Six foldable chairs were neatly arranged in a semi-circle on the veranda, as if they were set up for a neighborhood gardening committee meeting.
Ksenia stopped at the porch steps, grocery bags in hand, and counted the chairs. Then she counted again. They definitely hadn’t been there this morning.
A price tag from the store was still dangling from one of them.
“Roma, are we holding a conference or something?”
Her husband poked his head out from the kitchen, still chewing his sandwich.
“Oh, the chairs! Mom brought them over this morning. Can you believe it, they were on sale. Super comfortable, too. I’ve already tested them out.”
“Who bought them?”
“Well, we did. Mom picked them out, I paid.”
Ksenia set the bags down on the step.
“With what money?”
Roman paused mid-chew.
“With the card we use for the house. Ksyusha, don’t start. They’re staying here.”
Lately, that last phrase had cropped up in their family way too often. Usually, it meant something was absolutely essential for Roman’s relatives’ happiness—and it would be Ksenia footing the bill.
She took out her phone, opened her banking app, and found the transaction.
Twenty-one thousand six hundred rubles.
“We already have garden chairs.”
“But these ones fold.”
“The old ones do, too.”
“But these have cup holders.”
Ksenia looked first at her husband, then at the chairs.
“Roma, for twenty-one thousand, I’d rather teach our guests how to hold their cups themselves.”
Her husband laughed. He always laughed in such an infectious way that their serious talks usually ended up turning into conversations about dinner.
This time, Ksenia didn’t smile.
She had no idea yet that the chairs would turn out to be the most modest part of the family project where she’d long ago been assigned as the main investor.
The house had been left to Ksenia by her father a few years before she met Roman.
Her father built it when he dreamed of moving to the countryside for good. But then he remarried and moved to another region. He gave the house to his daughter, making it all official.
The two-story cottage was half an hour’s drive from the city. The first floor had a kitchen-living area and a bathroom, and upstairs there was a bedroom, a spacious study, a small guest room, and another bathroom.
Ksenia loved this house, even though their first years together had been bumpy. The water pump would suddenly stop working, the boiler always needed attention, and after every rainfall, she’d discover the drainpipe sent water straight onto the porch.
By the time Roman appeared, most of the big issues had been solved.
They lived together for two years before getting married. Now it was their fourth year as husband and wife.
Ksenia worked as the commercial director for a company supplying building materials wholesale. She made about two hundred sixty thousand rubles a month, and sometimes more thanks to bonuses.
Roman managed order intake at a car service center. His earnings were around ninety thousand.
The income gap didn’t bother Ksenia.
Her husband paid for utilities, some groceries, and expenses for his car. Ksenia handled the major purchases, house maintenance, and bigger repairs.
She once issued an additional card on her account for Roman to cover household expenses. He could use it to buy groceries, order building materials, or pay for anything else they might need.
At first, this system worked just fine.
However, Roman’s own money had an amazing quality: it disappeared faster than water from an open pool in the July heat.
One day the car needed new rims. Then his phone suddenly seemed hopelessly outdated, even though it worked perfectly well. Then there was a friend’s birthday party. Or, during a fishing trip, there was a sudden need for a rod that cost as much as a decent refrigerator.
Ksenia would sometimes joke about this with her husband, but she never thought of him as a freeloader.
He worked hard, took care of the cars, helped around the house, and was an easygoing person to be around.
The problems started when his relatives discovered just how easygoing he was.
The first to appreciate country living was Vera Pavlovna, Roman’s mother.
She lived alone in a two-room apartment in the city, loved flowers, fresh air, and chatting over tea. She’d come by on Saturdays, bringing pies and helping care for the flowerbeds.
Ksenia was always happy to see her.
Then Roman’s younger sister, Larisa, started coming over as well.
Larisa had a husband named Denis, two school-aged kids, and her own apartment in the city. She worked remotely as an accountant, so she could manage her time quite freely.
That first summer, everything seemed perfect.
The kids ran around the yard, the adults grilled meat, Vera Pavlovna tended to the seedlings. Denis happily helped fire up the grill.
Denis especially enjoyed bringing the charcoal.
He’d put his own bag of charcoal in plain sight, making sure everyone knew he was fully prepared for the barbecue.
Meat, veggies, drinks, bread, and everything else were usually bought by Ksenia and Roman.
Back then, it didn’t bother anyone.
They invited the guests themselves, and Ksenia truly believed it was wonderful to have a house where the family could gather.
Gradually, the invitations stopped being necessary.
At first, Vera Pavlovna started checking in every Thursday to ask about the weekend plans.
Then Larisa began sending photos of her kids’ swimming gear and asking about the weather.
And one day, Ksenia overheard Roman on the phone promising his sister that on Saturday they would definitely grill some fish.
Ksenia had absolutely no idea about this fish.
But that evening, she had to stop by the store for groceries.
“You could at least give me a heads up,” she asked her husband.
“Well, I’m telling you now.”
“Rom, it’s Friday, and almost ten at night.”
“Well, we’ll just buy it tomorrow morning.”
Roman didn’t see any issue. He liked when everyone got together, his mom was happy, his sister could relax, and the nephews ran around the yard.
But Ksenia noticed that she was now spending her weekends mostly moving between the fridge, the dishwasher, and the trash bins in her own home.
But things truly escalated last summer.
It all started with the gazebo.
The old table under the shelter was suddenly no longer up to the family’s expectations for a proper country lifestyle.
Larisa complained that the sun made it difficult for the children to eat lunch.
Vera Pavlovna always believed that a proper home simply must have a beautiful spot for tea.
Denis pointed out that a gazebo is especially great for barbecues.
For several weeks, Roman kept showing his wife photos of wooden structures.
“Look at this beauty. It would instantly make the value of our property go up,” he said.
Kseniya had actually been thinking about a comfortable gazebo for quite a while. The old canopy needed repairs, so this suggestion sounded pretty reasonable.
She ended up paying 210,000 rubles for the materials, foundation, and the craftsmen’s work.
The gazebo turned out great.
The truth is, Kseniya mostly had a chance to use it on weekday evenings.
On weekends, by morning, the place would be filled with children’s toys, towels, plates, cups, and all sorts of Vera Pavlovna’s things.
After the gazebo, an interesting chain of events began.
It turned out the old grill wasn’t impressive enough.
So they bought a new one.
Then it became obvious that the garden furniture next to the new gazebo looked a bit shabby.
A new set of table and chairs appeared.
Next Larisa pointed out a serious inconvenience: for cold drinks, they had to keep going into the house.
Roman suggested putting an extra fridge on the veranda.
Kseniya agreed, since in summer the main fridge really was packed full.
Then Vera Pavlovna started talking about a coffee machine.
“Ksyusha, can you imagine how wonderful it would be to step outside in the morning with a cup of coffee? Just like in a boutique hotel!” she said.
Kseniya joked that, in a real hotel, guests at least get handed a bill.
Everyone had a laugh.
They bought the coffee machine.
Soon after, they laid tile in front of the gazebo, ran some wiring for lights, and installed extra power sockets. For overnight guests, they bought folding beds and all sorts of useful little things.
Kseniya didn’t mind the added comforts.
But at some point, she began to wonder who exactly all these improvements were for.
At the start of June, things took a new turn.
Kseniya decided it was time to upgrade her office.
For the past few years, she’d mostly worked at her company’s office but still did reports and meetings from home. Her old desk was uncomfortable, her chair was long overdue for replacement, and documents were taking up half her closets.
She had picked out new furniture and wanted to discuss a built-in shelving unit with a carpenter.
Roman had a surprising reaction.
“Hey, maybe you should move your office to the small room?” he suggested.
“Why?” she asked.
“Well, you don’t work from there every day. And the big room would be perfect for guests.”
Kseniya put the catalog aside.
“What guests?” she asked.
“Larisa wants to come with her kids for the summer. It’s so hot in the city, but the air here is so much better.”
“And how long does she plan to stay?”
“Well, July and August. Maybe part of June too.”
Kseniya was quiet for a while.
“And where were you planning to put Larisa and the kids?”
“In the big room. Denis will be visiting too—it’s an easy commute for him from here. Mom can take the small room.”
Now everything clicked into place.
Her relatives had already divvied up the rooms in her house.
Kseniya herself was supposed to move, with all her work papers, into the small guest room where there was barely enough space for a bed and wardrobe.
“Did you already promise them?” she asked.
“I just said I thought we’d work something out.”
“And did you even ask me?”
“Well, that’s what I’m doing now.”
— After they made all their plans?
Roman started explaining that Larisa would be working all summer on her laptop, the kids could play outside, Vera Pavlovna would look after the grandkids, and Denis would keep commuting to the city.
Meanwhile, Larisa’s city apartment would sit empty. She wasn’t planning to rent it out—it’s too much hassle, and all her things are there.
Ksenia looked at her husband with genuine curiosity.
So Larisa couldn’t even temporarily use her own apartment, but had no problem making use of Ksenia’s rooms.
— No, Roma. Nobody is moving in for two months. And I’m not moving my office.
Her husband got offended.
Not very much. Just enough to answer in monosyllables at dinner and make a point of washing his plate himself.
Two days later, Larisa called Ksenia.
She asked if they could install an air conditioner in the big room, since it was stuffy for the kids to sleep.
— Larisa, you’re not planning to live with us all summer. Roma and I already talked about it.
— I get that we can’t stay all the time. But we’ll come by on weekends, right?
— Coming over is fine, as long as we arrange it in advance.
— Of course. But still, an air conditioner wouldn’t hurt the house.
Ksenia ended the call and thought soon they’d be proposing to install a private power substation on the property—strictly to raise the value of the real estate.
That very Friday, when the six folding chairs arrived, Ksenia decided for the first time to tally up the cost of family get-togethers.
She started by simply marking down the cost of the latest purchases.
Then she remembered the gazebo.
Next, the paving stones.
Then the fridge, garden furniture, lighting, grill—and the coffee machine.
The list was growing at an alarming rate.
But she didn’t get the full picture until after her conversation with Roman.
— So, what else do your relatives need to be completely happy?
Her husband paused to think.
— What do you mean?
— I mean exactly that. Let’s make a list. So we don’t forget anything.
Roman greeted the idea with unexpected enthusiasm.
That evening, he came to her with his phone.
— Here’s what I thought: a small pool, a carport, a new grill. Plus, it’d be good to get a bigger dishwasher. Larisa also mentioned an air conditioner, and Mom wanted sun loungers. And we could remodel the second bathroom.
— That’s all?
— For now, yes. Why?
— Nothing. Let me see.
They checked the prices together.
Roman wisely picked items that weren’t the cheapest or the most expensive. He added up delivery, installation, and construction costs.
It totaled about six hundred and seventy thousand rubles.
— But it won’t be all at once, Roman reassured his wife. We’ll get things gradually so the expenses aren’t too noticeable.
Ksenia looked up at him.
— That part I especially liked.
— What part?
— So the expenses go unnoticed.
— Well, yeah. No need to shell out everything in one month.
— And who exactly won’t notice, Roman? You or me?
He couldn’t find a response.
That evening, Ksenia stayed at her computer until almost midnight.
She downloaded the bank transactions for the past twelve months, dug out receipts, messages with contractors, and records of old orders.
I didn’t include our usual family expenses, groceries, or utility bills in my calculations. I only tracked the renovations and improvements done specifically for hosting our many guests.
The total was truly staggering.
Eight hundred ninety-three thousand four hundred rubles.
Almost nine hundred thousand.
Ksenia stared at the table for several minutes.
With that much money, you could buy a pretty decent used car.
Or easily update your kitchen.
Or treat yourself to several amazing vacations.
Instead, what she had was a perfectly equipped family resort, free accommodations, 24/7 access to the fridge, and the prospect of building a pool.
She checked how much of his own money Roman had spent on home improvements in the same timeframe.
Seventy-four thousand rubles.
Half of that—thirty-seven thousand—was spent on a lawn mower he spent ages picking out and loved more than some of his relatives.
The rest went towards minor repairs and household essentials.
Over the year, Vera Pavlovna gave them a set of towels as a gift.
Larisa brought some decorative pillows.
And Denis faithfully supplied this whole splendor with charcoal.
Ksenia closed the spreadsheet and, for the first time in ages, went to bed with a completely clear mind.
She realized the issue wasn’t about the money.
She could earn the money.
The real problem was that the right to decide how it was spent had quietly slipped to people who weren’t the ones earning it.
The next morning, Ksenia proposed new rules to her husband.
She would keep paying for the upkeep of her home, necessary repairs, and the improvements she herself found useful.
But no more pools, lounge chairs, extra TVs, or other luxuries for visiting relatives.
If guests wanted something, they could buy it themselves—after first checking with the hostess about the purchase and where it would go.
“I don’t mind spending money on the house,” she explained. “What bothers me is finding out about new purchases only after they’ve already been paid for.”
Roman sat for a bit, thought it over, and surprisingly agreed.
“Alright. Maybe we did go a little overboard.”
Ksenia was a bit amazed at how easily it all seemed to be resolved.
She shouldn’t have been.
On Saturday, Vera Pavlovna came over and, over breakfast, asked when they’d be ordering the pool.
Roman looked over at his wife.
Ksenia kept spreading butter on her bread.
“Vera Pavlovna, we decided that the pool can be bought with a shared fund—those who want to use it can chip in.”
Her mother-in-law carefully set down her cup.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s simple. You, Larisa, Denis, and Roman. Pool your money and buy it together. We’ll just talk first about where it should go.”
“But I’m a pensioner, Ksyusha.”
“I understand. That’s why I’m not asking you to make any mandatory payments.”
Vera Pavlovna sighed.
“Well, then maybe we don’t really need a pool after all.”
A little later, Larisa called.
Turns out, the kids didn’t need an air conditioner at all. They slept perfectly well with the window open.
That evening, Denis told Roman that the old grill was actually excellent, and could be used for barbecuing for another ten years.
Ksenia listened to these remarkable realizations with growing respect.
As soon as I suggested my family should pay for their own comfort, suddenly everyone turned into savvy consumers.
For a week, everything was calm.
Ksenia focused on work matters, picked out new furniture for her office, and even thought the conversation had actually done the family some good.
To keep her savings separate from daily expenses, she transferred most of the available money from the account linked to Roman’s additional card into her own savings account.
She kept the additional card active for now, hoping her husband really understood their agreement.
The following Friday, she got a call from an unfamiliar man.
“Kseniya Sergeevna? Good afternoon. This is about the carport. The prepayment didn’t go through, so I wanted to check: should we reschedule or cancel the order?”
Ksenia glanced at her phone screen.
“What carport are you talking about?”
The man gave her home address.
It turned out Roman had ordered a metal carport for two cars, agreed on the dimensions, and chosen the material.
The work was supposed to start in a week and a half.
To confirm the order, the contractor sent an invoice for a prepayment of 120,000 rubles.
Roman said he’d pay with the extra card linked to his wife’s account and tried to pay via the contractor’s link.
The bank declined the payment due to insufficient funds in the checking account.
The money was in the savings account, and Roman had no access to it.
“Don’t start any work yet,” Ksenia told the contractor. “I didn’t agree to anything. Let me clarify things and get back to you.”
After the call, she found her husband in the garage.
Roman was wiping down the car’s dashboard with some new cleaner.
“Did you order a carport?”
Her husband straightened up.
“Oh, you’ve already been called? Yes, I arranged it. It’s a good price, will only get more expensive later.”
“But we agreed that we’d discuss new purchases first.”
“But a carport isn’t a purchase. It’s a construction for the house. It’s useful.”
“For which cars?”
“For ours and Larisa’s when they visit.”
Ksenia had to double-check.
“Larisa’s?”
“Well, she complained the kids get into a hot car. The interior heats up a lot.”
“And what about our second car?”
Ksenia had her own car for work, and Roman used his own.
He hesitated.
“Well, we can take turns. Or you could park yours by the garage.”
Now another detail came out.
The carport was meant to be built next to the main parking area so Larisa could leave her car closer to the gazebo.
Ksenia took out her phone and disabled Roman’s additional card.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Shutting down the possibility of surprise construction projects.”
“Ksyusha, come on! We’re a family.”
“Exactly. And yet for some reason, no one asks me for my opinion in this family.”
Roman frowned.
“But it’s for everyone’s convenience.”
“Roma, we already have a garage and parking on the property. I don’t need a carport for your sister’s car.”
He tried to explain that the carport would increase the property’s value.
Ksenia suggested that if he thought the investment was so good, he could build the carport with his own money.
Her husband was immediately interested in whether it would be possible to put off the construction until next year.
The next day, Vera Pavlovna asked if she could come over to visit.
Roman brought his mother and sister over after lunch.
Ksenia was just about to plant some new flowers along the path, but when she saw the looks on their faces, she realized garden work would have to wait.
Larisa was the first one to step onto the veranda.
“Ksenia, we wanted to talk. Roman says you’re not letting anyone buy anything anymore.”
“I’m not saying you can’t buy things. Just buy them with your own money.”
“See, there you go again, talking about money.”
Vera Pavlovna sat down carefully in one of the new chairs and adjusted the armrest gently.
“Ksyusha, I understand the house is yours. But we’re not strangers here.”
“Of course you’re not strangers.”
“Then why count every penny? Family should help each other out.”
Ksenia went inside and came back with a printed chart.
Roman became wary.
“Wait, are you actually keeping accounts now?”
“I had to start. We’re practically running a family business here, and there’s never been any record keeping.”
She laid the sheets on the table.
“Over the past year, 893,400 rubles have been spent on extra comforts for our weekends—out of my account. Here are the purchases, receipts, and proof of payment for the work.”
Vera Pavlovna pulled the paper closer to get a better look.
Larisa looked at it, too.
“But all this stuff stayed in the house,” she pointed out.
“That’s right. The gazebo, fridge, furniture—they’re all here. I’m not planning to sell them or send you an invoice for last summer. But I won’t be spending the next 670,000 on a pool, awning, and the rest.”
“Nobody’s asking you to buy everything at once,” Roman interjected.
“You suggested buying things gradually so it would go unnoticed.”
He averted his gaze.
Larisa picked up her phone.
“Fine, let’s say we buy the pool ourselves. But why should we invest in someone else’s house?”
Ksenia looked at her sister-in-law.
So this, Ksenia realized, was the real mystery at the heart of their family’s economics.
“Larisa, could you repeat that please?”
“Repeat what?”
“Why don’t you want to buy the pool?”
“Because the house isn’t ours! We can’t take everything we paid for with us later.”
“Technically, the pool can be moved. It’s a portable one.”
“Ksenia, please, don’t nitpick. You know exactly what I mean.”
“I do. You don’t want to spend money on someone else’s house. So why should I be okay spending money for your weekend comfort?”
Larisa wanted to argue, but couldn’t find a good explanation.
Vera Pavlovna stroked the chair’s armrest.
“It’s not right to treat guests like this. Good hosts care about their guests’ comfort.”
“They do,” Ksenia agreed. “That’s why we have places to sit, eat, and relax. But not every guest gets to draw up the shopping list.”
“You’re making us out to be beggars,” her mother-in-law said, hurt.
“No. I’m inviting you to visit—as guests, not to take over our home improvements.”
Roman stepped in:
“Ksyusha, can’t we just have a normal conversation? Without all these calculations about who paid for what.”
“Roman, when I asked you about the chairs, you said it was a minor thing. When I said no to the pool, I was told I was being stingy. When we agreed not to order anything else, you went ahead and ordered the awning anyway— and not even for our cars.”
He lowered his head.
“I was just trying to do the right thing.”
“For whom?”
Roman said nothing.
Then Larisa suddenly said:
“For the record, we never imposed ourselves. You were always the one inviting us!”
Ksenia nodded.
“That’s right. I did invite you. For weekends, for barbecues, for birthdays. But I never invited you to order everyone around about the rooms, pick out the appliances, or plan construction projects.”
“Well, if we’re such a bother, just say it,” Larisa replied.
Ksenia stood up from the table.
“I’m no longer going to pay for your wishes. This is my house, my money, and the exit is over there,” Ksenia finished, pointing toward the gate. “If you don’t like relaxing here without handing me a shopping list, you can go home today.”
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Vera Pavlovna got up.
Larisa packed up her bag, which she hadn’t even had the chance to unpack.
Roman went to see his mother and sister off.
Ksenia stayed on the veranda.
In front of her were six brand new chairs.
With cup holders.
She picked one, sat down, and for the first time in a long while, enjoyed her tea in peace before it got cold.
That evening, Roman returned from the store with a bag of groceries.
Ksenia was making dinner.
“I called the contractor,” he said, putting the bag on the table. “I canceled the canopy. He didn’t get any deposit from us, and since we never signed the contract, there are no issues.”
“Good.”
“Mom’s upset.”
“I understand.”
“Larisa is too.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Roman took potatoes, greens, and chicken out of the bag.
“Today I asked Denis how much a trip like this would cost them if they had to rent a house for the weekend themselves.”
Ksenia turned to him.
“And what did he say?”
“He said that in that case, they simply wouldn’t go anywhere at all.”
Her husband was quiet for a moment.
“You know, it turns out we’ve had it pretty easy. Well, they have. And I’ve just been along for the ride.”
Ksenia didn’t rush to forgive all the spending or thank him for his new understanding.
“Roman, it wasn’t the money that hurt me most. You made decisions about my house without even asking. First it was the chairs, then the rooms, then the canopy. And when I said I didn’t like it, you acted like I was ruining everyone’s mood.”
Roman wiped his hands with a towel.
“I just got used to the fact you can afford anything.”
“I can. But that doesn’t mean other people get to make decisions for me.”
He nodded.
That evening, they agreed on specific things.
Major home purchases would only happen after mutual discussion. Each person would cover their own personal expenses. Food for big family gatherings wouldn’t automatically become Ksenia’s responsibility.
She decided not to restore the extra card anymore. Roman could buy groceries and household items himself with his own card, and for any shared expenses, they’d agree on it beforehand.
And most importantly—no one promises rooms, renovations, or equipment to relatives without agreement from both spouses.
Ksenia didn’t ask for any reimbursement for past purchases.
She liked the gazebo, the fridge was useful, and the furniture was doing its job just fine.
But she didn’t want to go through another year like this one.
A few days later, Vera Pavlovna called her son.
The conversation took place in the kitchen, and Ksenia overheard the very end of it.
— Romochka, I found a swimming pool. It’s a good one and not too expensive, around forty-five thousand. Maybe you could buy it yourself? It would make the kids so happy.
Roman opened his banking app.
Payday was still more than a week away. There were upcoming car insurance payments and the usual expenses ahead.
Suddenly, forty-five thousand didn’t feel like a small amount at all.
— Mom, why should I be the one to buy a pool?
— Well, you did promise.
— I promised back when I thought we all wanted it and would talk it through. But now Ksenia is against it, and I don’t have extra money right now.
Vera Pavlovna suggested buying the pool in installments.
Roman turned her down.
Then he reminded her that the grandkids would be perfectly happy with a small inflatable kiddie pool, if Larisa brought it herself.
His mother grumbled a little, but stopped arguing.
Ksenia stayed out of the conversation.
For her, what mattered more was that, for the first time, Roman refused an unnecessary purchase himself, without putting the awkward conversation on his wife.
By mid-July, life gradually returned to normal.
Larisa, Denis, and the kids visited again—this time, as planned.
This time Denis brought not just charcoal, but also meat, vegetables, and drinks.
And he did so without any grand announcement about his generosity.
At first, Larisa seemed a bit tense, but the kids relaxed in no time. They played badminton, ran around the yard, and didn’t even ask about the promised pool.
Larisa’s car sat in the sun for several hours.
Before they left, Denis opened the doors to air it out and then announced it was good to go.
The carport they had considered spending a lot of money on turned out to be unnecessary after all.
Vera Pavlovna started visiting less often, but she also stopped making plans for improvements.
One weekend, she admitted to Ksenia that she used to think: since the house was big and beautiful, its expenses couldn’t possibly bother the owner.
— And when Roma refused to buy the pool, I thought: Seriously, I wouldn’t just hand over forty-five thousand for nothing, either.
Ksenia smiled.
— Neither do I want to.
— Just don’t write us off completely, okay?
— Vera Pavlovna, I haven’t written anyone off. I just closed the hotel.
Her mother-in-law burst out laughing.
And for the first time in a while, they enjoyed their tea together without talking about the price of gardening tools.
In August, Ksenia finished updating her office.
She spent eighty-five thousand rubles on it—money she had once set aside for more home improvements.
She bought a comfortable office chair, a desk, and ordered a custom shelving unit to fit the space.
The room stayed where it had always been. Nobody suggested turning it into a summer bedroom for relatives anymore.
On Sunday, Roman came into the office with two cups of coffee.
— It turned out great, he said, looking around at the furniture.
— I like it too.
— The desk was kind of pricey, though.
Ksenia turned to her husband slowly.
Roman caught her look and quickly raised his hand.
— Okay, I’ll stop. This is your money and your office. I just haven’t managed to turn off the old habit yet.
Ksenia laughed.
— I thought you were going to suggest putting another fridge in here.
— Why? — Roman was surprised. — We already have one on the veranda.
They both burst into laughter.
Later, Ksenia went down to the yard.
On the veranda were the same six folding chairs. They were hardly ever used these days. Most of the time, they sat folded against the wall, because for just the two of them, the regular garden chairs were enough.
Ksenia took one of the chairs, placed it in the shade, and sat down with her book.
Her coffee cup fit perfectly in the cup holder.
Turned out, this thing really was convenient.
But buying six of them had definitely not been necessary.
Ksenia looked at the gazebo, the blooming flower beds, and the neat path leading to the gate.
The house once again felt like a place where she actually wanted to relax.
Not because her husband’s relatives had disappeared—they still came, sometimes all together, sometimes one at a time. But now, no one treated the property like a free-for-all for fulfilling every family whim.
And to his credit, Roman no longer made promises to other people that his wife would be the one to pay for.
There were still repairs, shopping, and household chores ahead. A country house never really turns into a completed project.
But now Ksenia could decide for herself when, why, and how to spend her money.
One day, Larisa sent a photo of a new inflatable pool she’d bought for her friend’s country house, just for the kids.
Under the photo was a message:
“Got it for three thousand. Why did we even look at that huge one back then?”
Ksenia showed the message to her husband.
Roman smirked:
“Hey, maybe we should get one like that, too?”
“What for?”
“Well… just in case.”
Ksenia looked at him over her glasses.
“Roma, we’ve already had our ‘just in case’—for almost nine hundred thousand.”
He thought about it, nodded, and went off to water the flower beds.
Ksenia went back to her book.
Turns out, the most useful renovation in a country house sometimes doesn’t start with replacing furniture or appliances. Sometimes, it’s enough to rethink the list of people who think of your wallet as part of their household supplies.