‘Your Mom Says You Should Pay Your Own Bills’—So I Made Him Choose

“Mom says you should cover your own bills,” Maxim burst out to his shocked wife—and he paid the price for those words right away.

July 7, 2025 by admin

Alina stood before the bedroom mirror, smoothing out the creases in her blue dress. The soft fabric hugged her torso, highlighting her waist, and the deep scoop across her back added a touch of grace. Tomorrow was the big company gala at the ad agency where she worked as art director, and she wanted everything about her look to be perfect.

Maxim stepped in, straightening his tie in the adjacent mirror. At thirty-two, he still looked youthful, though the faint lines beside his eyes spoke of the pressure from his demanding IT job.

“You look stunning,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “My mom will be here any minute for dinner.”

Alina’s shoulders stiffened. Once a week, without fail, Valentina Sergeyevna visited—always arriving with gifts or cash that Alina and Maxim never asked for but which the mother-in-law insisted were vital.

The doorbell chimed on cue. Valentina was never late.

“Maximochka!” Valentina Sergeyevna floated into the hall in a tailored gray suit, carrying a shopping bag from a luxury store. “Alinochka, darling.”

Her air-kisses on Alina’s cheeks felt obligatory and chill. After five years of marriage, Alina still couldn’t tell if her mother-in-law’s gestures were genuine.

“I brought you a hardware-store voucher,” Valentina said, handing over a thick envelope. “Fifty thousand rubles should cover those loose bathroom tiles.”

“Mom, you really didn’t need to,” Maxim began, but Valentina waved him away.

“Nonsense. Let the money work for you,” she said, gazing around the spacious three-room flat Alina had inherited. “By the way, is that new?”

Alina touched the silver pendant at her throat. “Yes. I spotted it online and loved it.”

“Hm,” Valentina murmured, her approval tempered by a slight frown. “How much?”

“Three thousand,” Alina answered, feeling a knot form in her stomach.

Valentina nodded, as if filing away that fact. “I hear you two are looking at a summer cottage in Sosnovka—six hundred square meters, some fixes needed, but the land is beautiful.”

“We’re still discussing it,” Alina replied carefully.

“You must decide quickly. Good deals vanish. I can help with the down payment, if you need.”

Alina forced a smile, though she felt uneasy. Valentina Sergeyevna was chief accountant at a major firm—well paid, but not so rich she could sprinkle money around without thought. Yet she always offered.

“Thank you, Mom, but we’ll manage,” Maxim said.

“Of course,” Valentina agreed. “If you set your priorities straight.”

Once Valentina left, the apartment fell silent. Alina sank onto the sofa.

“Did she mean my purchases?” she asked quietly.

“She just worries,” Maxim said. “She thinks we need to save.”

“Save for what?” Alina pressed. “A house she’ll own? Clothes cost money. I earn my salary.”

Maxim said nothing. Alina sensed he was turning over his mother’s words in his mind.

The next day, as Alina prepared for the gala, she felt a thrill. The blue dress fit like a glove, her hair looked elegant, and the silver earrings sparkled. She snapped a selfie when the doorbell chimed again.

Valentina stood at the entrance, her smile thin.

“Maxim asked me to bring these documents,” she said, holding out a file.

Alina froze when she saw Valentina’s eyes flick to her outfit. “Is that what you plan to wear tonight?”

“It’s for the office gala,” Alina said.

Valentina stepped forward, studying her. “A married woman in a backless dress—what will people say?”

“My colleagues will think I look polished,” Alina replied.

“And your husband’s reputation?” Valentina pressed.

“Maxim has his own career. My outfit won’t harm his work.”

“It will! Everyone in this town talks. People will see the wife of Maxim Vorontsov wearing this and judge him.”

“They’ll say I have taste.”

“They’ll say you’re frivolous and careless.”

“Valentina Sergeyevna,” Alina said firmly, “this is my life. My choice.”

Valentina’s expression turned icy. “Your life? Your husband? Or do you think living in an inherited apartment gives you total freedom?”

“What does the apartment have to do with it?”

“We are a family. Our duty is to protect our name, not parade around half-dressed.”

“I look fine.”

Valentina crossed her arms. “Go change.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Change into something respectable.”

“I won’t be ordered around,” Alina snapped.

Valentina dug her phone from her purse. “Call Maxim.”

“Go ahead.”

Moments later, Maxim arrived, confusion on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

Valentina pointed. “Is this proper for your wife?”

Maxim studied Alina. Finally he said, “It might be… revealing.”

Alina felt her heart sink. If he agreed…

“Maxim!” Valentina scolded.

He flinched. “I said maybe for a corporate event it’s too bold.”

Alina’s world tilted. He had sided with his mother.

“So you agree I look indecent?” she asked him, her voice shaking.

“I didn’t mean that—”

“But you did.”

Valentina’s lips curved. “See? We just want what’s best for the family.”

Alina drew in a breath. “Then I’d like my boundaries respected.”

“Boundaries?” Valentina sneered. “Family decisions are shared.”

“Even my clothes?”

She turned and walked to her bedroom. She removed the blue dress and replaced it with a plain black sheath—long sleeves, high neckline, knee-length. When she faced them again, Valentina’s satisfied nod cut her heart.

“There. Perfect,” Valentina said. “Modest and tasteful.”

At the gala, Alina slipped through the crowd like a shadow in black. She smiled and played the part, but her nerves buzzed.

Back home, she dreaded the conversation she knew must come.

“Lina, not upset?” Maxim asked that night, lingering in the hallway.

“Should I be?”

“She says we should save more.”

“Save for what?”

“A summer house.”

“Your mother’s summer house—in her name.”

His face grew pale. “How did you know?”

“Details don’t matter. What does matter is you let her decide for us.”

“I… I don’t know.”

Alina turned away, tension coiling in her chest.

In the days after, the flat felt heavy. They exchanged small talk but avoided big issues. A week later, Valentina returned.

“Maxim, I need to speak with you—alone,” she announced.

Alina paused at the sink, her heart fluttering.

“Just a moment,” Maxim said. Then he stepped into the living room with Valentina, closing the door softly behind him.

Alina leaned an ear against it.

“After the dress episode, I realized something,” Valentina began. “We talk about money too lightly.”

“How so?” Maxim asked.

“I give freely, but Alina spends without care—three dresses last month, a bag, cosmetics.”

Alina’s breath caught.

“I counted,” Valentina went on. “Our savings should go toward that cottage.”

“Mom, Alina earns her pay,” Maxim protested.

“A salary doesn’t justify waste. You two must save.”

“We haven’t chosen the cottage yet.”

“Maxim, you’re head of this family. Your wife should back your plan—not splurge.”

Alina stepped back from the door, cheeks burning.

“I don’t follow,” Maxim said.

“That’s why I say: Let Alina pay her share of rent, utilities, groceries. Then she’ll learn to value money.”

“Mom, our home is her apartment.”

“She’s your spouse. She lives here too. If she wants independence, let her handle all costs.”

“A divorce? Why mention divorce?” Maxim’s voice cracked.

“If Alina can’t respect our rules, you may need to protect your assets—just in case.”

Alina’s hands clenched. When his mother left, Maxim emerged, ashen.

“She’s ruthless,” he muttered.

Alina crossed her arms. “Did she truly ask me to pay my own bills?”

His gaze dropped. After a long beat, he nodded.

That evening, they sat in tense silence until Maxim finally spoke.

“Lina… about the bills…”

She cut him off. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Just tell me where you stand.”

Maxim closed his eyes. “Mom thinks you should cover the rent and utilities yourself. And put the cottage in her name.”

Alina’s pulse hammered. “She suggested divorce to protect her money.”

“I didn’t agree,” Maxim insisted.

“But you didn’t argue.”

“I… I was tired of conflict.”

“And you let her control us.”

He shifted on the sofa. “I see that now.”

Alina stared at him, fierce and pale. “You must choose: me or her.”

“My mother?”

“Mom,” she corrected gently.

“I can’t…”

“You can,” Alina said. “Pack your things and leave. Or stay and stand by me.”

Silence fell. Then Maxim quietly left—down the hallway, carrying a suitcase she had prepared earlier.

When he returned, his face was set.

“I thought it through,” he said softly. “You’re right. My mother overstepped.”

“And?”

“I choose you. Our life. No more letting her decide.”

Alina’s eyes stung with relief. “And the money?”

“We save together—our names on the deed. No outside strings.”

She smiled, reaching for his hand. “Thank you.”

They embraced in the quiet hallway.

That weekend, Alina wore the blue dress to a theater outing—no objections, no guilt. Maxim held her hand as they walked in, proud. The night air felt light, their future theirs to shape.

Maxim stood in the doorway, suitcase in hand. The weight of his mother’s words—and of his own indecision—hung between them. Alina watched him, her heart pounding in her chest.

Finally, he spoke, voice low. “Lina, I thought and thought. I was afraid of upsetting my mother. But I love you. I choose our life together.”

Tears sprang to Alina’s eyes. Relief, pride, and hope washed over her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Maxim set the suitcase down. “I’ll talk to my mother tomorrow. I’ll tell her we’re making our own decisions—about money, about the house, about everything.”

Alina stepped forward and took his hand. “We’ll do this together,” she said firmly. “No more secrets, no more letting anyone else run our family.”

That night, over a simple dinner Alina cooked—no fancy vouchers or arguments—Maxim poured them each a glass of wine. They spoke of plans they’d shelved: a little weekend cottage in the hills, a trip to Paris on their own terms, and saving for the day when they’d start a family.

In the days that followed, Maxim called his mother. He told her kindly but firmly that her help was welcome only if it came without conditions. Valentina Sergeyevna was surprised, even hurt, but she had never before heard her son speak so clearly. Over time, she learned to respect their boundaries.

Alina and Maxim grew closer. He came home early more often; she shared her art projects with him. They balanced their budgets together, celebrated small savings wins, and treated each other as equals.

One Saturday morning, they packed a picnic and drove to the countryside—just the two of them. As they sat under a blooming apple tree, Maxim smiled. “I’m glad I spoke up,” he said. “I nearly lost the best thing in my life.”

Alina leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thank you for choosing us.”

And in that quiet moment, with the spring breeze and promise of new beginnings all around them, they knew their choice had set them free—and together, they could face whatever came next.