“Her Joy, Our Burden”
“Ah, Natasha, thank goodness I ran into you by the door! Saves me the trouble of coming up,” huffed Antonia Dmitrievna, Natasha’s mother-in-law, out of breath.
“Hello,” Natasha replied, slightly caught off guard by the unexpected encounter.
Their relationship wasn’t exactly strained, but Antonia hardly ever visited—she was far too preoccupied with her daughter, Margot.
“Natasha, lend me a few hundred quid, will you? Margot and little Alfie are off to a retreat. There’s always something to buy these days, and the prices are through the roof! You understand,” Antonia sighed, rolling her eyes and clicking her tongue.
Once again, Natasha’s blood boiled. A thousand times, she’d rehearsed the line, “I’m not an ATM!” in her head. She wanted to shout it in Antonia’s face, in Margot’s—put an end to this endless begging once and for all.
But she bit her tongue. Antonia was her husband Anthony’s mother, the grandmother of their daughter, Lottie. Speaking up would mean open conflict, strained relations, family strife. Natasha couldn’t bear the thought of putting Anthony in the middle, torn between her and his mother. So she stayed silent, even as she fished out her purse.
—
Natasha trudged home in a foul mood. Another audit at work, the boss snapping at everyone, overtime, groceries to carry, dinner to cook, Lottie’s homework to help with—no end to the chores.
She unlocked the flat wearily.
“Mum, hi! We’ve got a nature project on birds due tomorrow. Can you help?” Lottie, nine years old, bounded toward her, blissfully unaware of her mother’s exhaustion.
“Of course, love. Let me change and whip up dinner first.” Natasha dumped the shopping bags in the kitchen and headed for the bedroom.
“Natasha, didn’t hear you come in. Work again?” Anthony asked.
“Yep. Another inspection. The usual.”
“Listen, I gave Mum £500. They needed a spring coat for Alfie.”
“Anthony, when does it stop? Alfie has a father—let *him* buy the coat! Why is their never-ending crisis always our problem?” Natasha snapped.
“Natasha, don’t start. You know their situation—”
“What situation, Anthony?!” She barely kept from shouting.
“Margot can’t land a job, her ex won’t pay child support, Mum gives her *entire pension* to them—are we really going to begrudge a coat for the boy? We both work—”
“That’s just it! We *both* work! Why should Lottie go without so another family can have *our* money? Explain that to me!” Her face burned with frustration.
“Let’s not row over this. I’ll help with dinner.”
—
Margot was Anthony’s younger sister. Five years ago, she married Ian, a “successful businessman.”
“Oh, Rita and Ian are off to Spain again! Fancy hotels, the lot! Meanwhile, you slave away at that accounting job for nothing!” Antonia never missed a chance to boast about her daughter’s glamorous life.
Turned out, Ian and Margot had maxed out loans to fund that lifestyle. The money vanished fast, and soon—
First, they fought over who owed what. Then came late notices, threatening calls, court warnings. Ian solved his problem neatly—vanished, rumoured to be in Scotland.
Margot was left with debts, a child, and no income. Antonia used half her pension to cover the loans, the rest barely stretching for her, Margot, and Alfie.
Natasha and Anthony helped—paying bills, groceries, tightening their own belts. “Times are hard,” Antonia would sigh, arriving for yet another handout.
Then Natasha spotted Margot lounging in a café, sipping coffee with cake.
“Margot? What are you doing here?”
“What does it look like? Treating myself. Problem?”
“We give you money, and you’re *here*?”
“Oh, so *you* can dine out, but I can’t? Spare me the lecture!”
That evening, Antonia unleashed a torrent of accusations—Natasha was greedy, ungrateful, *cruel* to poor Margot, who was *traumatised* by the divorce.
“Antonia, I don’t care if she dines out—but get a *job* first!”
Anthony backed her: “Mum, she’s right. Alfie’s old enough for nursery.”
“Nursery?! Are you mad? He’s always ill! I won’t have strangers raising him!”
“All children go, Antonia. Lottie started at *two*.”
“Fine! Keep your money! I’ll work myself before I abandon them!”
After that—silence. No visits, no begging. Anthony fretted; Natasha reassured him Margot was grown—she could file for child support, get a job, sort her life out.
Then, at the mall, they bumped into Margot, Antonia, and Alfie, laden with shopping bags.
“Rita’s got a *proper* job now. No need for *your* help,” Antonia gloated.
“Brilliant! Well done, Margot,” Anthony said.
“Yes, we’re thrilled for you!” Natasha added.
Margot beamed, flashing a new phone.
Turned out, she’d swindled even her own mother—opened a credit card, maxed it out. When the bills came, it was back to begging.
Of course, Natasha and Anthony relented—again. Margot vowed to turn over a new leaf, find work, repay them. Weeks passed. Nothing changed.
—
“Natasha, a thousand quid—Alfie’s off to a retreat!” Antonia demanded.
Natasha snapped. “Look—we’ve got *nothing*!” She flipped open her empty purse.
“Are you mocking us?!”
“Mocking? We’ve clothed Lottie, fixed the car, skipped holidays to help *you*! And *Margot* swans off to a retreat?”
“You *viper*!” Antonia spat, storming off.
Another three weeks of silence. Then—
“Rita’s met someone—Paul Oakley. He’s given her a job!”
Natasha stiffened. “Anthony, my boss says Oakley’s a fraud—scams, debts.”
Anthony called Margot.
“Mind your own business! Don’t ruin my happiness!”
They vowed—*never again* would they pay for Margot’s “happiness.”
