While I was focused on finalizing a quarterly report at my desk, my secretary Lena peeked into the office, looking flustered.
“Kira, there’s someone here for you. An elderly woman, rather insistent. She claims to be your mother-in-law and says she urgently needs to speak with you.”
I looked up from my monitor, taken aback. My mother-in-law? Nina Grigoryevna? It had been six months since my divorce from her son Roman, and thankfully, I hadn’t seen or heard from her since.
“Tell her to wait in the meeting room,” I instructed, continuing to save my document.
“She refuses. Says she’ll wait right here. She’s speaking rather loudly, and colleagues are starting to look over.”
I frowned. The last thing I needed was a family confrontation in front of my coworkers.
“Fine, I’ll go out to her.”
I stood up and headed towards the entrance, where Nina Grigoryevna stood in the corridor, dressed in an old coat, anxiously fidgeting with her handbag. The moment she spotted me, she leaned forward.
“Kira! There you are! We need to talk, urgently!”
“Hello, Nina Grigoryevna,” I said softly. “Let’s step outside; people are working here.”
“We’re not going anywhere!” she retorted loudly. “Let everyone see who you are! Ungrateful! Impudent girl!”
Curious glances were now directed towards our conversation as colleagues raised their heads from their screens. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“Nina Grigoryevna, let’s avoid making a scene. Please speak calmly! What’s this about?”
“What’s it about?!” she escalated her voice, making it even louder. “It’s about you having to give me your salary! Immediately! You left him; you’re to blame—now you should pay his alimony!”
I was taken aback, as the office suddenly quieted down; everyone pretended to work while straining to listen.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t understand?!” Nina Grigoryevna stepped closer, her eyes blazing with anger. “The bailiffs have come! They’re preparing to seize the apartment! All because you left him!”
Now the situation started to make sense. Roman owed alimony to his children from his first marriage—Ane and Misha. Their mother Svetlana filed for child support six years ago, but Roman had been avoiding it, sometimes disappearing and never holding a steady job.
“Nina Grigoryevna, what does this have to do with me? These are Roman’s debts to his children.”
“It has everything to do with you!” she waved her hands. “If it weren’t for you, he would be paying! He would have lived normally with you, working! But you sweet-talked him, married him, and then left! Now, he’s drowning in debts and drinking!”
Just then, Sergey Petrovich, my supervisor, walked out of his office. He had heard the commotion and was now watching us with a furrowed brow.
“Nina Grigoryevna,” I said as calmly as possible, “let’s not discuss family issues in the office.”
“Where else am I supposed to talk to you?! You changed your number and don’t answer calls! I don’t even know where you live! Time’s running out! They’re going to take my apartment because of your antics!”
“Because of my antics?” I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Nina Grigoryevna, your son must pay alimony for his children, not me. It’s his responsibility, not mine!”
“You left him! You got divorced! So, you should pay!”
Her argument was seemingly sound. In her view, since I filed for divorce, I should be responsible for all the aftereffects.
“Roman and I also have a child together,” I reminded her. “I didn’t file for alimony because I understand there’s nothing to extract from him.”
“See?!” Nina Grigoryevna exclaimed, as if my statement validated her point. “You know there’s nothing to take! But his first wife doesn’t get it! She’s demanding it and going to court! Now the bailiffs have come and said they’re going to seize property!”
“And rightfully so,” I stated firmly. “Children have a right to support from their father.”
“What children!” my mother-in-law spat. “They’re already fourteen! They can work themselves!”
“Nina Grigoryevna, children are not obligated to support themselves. Their parents are responsible for them.”
“What will the father do if he loses his apartment? He’ll end up on the street!”
This was the crux of the matter. The apartment was jointly owned by Nina Grigoryevna and Roman. Now the bailiffs threatened to seize his share—the entire apartment might be at risk, depending on the debt’s magnitude.
“Nina Grigoryevna, this isn’t my problem. I divorced your son, and our relationship is over.”
“It’s not over!” she shouted. “You are the mother of his child! You’re connected forever! You must help!”
“I support my child. But I’m not going to pay alimony for other people’s children.”
By now, my colleagues were openly listening to our argument. Some pulled out their phones, likely intending to record the confrontation. I was mortified.
“Other people’s?!” Nina Grigoryevna exclaimed, outraged. “These are my son’s children! Your ex-husband’s children!”
“The key word is ex. I have no ties to him any longer.”
“You do!” she stepped closer, pointing a finger at me. “You ruined his life! He was living fine before you!”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at that remark.
“Fine? Nina Grigoryevna, when we met, Roman hadn’t paid alimony for two years and was hiding from the bailiffs. He had debts and was unable to hold a steady job!”
“You’re lying!”
“I’m not. He confessed to me how he ran from the bailiffs. He even laughed about it.”
“You taught him not to pay! And to take out loans!”
“I wasn’t even in his life then,” I reminded her. “His alimony debts had been piling up for three years already.”
Nina Grigoryevna seemed taken aback for a second before she launched another attack:
“Regardless! You married him, so you knew what you were getting into! Now you must answer!”
“Answer for what? For your son’s unwillingness to work and support his children?”
“He can’t work! He’s depressed since the divorce from you!”
“Depressed?” I shook my head. “Nina Grigoryevna, your son has an alcohol problem, not depression. That began well before our wedding.”
“Don’t you dare speak about my son like that!”
“I’m telling the truth. Roman has been drinking for at least five years. I tried to help him; I took him to doctors. Nothing worked.”
“It’s because you didn’t believe in him! You didn’t support him!”
My patience was wearing thin. Half a year ago, I left Roman specifically because of his drinking and complete irresponsibility. It all culminated when he squandered the money I had given him for our son’s diapers.
“Nina Grigoryevna,” I said slowly and clearly, “I supported your son for three years. I pulled him out of debts, searched for jobs for him. He squandered everything. In the end, he even spent the money for food for the baby on alcohol.”
“That was an accident!”
“An accident? He took the last money meant for the baby’s food and bought alcohol instead. He came home inebriated and couldn’t even stand up, all while we had a newborn at home!”
“You’re exaggerating!”
“I’m not exaggerating!” I snapped. “Your son is irresponsible and an addicted parent! He didn’t pay alimony for his first children, doesn’t support our child, and lives off his mother!”
“He’s sick! He needs help!”
“He needs medical help, not financial support! Children need alimony from their father, not from a former stepmother.”
Nina Grigoryevna realized she could not sway me, so she shifted to threats:
“You must pay! By law! You were his wife!”
“Under what law?” I asked, puzzled. “Show me the article stating that a former wife must pay alimony for her ex-husband.”
“There is such a law! About willful evasion!”
“Willful evasion relates to debtors, not their relatives.”
“You drove him into this state!”
“I treated him! The bottle drove him to this state!”
“If you hadn’t divorced, he would have come to his senses!”
“Nina Grigoryevna,” I said tiredly, “for three years of marriage, your son never once came to his senses. How long should I have waited?”
“You should have been patient! Family is sacred!”
“Family is when everyone cares for one another. In our case, I worked, earned money, and raised the child. He only partied and accumulated debts.”
“He’s your child’s father!”
“A father is not just someone who conceived a child; a father is someone who raises and supports them. Roman hasn’t inquired about our son once in the six months since we divorced. I have no interest in him!”
“Because you don’t let him see the child!”
“I don’t prevent visits. He has never come, never called. He didn’t even show up for the child’s birthday!”
Nina Grigoryevna began to realize that she couldn’t break me down with persuasion or threats. Then she switched to pulling on the heartstrings:
“Kira, have mercy on an old woman! I earned this apartment my whole life! I raised my son alone, buried my husband early! Will you really allow me to be thrown out on the street?”
“Nina Grigoryevna, nobody is throwing you out. They will seize Roman’s share, and your half will remain.”
“What half? It’s joint property! They’ll sell the whole apartment, and I’ll only get pennies!”
Maybe she had a point. Perhaps they would indeed sell the entire apartment to settle the debt. But that wasn’t my problem.
“Let your son go work and pay his alimony himself.”
“He can’t! He’s sick!”
“Then let him seek treatment. Alimony is a must. Children should not suffer because of a sick father.”
“You’re heartless!” Nina Grigoryevna exclaimed. “You left a sick husband behind, and now you’re throwing an old woman out on the street!”
“I haven’t abandoned anyone nor am I throwing anyone out. I simply refuse to take on other people’s problems at my expense.”
“That’s not how it works! In a family, everyone should help each other!”
“We are no longer family. We are divorced.”
“But you have a child together!”
“Yes, we do. And I support him. Alone, without any help from his father.”
“Roman can’t help; he’s sick!”
“He’s not an invalid! Then let him work.”
Nina Grigoryevna realized she had hit a dead end. I wasn’t agreeing to any alternatives. She then made a direct demand:
“Kira, I demand! Hand over your salary immediately! How much do you earn—thirty thousand? Forty? Give half for alimony!”
“On what grounds?”
“You’re to blame for Roman not paying! You left him, drove him to the edge!”
“Nina Grigoryevna, I reiterate—your son was not paying alimony long before our marriage.”
“Still! Now it’s your turn to be responsible!”
“My turn? I’m already responsible—for my child. As for other people’s children, that’s their father’s duty.”
“So, you won’t give any money?”
“Not a dime.”
“Then I’ll tell everyone how you drove your husband to this and now keep his children starving!”
“Go ahead and tell them,” I shrugged. “But don’t forget to mention…”
Just then, my supervisor intervened. Sergey Petrovich approached us and calmly stated:
“Excuse me, but this is a workplace, not a family court. I need you to leave the office.”
“And who are you?” Nina Grigoryevna challenged vehemently.
“The director of the company. And I will not allow scandals during work hours.”
“So, it’s her!” the mother-in-law pointed at me. “She’s not giving me money! Let her pay me her salary!”
“Ma’am, either you leave, or I will call security,” Sergey Petrovich stated firmly.
“How dare you! I’m not a stranger! I’m the ex-mother-in-law!”
“You’re a stranger to me. I must insist you exit the premises.”
“Fine!” Nina Grigoryevna flared up. “I will leave! But this isn’t over! I will seek justice! Through the courts! Through the bailiffs!”
“Try it,” I said calmly. “But remember—nobody is obligated to pay someone else’s debts.”
“These aren’t just any debts! These are your ex-husband’s debts! You were married, so his debts are also yours!”
“Ex means they do not belong to me anymore.”
Nina Grigoryevna turned and walked towards the exit, shouting as she left:
“Remember everyone! This is what wives are like now! She left her husband and is starving his children! Meanwhile, she pockets all the money!”
The door slammed behind her. Silence fell in the office. All eyes turned to me with a mix of curiosity and sympathy.
“I apologize for the disturbance,” I addressed my colleagues. “Family matters.”
“Kira, if you need help, just let us know,” my supervisor said. “Individuals like that should be sent to security immediately.”
“Thank you, Sergey Petrovich. I believe she won’t return.”
But I was wrong. The next day, Nina Grigoryevna came back to the office, this time accompanied by a friend for support.
“Kira!” she shouted right from the doorway. “I won’t leave until you give me money!”
“Nina Grigoryevna, we discussed everything yesterday. My answer hasn’t changed.”
“And mine hasn’t changed either! We’ll wait here until you agree!”
“Then I’ll call the police.”
“Call them! The law is on my side!”
I did indeed call the police. Two officers arrived, assessed the situation, and demanded that Nina Grigoryevna leave the office.
“We’re not doing anything wrong!” she protested. “We’re just seeking justice!”
“Seek justice through the courts,” said the officer. “You’re disrupting others’ work here.”
After that incident, Nina Grigoryevna never returned to the office. However, she continually called, demanding meetings.
A month later, I learned that Roman’s share of the apartment had been seized. The bailiffs imposed restrictions on any transactions regarding the property. They were preparing documents for forced sale through auctions—the proceeds will go towards unpaid alimony debts. Roman had not been working, and Nina Grigoryevna lived in constant fear that half the apartment would be sold to strangers.
I finally understood one simple truth: it’s not my fault that Roman is an irresponsible father. It’s not my duty to clean up the consequences of his choices. And it’s not my job to support other people’s children instead of their biological father.
I will raise and support only my child. As for the others, let their actual father take responsibility for them.