I’ve taken two weeks’ vacation!” Igor sat at the table without lifting his eyes from his dinner plate, as if the conversation were routine. “I spoke to Mom today—she and Dad are coming the day after tomorrow. They’ll stay with us!”
Galya froze, her fork halted midway to her mouth. Lowering her hand, she stared at her husband.
“What do you mean, ‘stay with us’?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice even while indignation flared inside. “And when exactly were you planning to tell me?”
“I’m telling you now!” Igor shrugged, still eating. “They’ve wanted to visit for ages and my vacation finally came through. We’ll spend two weeks together.”
Galya pushed her plate aside—her appetite vanished. Folding her arms, she drew a steadying breath.
“Igor,” she began carefully, “don’t you think decisions like this should be made together? This is our home.”
“What’s there to decide?” Igor finally looked up, genuine puzzlement in his eyes. “They’re my parents! Do I need permission to invite them?”
“You do when those parents constantly belittle your wife!” Galya’s words spilled out. “Have you forgotten what your mother told me at our wedding? ‘Don’t overdo it with kids—we didn’t hand Igor over to you for that. And only for a while.’ As if I’d abducted you!”
“She was joking. You take everything too seriously.”
“How about when your father announced on my birthday that, with my education, cleaning jobs were all I could hope for? Or when your mother ‘accidentally’ yanked the tablecloth off and sneered that now it’d be easier for me to clean up the garbage on the floor?”
Igor banged his fist on the table. “Stop dredging up every word! They’re older—different values. At least respect them because they’re my parents.”
“Why should I respect those who don’t respect me?” Galya folded her arms. “And their son seems forever in their debt.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Color rose in Igor’s cheeks.
“It means a grown man should put his own family first instead of Mommy and Daddy!” Galya knew she was on dangerous ground but couldn’t stop. “No wonder they can’t accept me—I’m the one who took their little boy.”
Igor leapt up, knocking his chair over. “Don’t talk about them like that! They raised me, paid for college, helped me buy my first car. I owe them.”
“And me—you owe me nothing?” Galya’s voice softened. “I’m your wife, Igor. Do three years together count for nothing?”
“That’s different,” he snapped. “Parents are forever.”
“And me? Only until they decide they don’t like something?”
Igor turned to the window, trying to calm down. “Look, I don’t want to fight. They’ll stay two weeks. Is that so hard?”
“Yes!” Galya stepped beside him. “Two weeks of snide remarks and insults isn’t ‘staying,’ it’s torture. And you never—ever—take my side!”
“There are no sides!” He spun around. “There’s you, me, and my parents—one family. We just have to get along.”
Galya laughed bitterly. “One family? Where your parents think I’m beneath you and you pretend it’s normal? No thanks.”
A moment later Igor called his mother: “Of course we’re looking forward to it, Mom. Galya’s happy too…” When he hung up, Galya glared.
“‘Galya’s happy’? After last night?”
“What was I supposed to say? ‘Mom, my wife thinks you’re toxic’?”
“At least don’t lie for me! I told you I’m against their visit.”
“They’ll be here only two weeks. Can’t you just bear it?”
“Bear it?” Galya laughed. “That’s all I ever do—bear their mockery and advice on how to ‘properly’ feed their darling son. Remember last time?”
“Enough—nothing happened.”
“Really? Your mother inspected all my cookware and said pigs would be ashamed to eat from it. Your father called my food slop. When I objected, your mother asked if my ‘stubbornness’ was why we still had no children.”
“She’s just worried,” Igor rubbed his forehead. “That’s normal.”
“Normal to imply I might be barren because of my personality? To ask if you regret marrying me? And you said nothing.”
“She’s protective—”
“What did she mean, then? Enlighten me.”
“I can’t always be in the middle!” His voice hardened. “They’re my parents. I love and respect them, and so should you.”
“Why respect people who don’t respect me? What have they done to earn it?”
“They’re my parents!” he nearly shouted.
“That gives them no right to insult me in my own house.”
“Our house,” he corrected.
“Mine,” Galya shot back. “It’s legally my apartment—my grandmother left it to me before we married.”
Igor’s face changed. “So … I have no say?”
“I’m stating facts. Your parents aren’t coming here. If they step through that door, I’ll file for divorce.”
“What? End a marriage over this?”
“Over your disrespect. I’m always second to your parents. I won’t live like that.”
“You’re giving me an ultimatum?”
“No. I’m saying they’ve earned no respect from me. Don’t bring them here. If you do, I’ll act.”
Igor stared, shocked, then punched the wall. “They’re my parents! Don’t you get it?”
“And my self‑respect matters to me. Choose: cancel their visit or pack your things.”
Igor paced like a trapped animal. “You can’t use the apartment as leverage!”
“And using blood ties as a pass for rudeness is fine? I won’t endure humiliation because they’re your parents.”
He hurled a vase at the wall. “You hate them!”
“I don’t. I just won’t be their punching bag. I feel like a stranger whenever they come.”
“They never hit you!”
“Psychological blows hurt too. When your mother says I’m ‘not wife material’ and your father wonders if you regret marrying me—that’s abuse.”
Igor swept books off a shelf. “They’re just blunt—say what they think.”
“And what do they think? That I’m unworthy? A poor cook? Childless to spite them? Trash?”
“They care about us,” he overturned the coffee table.
“No, they want you to live their way and I don’t fit.”
He punched the drywall again. “They’ve always been there for me!”
“And I haven’t? I sat up nights for your exams and gave you my savings when your firm was sinking.”
“That’s different.”
“Why? Because I’m not your mother?”
“Because they’re family!”
“And I’m what?” Something cracked inside Galya. “Who am I to you, Igor?”
He kicked the fallen table instead of answering.
“There’s my answer,” Galya said. “I’m an accessory—useful when needed, disposable when inconvenient.”
“Don’t talk nonsense.”
“It’s true. Physically you live with me; emotionally you still live with them.”
“Rubbish!” He slammed his laptop shut.
“I’m tired of being second. My feelings vanish whenever your parents appear.”
Igor yanked a drawer open. “Packing,” he snapped.
“So you’ve chosen,” Galya said flatly.
“Yes. I won’t give up my parents over your fantasies.” He zipped a sports bag. “I’ll go to them and spend my leave with people who truly love me.”
“Unlike me?”
“They never gave ultimatums.” He left.
Ten fog‑filled days passed. Neither called the other. Their friend Vika tried to mediate.
“He says you’re overreacting,” Vika reported. “He never thought you were capable of this.”
“And I never thought he’d so readily choose his parents,” Galya sighed. “Actually, I did; I just wouldn’t admit it. I’m done—divorce.”
The front door clicked. Igor entered, gaunt. Vika slipped out.
“So you’re serious—divorce?” he asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Ten days, no call. You didn’t even ask how I was.”
“I knew—at your parents’, where you’re always more comfortable.”
“That’s not true; these days were hard for me.”
“For me too, but I learned something.”
“What?”
“Our marriage was doomed from the start. You never cut the cord, Igor. Physically with me, emotionally at home with them.”
“I loved you,” he protested.
“Loved?” She noted the past tense.
Silence.
“Mom says a proper wife would never act like this. If it were real love, there’d be no ultimatums.”
“And you?”
“Family means everyone living together. I wanted one big family. You refused.”
“No. I wanted you and me to be a family. I wanted you to defend me. You always chose them.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did. Every time you were silent, every time you told me I misunderstood, every time you demanded I respect them just for existing.”
He faced the window. “So it’s over?”
“Yes.” Saying it brought relief. “I’m filing for divorce.”
“Will you be happy?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll be free from feeling unwanted in my own home.”
“I’ll collect my things tonight.”
“I’ll be at Vika’s.”
That evening the apartment felt empty though Igor had taken only his belongings. On the table lay his key and a note: “My parents think you acted meanly. I’m starting to agree.”
Galya crumpled it and tossed it in the trash. Even in farewell Igor parroted his parents’ words.
She stepped to the window and breathed deeply for the first time in ages. The flat was once again her fortress—a place where no one would question her every move.
“Your parents have done nothing for me to respect them,” she whispered. Now the words sounded not like an ultimatum, but a declaration of her right to self‑respect and dignity.