Dmitry closed the front door after the last guests had left and turned toward his wife. He was wearing that particular satisfied smile that always appeared after an evening he considered successful.
“Listen, there’s something I should tell you. When everyone was leaving, I said that everything on the table had been prepared by my mother. So if anyone calls or mentions it, don’t accidentally tell them otherwise.”
Galina was standing by the sink, drying her hands with a kitchen towel. Her fingers suddenly froze against the fabric.
“Tell them otherwise?” She turned to face him. “Wait. I don’t understand.”
Vera, Dmitry’s sister, had been clearing wine glasses from the table. She lifted her head, her eyebrows drawing together.
“Dima, what exactly do you mean by that?”
“What’s so complicated? The guests praised the food. I told them the birthday woman had cooked everything. It made Mom happy. End of story.”
Galina slowly placed the towel on the counter.
Six hours in front of the stove.
Three separate trips to the grocery store because something had been forgotten each time.
A cut finger from the new kitchen knife.
A burn on her wrist from hot oil splashing out of the pan.
“Dmitry, but that isn’t true. Anna Sergeyevna only sliced a few things and helped set the table. Vera and I cooked everything else.”
“So?”
Galina stared at him.
“What do you mean, ‘so’? You lied to your friends and relatives. And now you’re asking us to support that lie.”
“I wanted to make my mother feel good on her birthday. I don’t see the problem.”
Vera placed the glasses back on the table. They made a quiet clinking sound.
“Dima, Galina spent almost the entire day here cooking. It’s a little strange to pretend otherwise.”
“Vera, don’t start. You both did a good job. I know that. But the guests don’t need every little detail.”
Galina took one step closer. There was still softness in her voice, but only barely.
“All right. I’m not asking you to chase after everyone and correct what you said. I just want you to explain one thing to me. Why did you need to lie in the first place?”
Dmitry shrugged with the casual indifference that had always irritated her more than open anger.
“Because it doesn’t matter. You don’t need praise.”
The words landed between them like a stone thrown into water.
Only the ripples that spread through the room were made of ice.
“I don’t need praise,” Galina repeated slowly, as though checking whether she had heard him correctly. “And who does?”
“My mother. It’s her anniversary. She’s sixty-five. Let her feel like the hostess.”
“She already is the hostess. It’s her home, her birthday, her guests. What does cooking have to do with it?”
“It has to do with the fact that a woman should know how to be modest. You helped. Good for you. Why do you need to make a performance out of it?”
“A performance?” Galina’s eyes narrowed. “Dmitry, I didn’t say a single word all evening about who cooked. Not one.”
Vera nervously moved the salt shaker from one place to another. She knew her brother’s tone. She knew where conversations like this usually went.
“Dima, maybe that’s enough. Galya is tired. We’re all tired.”
“Wait, Vera. I want to understand something.” Galina kept her eyes on her husband. “What exactly do you mean when you say I’m making a performance?”
Dmitry leaned against the kitchen table. His expression became patronizing, almost bored.
“You know what I mean. That thing you do. ‘I cooked.’ ‘I worked so hard.’ ‘Everyone, please appreciate me.’”
“I didn’t say any of those things.”
“You thought them.”
Something shifted inside Galina.
The last hope that he might understand what he had done began to disappear, replaced by something colder and harder.
“Are you seriously accusing me of having the wrong thoughts now?”
“I’m just stating a fact. You always want to be the center of attention. It gets exhausting.”
“The center of attention?” Galina repeated. “I spent six hours in the kitchen while you sat with the guests. I went to the store three times. I burned my hand. And somehow that means I wanted attention?”
Dmitry pointed at her as if she had just proven his argument for him.
“See? You’re already listing everything you did. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
Vera let out a sharp breath.
“Dima, stop it. You’ve gone too far.”
“Vera, why are you getting involved? This is between me and my wife.”
Galina looked at her husband.
Eight years of marriage.
Eight years of sharing a life.
And only now did she feel as though she were seeing his face clearly for the first time.
“Dmitry, I’m going to ask you one question. Just one. And I want an honest answer.”
“Go ahead.”
“If someone else had been in my place—one of your coworkers, one of your mother’s friends—and she had spent the day helping with the food, would you still have told everyone that Anna Sergeyevna cooked everything?”
He snorted.
“Of course not. That would be rude.”
“Rude,” Galina repeated. “But when it’s me, it isn’t?”
“You’re my wife. You’re supposed to help. It isn’t some heroic achievement. It’s normal.”
“Supposed to. I understand.”
Vera walked toward the window and turned away. Her shoulders were tense.
“Galya, let me drive you home. It’s late.”
“Not yet, Vera. I want to finish this conversation.”
Dmitry folded his arms.
“What else is there?”
“You said I don’t need praise. Explain that more clearly. Why exactly don’t I need it?”
“Because you’re my wife. I appreciate you already. What else do you want, a medal?”
“You appreciate me. That’s why you humiliated me in front of your family, gave someone else credit for my work, and now expect me to lie to your friends.”
“‘Humiliated.’ What a dramatic word. You should be on stage.”
Galina nodded.
Not to him.
To herself.
She had made a decision.
“You know what? You’re right. I don’t need praise. And I don’t need to prove anything to you either.”
“Oh, here we go,” Dmitry said. “Now there’ll be tears and doors slamming.”
“No, Dmitry. There won’t be any tears. And I’m not going to slam anything.”
She untied her apron, folded it carefully, and placed it over the back of a chair.
“Vera, thank you for helping today. And tell Anna Sergeyevna I was genuinely happy to help her.”
“Galya, wait…”
“I need to go.”
Dmitry gave a dismissive laugh.
“Fine. Go play the offended wife. You’ll call me in the morning and apologize.”
Galina picked up her handbag from the shelf.
She looked at him calmly.
There was no warmth in her eyes anymore, but no anger either.
She simply looked at him.
“No, Dmitry. I won’t.”
The door closed quietly behind her.
No scene.
No shouting.
No dramatic gesture.
Vera turned toward her brother. Her expression was a mixture of disbelief and growing horror.
“Dima, what have you done?”
“Oh, come on. She’ll cool down. Where is she going to go?”
“Did you hear the way she spoke? Did you see her eyes?”
“Vera, stop exaggerating. It’s a normal female tantrum. Tomorrow she’ll call and want to make up.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Anna Sergeyevna appeared in the kitchen doorway, pulling her robe tighter around herself.
“What’s all this noise? Has Galina already gone?”
Vera said nothing. She looked at her brother.
“Vera? What happened?”
“Mom, ask your son.”
Dmitry rolled his eyes.
“Nothing serious. Galya got offended because I told the guests you were responsible for the food.”
Anna Sergeyevna frowned.
“What do you mean, you told them I was responsible?”
“I said you cooked everything. I wanted to make you happy.”
“But I didn’t cook anything. I sliced some bread and helped arrange the plates. Galya and Vera did everything else.”
“What difference does it make?”
“A big difference, Dmitry. You lied to my guests.”
“I did it for you!”
“I didn’t ask you to. And I certainly wouldn’t have been pleased if I’d known.”
Dmitry’s phone made a sound.
He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the screen.
His expression changed immediately.
“What is it?” Vera stepped closer.
Without speaking, he showed her the message.
It was from Galina.
Short.
Clear.
Without a single unnecessary word.
“Divorce. Don’t come home tonight. You can collect your things tomorrow. And don’t forget to praise yourself—you deserve it.”
Vera read the message aloud.
Anna Sergeyevna flinched.
“Is she serious?”
“Of course she isn’t! She’s being hysterical!”
“Dima,” Vera said slowly, “I saw her face. That wasn’t hysteria. That was a decision.”
“Nonsense. I’ll call her right now and explain everything.”
He dialed her number.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Then the automated voice answered.
The number was temporarily unavailable.
Dmitry called again.
The same thing happened.
“She blocked me,” he said, staring at the screen. “She actually blocked me!”
“What did you expect?”
“Because of what? Because of some food?”
Vera shook her head.
“This isn’t about the food, Dima. It’s about the way you spoke to her. I was standing right there. I heard everything. It was horrible.”
Anna Sergeyevna slowly lowered herself into a chair.
“Tell me everything. From the beginning.”
So Vera did.
Sentence by sentence.
Word by word.
Dmitry listened, and with every phrase his expression changed.
At first, there was irritation.
Then worry.
And finally something close to fear.
“But I didn’t mean it like that. I was just trying to say…”
“What exactly were you trying to say, son?” Anna Sergeyevna asked. “That your wife should work for your family and keep quiet about it?”
“No! I meant that she shouldn’t show off…”
“She wasn’t showing off. She didn’t say anything at all. You started the conversation.”
“I was only warning her…”
“Warning her about what? That she wasn’t allowed to mention that she cooked? Even among her own family?”
Dmitry put his head in his hands.
“You don’t understand. I didn’t want to hurt her. I just…”
“You wanted to control her,” Vera finished for him. “You wanted her to know her place. Like a dog. You wanted her to feel grateful that you married her at all.”
“No!”
“Then why did you tell her she didn’t need praise? Why did you call wanting basic recognition ‘showing off’?”
He said nothing.
“And why did you tell her she was obligated to help?”
Silence.
“Dmitry,” Anna Sergeyevna said quietly, “I raised you by myself. I forgave you for many things. But this… Galina is a good woman. She never demanded anything from you. She was simply there for you. And you…”
“I’ll call her tomorrow. I’ll explain everything. She’ll understand.”
“No, she won’t,” Vera said, sitting across from him. “You crossed a line. And she finally saw it. She didn’t just get offended. She didn’t simply get upset. She saw you. She saw what you really think of her and how easily you’re willing to treat her that way.”
“But I love her!”
“You love her? Then why did humiliating her seem to give you so much satisfaction? I saw your face, Dima. You were enjoying it.”
He lifted his head.
For the first time, he looked like someone staring into a mirror and failing to recognize the person reflected there.
“I… I didn’t…”
“Yes, you did. And Galina saw it too. That’s why she left. She didn’t scream. She didn’t argue. She simply walked away because she understood something important: if you can treat her this way today, tomorrow will only be worse.”
Anna Sergeyevna stood up.
“I’m sixty-five years old today. I thought this day would be a celebration. Instead, it became the day I realized I don’t know my own son.”
She left the kitchen and returned to her bedroom.
Vera picked up her bag.
“Vera, wait. What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know, Dima. I truly don’t. Galya isn’t the kind of person who changes her mind once she has made a decision. She isn’t going to crawl back and apologize. She won’t sit around waiting for you to become a different man. She made her choice quickly because sometimes decisions like this don’t require weeks of thinking. When someone finally shows you who they really are, believe them the first time.”
The door closed behind her.
Dmitry was left alone.
Alone with his phone in his hand.
Alone with Galina’s message glowing on the screen.
Alone with an understanding that had come much too late.
“Don’t forget to praise yourself—you deserve it.”
And perhaps he did.
He deserved exactly this.
An empty kitchen after the celebration.
A blocked phone number.
Divorce papers waiting for him.
In the end, Dmitry received exactly what he had earned.