Her Happiness, Our Burden
“Oh, Natasha, what luck to catch you by the door! Saves me trudging all the way upstairs,” panted Antonina Dmitrievna, Natalia’s mother-in-law, barely catching her breath.
“Good afternoon,” Natalia replied, caught off guard by the unexpected meeting.
Their relationship wasn’t exactly strained, but her mother-in-law seldom visited, her devotion reserved entirely for her daughter, Margaret.
“Natasha, lend us a tenner. We’re sending Margo and little Ilyusha to the sanatorium. One thing after another needs buying, and prices these days are through the roof! You understand…” Antonina Dmitrievna rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue.
Again, Natalia’s blood simmered. A thousand times she’d rehearsed the words, “I’m not a cash machine!” She’d have told her mother-in-law, told Margaret herself—straight to their faces—if only to end this endless begging.
Yet she held her tongue. Antonina Dmitrievna was her husband Anthony’s mother, grandmother to their daughter, little Olive. Speaking out meant open conflict, shattered relations, discord in the family. Natalia dreaded the toll it would take on Anthony, torn between wife and mother. So she kept silent—though she knew she couldn’t forever. Swallowing her frustration, she reached into her bag for her purse.
———
Natalia returned home in foul spirits. Another audit at work, inspectors nitpicking every detail, the boss snapping at everyone. Two hours late, a stop at the shops, and now dinner to cook, Olive’s homework to oversee, tomorrow’s clothes to lay out… An endless list.
Trudging up the stairs, she unlocked the flat.
“Mum, hello! We’ve got a project on birds for geography tomorrow. Can you help?” Nine-year-old Olive bounded over, delivering the news before Natalia could even take off her coat.
“Of course, love. Let me change, whip up dinner, and we’ll look.” Natalia set the shopping bags down and headed to the bedroom.
“Oh, Natasha, didn’t hear you come in. What’s wrong? Work again?” Anthony asked.
“Another audit. Same old.” Natalia waved it off.
“Listen, I sent Mum five hundred. They needed a spring coat for Ilyusha.”
“Anthony, when does this stop?! Ilyusha has a father—let him provide! Why must their burdens always fall on us?”
“Natasha, don’t start! You know their situation—”
“What situation, Anthony?!” She fought to keep her voice level. “Margaret won’t work, her ex won’t pay maintenance, Mum pours her pension into them—must we deprive our child to subsidise theirs? We both work—why must we?” Heat rose to her cheeks.
“Natasha, let’s not quarrel over trifles… Come, I’ll help with dinner.”
———
Margaret, Anthony’s younger sister, had married a “prosperous businessman,” Edward, five years prior.
“Oh, Rita and Eddie are off to Spain again! Such a lavish hotel! While you, Natasha, slave in that accounting firm—for what?” Antonina Dmitrievna never missed a chance to boast of her daughter’s glamorous life.
Then the truth emerged. The “businessman” and his wife had racked up debts financing their luxury. The money vanished, and the reckoning came.
First, they bickered over who owed what. By the time the extent was known, defaults loomed. Bank calls, threats of court. Edward resolved it swiftly—vanished. Rumour said he’d fled north.
But the “businessman’s wife” remained, saddled with debts and a child. Antonina Dmitrievna diverted part of her pension to Margaret’s loans, leaving scraps for herself, Margaret, and little Ilyusha. Needless to say, it never stretched.
So Natalia and Anthony stepped in. While Ilyusha was small, they covered utilities, even groceries. Yet each request grew larger.
“What do you expect? Prices soaring like hotcakes…” Antonina Dmitrievna lamented during another plea for aid.
They helped, denying themselves, reasoning it was temporary—family in need, one couldn’t abandon them.
Natalia first rebelled upon spotting Margaret idling in a café, sipping coffee with pastries.
“Rita, what are you doing here?” Natalia gaped, entering with colleagues for lunch.
“What does it look like? Shopping wore me out. Why?” Margaret answered coolly.
“We give you money, and you’re here?!”
“So? Must you shame me over pennies? You dine out—why shouldn’t I?” Margaret pouted.
That evening, Antonina Dmitrievna unleashed a torrent of accusations. Ungrateful, miserly, sowing discord, tormenting poor Margaret, whose “psychological trauma” from the divorce justified all.
“Antonina Dmitrievna, I’ve no issue with cafés—if she worked. She could banquet daily then!”
“Mum, Natasha’s right. Rita should find work. Ilyusha’s old enough for nursery.”
“Nursery? Have you lost your minds? He’s frail! Let strangers rear him?!” Antonina Dmitrievna wailed.
“All children go. Olive started at eighteen months—she thrived.”
“Fine! Keep your money! I’ll work myself before I forsake my daughter and grandson!” She slammed the door.
Silence followed. No visits, no requests. Anthony fretted. Natalia consoled him: Rita was grown. She must face her problems—secure maintenance, find work, enrol Ilyusha. Rebuild her life.
Anthony agreed—logically. The hitch? Rita had no intention of rebuilding. Antonina Dmitrievna, rather than guide her, enabled her.
———
Once, at the mall, they crossed paths. Rita, Antonina Dmitrievna, and Ilyusha, laden with bags. Pleasantries were exchanged.
“Rita’s got a splendid job now. Provides for us!” Antonina Dmitrievna smirked, eyeing Anthony and Natalia.
“Well done, Rita! High time!” Anthony beamed.
“Truly, we’re thrilled. Work secured—love life next!” Natalia added.
Rita glowed, flaunting a new phone.
The joy was short-lived. Rita had tricked them all—even her mother. She’d taken a credit card, splurged, and forgotten loans demand repayment.
Of course, she defaulted. Bank calls, tears, pleas for help—directed, as ever, at Natalia and Anthony. And they relented. Rita swore this time was different—she’d work, repay all. Weeks passed. Nothing changed.
———
“Oh, Natasha, lucky I caught you! Saves me the climb!”
“Good afternoon.”
“Natasha, lend a tenner. Margo and Ilyusha need a sanatorium. Prices are ludicrous—you know how it is…”
Natalia stared at her mother-in-law, emotions churning. Still, she reached for her purse.
“Look—we’ve nothing left!” She flung open an empty wallet.
Antonina Dmitrievna faltered.
“What charade is this?! You mean to humiliate us?”
“Not at all! We’ve clothed Olive, bought Anthony’s things, paid for car repairs! Where would extra come from? We skip holidays to aid you—yet Rita holidays? On what? Why must our child go while hers doesn’t?”
“Viper!” Antonina Dmitrievna spat, storming off.
“Precisely.” Natalia turned toward the door.
At home, she recounted it to Anthony. Silence resumed—three weeks this time.
Then, a call:
“Rita met a man at the sanatorium. He’s given her work. A fresh start!”
“Splendid! Who’s the man?” Anthony asked.
“Paul Oakley. Entrepreneur.” Pride dripped from her voice.
Natalia stiffened.
“Anthony, my boss warned about Oakley—shady, all debts, fake firms.”
“I’ll call Rita.”
But Rita snapped:
“Keep your nose out! Don’t ruin my happiness!”
Natalia and Anthony stepped back. One thing they agreed—they wouldn’t pay for this “happiness” again.
