are you asking?” I inquired, bracing myself.
“About a million,” he replied nervously. “For the venue, host, photographer, and a dress for Alina.”
“A million?!”
“Pay your brother’s wedding! You earn a lot, so help your family!” Mom declared boldly. “Are you stingy?”
Dad remained silent, eyes fixed on the tablecloth. Alina smiled faintly, lost in her phone and wedding dreams. Maxim appeared as if I had already approved the request.
“That’s an enormous sum,” I said slowly. “A very large sum.”
“So what? You get bonuses and premiums. You’re a manager; you won’t go broke.”
“I was saving for a down payment on a good apartment—not some dilapidated Khrushchyovka outside town.”
“The apartment can wait,” Mom snapped. “But a wedding is a major life event. Do you want your brother to be seen as poor? For people to say, ‘She has money but refused to help?’”
Those mysterious “people” whose opinions always seem most important.
“I can contribute a decent amount, say two hundred thousand,” I offered cautiously. “But to cover everything fully…”
“Two hundred?!” Maxim jumped up. “That won’t even cover the restaurant!”
“Then choose a more modest venue.”
“Modest?!” Alina shrieked. “Are we homeless? All my friends had weddings at the ‘Golden Pheasant’!”
“Don’t humiliate us in front of others, Katya,” Mom coldly warned. “You’re the only one in this family with money; you must help.”
Key Insight: The word “must” lingered in the air, heavy with expectation.
I stood slowly; hands shook but voice remained firm.
“Sit down!” Mom shouted. “We aren’t done yet!”
“We’re done. I won’t pay for your wedding.”
“What?!” Maxim rose, shocked. “Are you mad? I’m your brother!”
“Exactly. Brother, not a child to be supported. You’re thirty-five. If you can’t afford it, don’t marry.”
Alina gasped, hand covering her mouth.
“Or marry modestly,” I suggested. “City hall ceremony and a small celebration with close friends.”
“In a café?!” she almost choked. “My friends would laugh!”
“Let them laugh — or let them pay if their opinions matter so much.”
Mom stepped in front of me, eyes blazing with anger.
“Ungrateful! We raised and educated you…”
“I am grateful. But that doesn’t mean I am your perpetual ATM.”
“How dare you?!”
“Enough. My answer is no.”
Dad finally looked up, attempting to intervene.
“Katya, don’t be mad. We are family…”
“Family? Where was family when I worked nights, didn’t rest for years? Who cared how I felt? Who called just to talk?”
Silence. Eyes averted.
“I became an ATM—insert card, get cash. And hardly anyone says ‘Thank you.’”
“We thanked you,” Maxim muttered.
“Yes, and immediately asked for more—laptop, phone, dress, repairs, now a wedding. What’s next? An apartment? Children?”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Mom grimaced. “Just help your brother once properly.”
“Once?” I laughed. “Last year alone I gave you four hundred thousand—an average person’s yearly salary!”
“So?”
“Because I work like crazy. Maxim has held the same job for five years with no promotion, yet wants a grand wedding.”
“Traitor!” he spat.
“Max!” Dad tried to stop him without much conviction.
“Let him speak. I’m a traitor because I refuse to bankroll his show? Fine.”
I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. Mom chased me.
“Stop! You’ll regret this! Who will help you if you need it? Strangers?”
I paused, turned.
“Strangers don’t demand a million for family loyalty. Live your way—but without my money.”
“Don’t leave! You owe us!”
“I owe nothing.”
I slammed the door and descended the stairs. My hands trembled, but I felt strangely unburdened—like dropping a heavy backpack after years.
My phone flooded with messages; I deleted them unread and blocked numbers: Mom’s, Dad’s, Maxim’s.
I started the engine and left. Through the mirror, I saw Mom waving and shouting from the balcony. I smiled, pressed the accelerator. Freedom’s price: one million rubles. Surprisingly affordable.
- Two months of deafening silence followed.
- They called from unknown numbers; I blocked each.
- Mom attempted visits; security barred her entry.
- I declined their packages, knowing they were ploys to reopen old wounds.
Without constant demands, I concentrated on work. Recognized by my bosses, I accepted a company-paid training.
One day, while reading at my favorite coffee shop, Alina appeared unexpectedly—alone. She hesitated, then sat.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Okay. Is the wedding still on?”
She shrugged. “Canceled.”
“Why?”
“No money. Maxim tried loans—denied everywhere.”
Predictable. Maxim borrowed often but seldom repaid.
“Did you fight?”
“He called me mercenary, said I just wanted a fancy wedding. I…” she faltered.
“What?”
“I wondered if he was right. We’ve been together three years, but I barely know him. He doesn’t work; just waits for luck or for you to help.”
“What did you decide?”
“We split. Moved out yesterday. I’ll find a room and job.”
Silence. She stared at her cup.
“Sorry. For the dress, for everything.”
“Forget it.”
“I thought family meant support. Then I saw how they used you. I was ashamed.”
The waiter brought cheesecake; I pushed it toward her.
“Eat.”
“Thanks. Katya, are you lonely without family?”
I pondered.
“Imagine carrying a heavy burden your whole life, then suddenly setting it down. At first, it feels strange, then you realize how easily you can walk.”
“I plan to have my own family. Someday.”
She nodded.
“My mom says you’re selfish, only thinking of yourself.”
“Maybe. But for twenty years, I thought only about them. Now, it’s my turn.”
She left after coffee, thanking me. “Good luck, Katya. You did right. I wouldn’t have had the courage.”
“You will, if you have to.”
I returned to work, a new presentation awaiting. No one dictated my choices anymore.
My phone beeped. A text from an unknown number: Mom’s message about Dad’s illness again.
I smirked, recalling previous false alarms. Real emergencies would mean ambulances, not texts.
“Anything else?” the waiter asked.
“Yes,” I smiled. “A bottle of wine. Today is special.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Two months free from toxic family—it’s like a birthday, but better.”
He laughed and brought the wine. I toasted myself: to new beginnings, the power to say “no,” and the million still in my bank account.
Another message appeared—from Dad: “Mom is crying. Please forgive us. Let’s talk.”
Talk. Always when money’s needed. When I sought care or conversation, they had no time.
I blocked Dad’s number.
A week later, a mutual acquaintance told me Maxim married quietly at the registry office, no guests, no fanfare. Mom called it disgraceful and didn’t attend. Maxim quickly found a new fiancée with a child; they live in a rented small apartment.
“Your mom says you’re ungrateful, abandoned the family,” the acquaintance said cheerfully.
“Let her say what she wants. I don’t care.”
And I truly didn’t care.
One month later, I bought my own apartment via a mortgage—the one I dreamed of. Spacious, bright, with an office and a kitchen where I could cook without hurry. Every corner reflected me.
While unpacking, the doorbell rang. Could it be Mom sneaking past my blocks again?
I opened the door—Dad stood there alone, thinner, weary, and lost.
“Hello, daughter.”
“How did you find me?”
“Lenka from the agency helped. Remember her?”
We sat quietly on the worn sofa.
“It’s beautiful. Did you choose it yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’ve always been smart.”
Silence enveloped us.
“Katya, I came to apologize. Not for Mom, for myself. I know it’s late.”
“If it’s about money…”
“Not money!” He interrupted sharply. “I lost my daughter. My silence when I should have spoken destroyed us.”
Tears welled up as I saw his loneliness and regret.
“Why stay silent?”
“I was a coward, always agreeing with Mom to avoid fights. I didn’t realize I was losing you.”
His confession stirred both pain and a glimmer of hope.
“Tea?” I offered.
As water heated, I wondered if we could rebuild trust.
“Does Mom know you’re here?”
“No. She’ll be angry, but I don’t care. I missed you.”
We talked about repairs, his health, and my plans — carefully avoiding family conflicts.
When he left, he said,
“I don’t ask for the past. But maybe we could meet sometimes? Have coffee?”
“Alright, Dad.”
He waved goodbye, driving away in his old car.
There may be coffee dates and talks ahead, but with new boundaries. I am no longer a cash machine or charity; I am my own person.
The million remains in my account, destined now for a fresh start—a trip to Iceland or new furniture, dreams long deferred.
Looking at my reflection, I smiled.
Freedom costs little—just a million and one simple word: “No.”
In summary, breaking free from family demands requires courage and self-respect. It means setting boundaries, understanding when support becomes exploitation, and valuing oneself beyond financial contributions. True freedom and peace come from reclaiming control over one’s life, making difficult decisions, and embracing new beginnings.