Ekaterina woke up before the alarm and, first thing, looked at her sleeping husband. Roman was lying on his back with his arms spread out, breathing evenly and calmly. She quietly got up, slipped on her robe, and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. As usual. In seven years of marriage it had become a ritual—wake up first, cook, set the table, and then wake her husband with the aroma of fresh coffee.
Bacon sizzled in the pan, and the coffee machine began brewing a strong espresso. Ekaterina whisked the eggs and poured them onto the hot skillet. Roman liked his eggs with bacon exactly like this—crispy edges and a runny yolk. In seven years of marriage she had memorized all his preferences. She knew he couldn’t stand overcooked onions, that he added three teaspoons of sugar to his coffee, that he liked his shirts ironed without a single crease. She even remembered that he preferred toast slightly dried but not burnt, and that orange juice had to be freshly squeezed, not store-bought.
“Good morning,” Roman said as he walked into the kitchen, yawning and stretching. He sat down at the table without even glancing at the plate Katya set in front of him. His eyes went straight to his phone, which he pulled from the pocket of his robe.
“Morning. I’m leaving for my parents’ today,” she reminded him, pouring coffee into the cups. “You remember, right? I told you a week ago, then reminded you on Wednesday, and again last night.”
“Yeah,” he nodded, buried in his phone, scrolling with his finger. “For a week, right? Or two? I don’t remember anymore.”
“For a week. I haven’t seen Mom and Dad in ages. The last time I was there was New Year’s, and now it’s already May. Mom complained that I’ve completely forgotten about them.”
“Fine, go. I’ll manage,” Roman took a sip and grimaced. “You could’ve made it hotter. You know I don’t like lukewarm coffee.”
Ekaterina bit her lip but said nothing. The coffee had been hot—Roman had just been fiddling with his phone for too long. She poured herself what was already cooling and sat opposite him, watching him eat without looking up from the screen.
“I’ll leave you food in the fridge. Cutlets, buckwheat, salad. You’ll just have to warm it up. And the plumber’s number is on the fridge, just in case. I also wrote down when the concierge comes—she can help if anything goes wrong with the apartment. And also…”
“Katya, I’m not a child,” Roman cut her off, still not lifting his eyes from the phone. “I’ll figure it out. Finally I’ll get a break from your hovering. Honestly, sometimes you’re like my mother—always controlling everything, watching everything.”
Ekaterina flinched at those words. Each one cut into her heart like a sharp knife. But she pretended she hadn’t noticed. She stood up and began clearing the dishes from the table. Roman finished his coffee and went to shower, without thanking her for breakfast. As usual. In seven years he had never once said thank you for a meal. Never once said it was tasty. He treated it as something owed, like the air you breathe.
An hour later, Ekaterina stood by the front door with her suitcase. Roman came out of the bedroom dressed for work. His shirt was perfectly ironed—Katya had spent the entire evening yesterday steaming every crease. A tie pin she had given him for their anniversary glinted on his tie.
“Well, I’m off,” she said, stepping up to him, expecting a hug or at least a goodbye kiss. She expected something warm—a safe trip, a request to call, anything.
“Alright. Have a good trip,” he pecked her on the cheek without looking up from his phone. He didn’t even really hug her.
Ekaterina took her suitcase and walked out. On the way to the station she turned around several times, hoping he would look out the window, wave to her. But the windows stayed empty. He didn’t even walk her to the door. Didn’t help carry the suitcase. Didn’t ask how she’d get to the station with all that weight.
On the train Katya pulled out her phone and wrote Roman a long message—how the trip was going, what the weather was like outside, that the car was almost empty, that she missed him and was thinking about him. She wrote that she’d bought his favorite chocolate to bring back. That Mom was already waiting and had cooked his favorite dishes. That she hoped he wouldn’t be bored and would take care of himself. Roman replied three hours later with a single word: “Ok.” Not “Good, thanks.” Not “I miss you too.” Just “Ok.” Katya tried not to focus on it and looked out at the flashing landscapes, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t go away.
Her parents greeted their daughter with open arms. Mom made Katya’s favorite dishes—baked chicken with potatoes, a fresh vegetable salad, apple pie. Dad shared neighborhood news, complained about rising prices, asked about her job. Over dinner they asked about Roman, about work, about plans for the future.
“How’s Romochka? Bet he already misses you,” Mom asked, putting more potatoes on her plate.
“He’s fine. Works a lot. Gets tired,” Katya replied, poking at her food. She didn’t want to admit that her husband had barely said goodbye.
“You should dump less work on him,” her father said, cutting a piece of bread. “A man needs to feel like the head of the family, not a servant. You two do divide chores, right?”
Ekaterina wanted to object—that she was the one doing everything: cooking, cleaning, laundry, ironing, shopping, paying bills. That Roman only worked and came home to a set table, clean clothes, a tidy apartment. But she stayed silent. She didn’t want to ruin her first evening back with arguments. She didn’t want to admit her marriage wasn’t as perfect as she had imagined seven years ago.
The next day Katya helped her mother around the house, baking the very pies Roman loved—apples and cinnamon, with a golden crust. She was already dreaming of coming home and surprising him—bringing treats, hugging him, telling him how much she’d missed him. She imagined how happy he’d be, how glad. In the evening she wrote him another long message. She told him about her day, that Mom said hello and was baking his favorite pies, that she missed him and was thinking about him. What she would cook when she came back. That she’d bought him a new sweater as a gift—the one he’d wanted for ages. Roman replied five hours later: “Good.” Not “Thank you.” Not “I miss you too.” Just one word.
The third day, the fourth, the fifth—everything followed the same script. Ekaterina wrote long messages, shared little details, talked about conversations with her parents, the neighbors, the weather, what she’d seen in the store, her plans. She asked how things were at work, whether he was eating, whether everything was okay at home, whether he’d remembered to water the plants. He answered in short phrases, with long delays—“Ok,” “Yeah,” “Fine.” Not a single question about her life. Not a single admission that he missed her. Katya blamed it on him being busy. Maybe he really did work a lot. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he just wasn’t used to being alone that long. Maybe it was awkward for him to write long replies at work. She invented excuses, unwilling to admit what was becoming painfully obvious—her husband didn’t care.
On the fifth day, distant relatives called her parents and invited them to the wedding of a niece in a neighboring city. The celebration was in two days, on Saturday.
“Katya, maybe you’ll come with us?” Mom suggested over evening tea. “You’ll meet the relatives, see your cousins. They’ve all been asking about you.”
“No, Mom. You and Dad go,” she said, sipping her tea. “I’ll stay here. Rest in the quiet. Read a book, watch a movie.”
“Are you sure?” Mom looked at her doubtfully, setting her cup aside. “Maybe you should come anyway. It’ll be fun—music, dancing.”
“No, no. I already left you with Roman for a whole week,” Katya said quickly. “Go, have some fun. You two haven’t gone anywhere together in ages.”
Her parents left early Saturday morning. Ekaterina stayed alone in the house and felt a strange emptiness. The silence pressed against her ears. She wandered through the rooms, flipped through old photo albums, remembered her childhood. She looked at pictures of herself as a little girl—happy, carefree. Then at wedding photos—so in love, eyes shining, full of hope. And now? What now?
Then an idea hit her—go home earlier than planned and surprise Roman. Cook his favorite dinner, set the table with candles, greet him after work in a beautiful dress. Like in romantic movies. Like in the first years of their relationship, when they were still dating.
Ekaterina quickly packed her things, left a note for her parents on the fridge, and rushed to the station. There were tickets; the train left in an hour. Lucky! The whole way she smiled, imagining how thrilled her husband would be at her unexpected return. How he would hug her, say he’d missed her. How they would spend a romantic evening together.
On the way home from the station she stopped at a store and bought everything for his favorite dinner—a good steak, fresh vegetables for grilling, a bottle of red wine, strawberries for dessert. She spent her last paycheck, but she didn’t mind. The only thing that mattered was making him happy.
At home it was quiet—but not completely. Ekaterina softly slipped her key into the lock and opened the door, trying not to make noise. She wanted to preserve the element of surprise. Music was playing in the apartment—low, muffled, some romantic melody she didn’t recognize. From the bedroom came laughter—a woman’s laughter. Bright, carefree. Then Roman’s voice—quiet, tender. The voice he used to have with her long ago, at the very beginning.
Katya froze in the hallway. The grocery bags slipped from her numb hands and hit the floor with a dull thud. The wine bottle rolled across the parquet. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might leap out of her chest. She couldn’t breathe. She knew. She already knew what she would see behind that door, but she couldn’t make herself believe it.
Slowly, as if in a dream, she walked to the bedroom. Every step was heavy. Her legs felt like cotton; her hands were shaking. The door was slightly open—Roman hadn’t even bothered to close it. He hadn’t expected his wife to come back early. Ekaterina looked inside and saw what shattered her heart into a million small, sharp pieces.
On their marital bed, under the blanket she herself had washed and ironed exactly a week earlier, lay Roman. And beside him—a stranger with long dark hair, wearing his T-shirt. The very one Katya had given him for his birthday. They were hugging, kissing, laughing. Lightly. Carefree. As if it were normal. As if he didn’t have a wife who had given him everything for seven years.
Ekaterina cleared her throat. Loudly. Harshly. She wanted to scream, but her throat tightened so much no sound could come out.
Roman turned so fast he almost fell off the bed. His face went white, as if he’d seen a ghost. His eyes widened in horror. His mouth opened, but for a few seconds he couldn’t force out a word.
“Katya?!” His voice shook, jumping to a high note. “You were supposed to be at your parents’! W-what… what are you doing here?”
“Surprise,” Ekaterina replied dryly, crossing her arms over her chest to hide how they trembled. Her voice sounded чужим—mechanical. “I decided to come back early. I missed my husband. I wanted to make a romantic dinner. But it looks like you’re already busy.”
The unknown girl sprang out of bed, grabbing her clothes from the floor. Her face was red with shame or fear. She darted for the exit, trying to pull on her jeans as she went, avoiding Ekaterina’s eyes. Ekaterina stepped aside silently to let her pass. The front door slammed so loudly the window glass rattled.
“This… this isn’t what you think!” Roman jumped up, pulled on a shirt. His hands shook, his voice broke. “Katya, let me explain…”
“Not what?” Ekaterina laughed—hysterically, bitterly. “Then what is it, Roma? Are you going to tell me that’s your sister? Or a coworker who felt sick and you decided to lay her down in our bed?”
“I… It just happened by accident! We were just—” He faltered, unable to find words that could excuse him.
“By accident?” Ekaterina’s voice rang with barely restrained fury. “By accident you took your clothes off and ended up in our bed with another woman? In our apartment? In the bed I made before I left?”
She turned and walked into the kitchen. Poured herself water, trying to calm down. Her hands shook so badly that the glass slipped and shattered against the sink. Shards scattered across the floor. Roman appeared in the kitchen doorway, having pulled on jeans.
“Katya, I’m sorry! It means nothing! I love only you!” He stepped toward her, arms out, but stopped when he saw her look.
“It means nothing?” She slowly turned to him, wiping her wet hands on her robe. “For seven years I made you breakfast. Ironed your shirts. Washed your socks. Met you after work with a hot dinner. Denied myself outings with friends so you wouldn’t be alone. And all this time you… you were cheating on me?”
“No! I mean… This is the first time! I swear! It never happened before!”
“You’re lying,” Ekaterina shook her head. “You didn’t cheat for the first time. You just got caught for the first time. And you know what hurts most? I went to see my parents—whom I hadn’t seen in six months—and you couldn’t last even a week! A week, Roman! Seven days!”
Roman tried to say something, opened his mouth, but Ekaterina raised a hand to stop him.
“Pack your things. And get out of my apartment. Right now.”
“What?” He stared at her, stunned, not believing what he’d heard. “Your apartment? This is our apartment! We live here together!”
“No, Roman. This is my apartment. A gift from my parents. It’s registered only in my name. Check the documents if you don’t believe me. And I have every right to throw you out of here. Immediately.”
“Katya, don’t!” He dropped to his knees, clutching the hem of her robe. “I won’t do it again! It was a mistake! Give me a chance to fix everything! We can go to a therapist, I’ll change, I swear!”
“A mistake?” Ekaterina looked down at him and stepped back. “Do you know what the mistake was? That I lived for seven years with a person who took my care for granted. Who never once said thank you for breakfast. Who was happy that he’d finally get a break from my ‘hovering.’ Remember you said that this morning?”
“I didn’t mean it like that! You misunderstood everything! I was just… tired, I hadn’t slept, I had to go to work!”
“Get out, Roman. Now. Before I call the police.”
She went into the bedroom, took a large sports bag from the closet, and started throwing his things into it. Shirts she had ironed. Socks she had washed. Ties she had bought. Everything went into the bag without sorting. Roman tried to stop her, grabbed at the clothes, but she yanked another shirt out of his hands.
“Katya, stop! Let’s talk! We can fix this! I’ll take care of you, help around the house, do whatever you say!”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m tired of being your free maid and cook. I’m tired of you treating me like furniture. I’m tired of hoping you’ll ever appreciate what I do. You didn’t even say thank you once. Not once in seven years.”
She zipped the bag and handed it to him. Roman stood in front of her, lost, eyes red.
“Here are your things. You’ll pick up the rest later when I’m at work. I’ll call and tell you when you can come. When I’m not here.”
“Where am I supposed to go?” he asked helplessly, clutching the bag to his chest.
“To that girl. Or to your mother. Or rent an apartment. I don’t care. It’s not my problem anymore.”
“Katya… I still love you. You know that…”
“If you loved me, you wouldn’t cheat,” Ekaterina snapped and walked to the door, opening it. “Leave, Roman. Before I change my mind and call the police. And yes—leave the keys. All of them. The intercom key too.”
He set the keys on the shelf by the entrance, took the bag, and slowly walked out. At the threshold he turned, trying one last time to catch her eyes.
“I really do love you. You’ll understand with time.”
“Go,” she repeated, and closed the door in his face, turning the latch.
As soon as the lock clicked, Ekaterina collapsed onto the hallway floor and burst into tears. Seven years of life together—seven years of love, care, hope, patience—collapsed in a single moment. She cried for a long time, until there were no tears left and her voice went hoarse. Then she got up, washed her face with cold water, looked at her reflection in the mirror—red eyes, pale face—and dialed her mother.
“Mom?” Her voice trembled, broke. “Can I come back to you? Or no—better you come here. I… I need help.”
Her parents rushed over within a few hours. Her father burst into the apartment first, face grim, fists clenched. Her mother followed, carrying bags of food and tea. Ekaterina met them with swollen, tear-streaked eyes. Mom hugged her and stroked her hair like in childhood, when Katya scraped her knees outside. Ekaterina told them everything—about returning early, about the girl in their bed, about throwing Roman out, about his pathetic excuses.
“You did the right thing,” her father said, clenching his fists until his knuckles went white. “A scumbag like that has no place in our family. I’ll have a separate talk with him.”
“Sweetheart,” her mother pressed Katya to her, rubbing her back. “You’re strong. Not every woman can make a decision like that right away. Many endure it, forgive, believe promises.”
“I don’t know, Mom. Maybe I rushed,” Katya whispered. “Maybe I should’ve given him a chance? What if he really won’t do it again?”
“No,” her father shook his head, sitting down beside them on the couch. “If a person cheats once, he’ll cheat again—second time, third time. He’ll just be more careful. You did the right thing. Take care of yourself.”
A week later the doorbell rang. Ekaterina opened the door and saw her mother-in-law on the threshold. Elena Nikolaevna stood there with a face red with outrage, clutching her purse.
“How could you do this to my son?!” she screamed without greeting her. “You threw him out on the street like a dog!”
“Hello, Elena Nikolaevna,” Ekaterina answered calmly, stepping aside. “Come in. Or will you yell in the stairwell so all the neighbors can hear?”
“Don’t pretend you’re innocent!” her mother-in-law stormed in, breathing heavily. “Romochka told me everything! You abandoned him, went off God knows where, and then made a scandal out of nothing!”
“Out of nothing?” Ekaterina slowly raised an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest. “Do you consider cheating in our marital bed ‘nothing’?”
“You provoked him yourself!” her mother-in-law jabbed a finger at her. “A man needs attention, and you left! Abandoned him! What was he supposed to do—sit and wait who knows how long? Men are weak; they can’t control their desires!”
“So it’s all my fault?” Ekaterina smirked. “Not Roman, who brought a mistress into our bed, but me—because I dared to visit my parents? Whom I hadn’t seen in six months?”
“You should’ve stayed close! Taken care of him! Been a good wife! But you… you’re a bad wife! You don’t know how to keep a man!”
“You know what, Elena Nikolaevna,” Ekaterina straightened, looking her in the eye. “For seven years I stayed close. I cooked, cleaned, washed, ironed. I denied myself a lot so your son would be comfortable. I lived paycheck to paycheck because he wanted to save up for a car. I canceled meetups with friends because he didn’t want to be alone. And what did I get in return? Cheating in my own bed and accusations that I’m a bad wife.”
“Everyone makes mistakes!” her mother-in-law stamped her foot. “He apologized! Asked forgiveness! Promised to change!”
“So what? I’m supposed to forgive him and pretend nothing happened? Take him back and keep being his servant while he doesn’t appreciate me?”
“You’re destroying the family!” Elena Nikolaevna cried, waving her arms. “Because of one stupid thing you’re ruining everything! Seven years! Seven years wasted!”
“Your son destroyed the family when he cheated,” Ekaterina cut in coldly. “I simply drew conclusions, and I’m not going to live with a cheater.”
“You’ll regret this!” her mother-in-law spun toward the door. “He’ll find another wife—better than you! More obedient! More caring! And you’ll be left unwanted by anyone!”
“Maybe,” Ekaterina shrugged, opening the door wider. “But at least I won’t live with someone who doesn’t value me. Who treats my care as something owed.”
“Romochka said you already filed for divorce!”
“Yes. I filed the day before yesterday morning. In a month we’ll be free of each other. And until then he can collect his things when I’m not home. I’ll let him know when he can come.”
“You… you…” Elena Nikolaevna choked with outrage, pressing a hand to her chest. “You’ll regret it! My son will find a normal wife who’ll value him and love him!”
“I wish him luck,” Ekaterina nodded. “Goodbye, Elena Nikolaevna. Don’t come here again.”
Her mother-in-law left, slamming the door so hard the windowpanes trembled. Ekaterina went back to the kitchen, where her mother was waiting with a cup of hot tea and cookies.
“Well done, sweetheart. You held yourself with dignity. You didn’t let her bully you.”
“Mom, what if she’s right?” Katya sat opposite her mother, wrapping both hands around the cup. “What if I really rushed? What if I should’ve given him a second chance?”
“Katya,” her mother took her hand. “You did what needed to be done. For seven years you gave yourself to that marriage without holding anything back. And what did you get in return? Betrayal. You deserve more. You deserve someone who will appreciate you, take care of you, thank you for every day by their side. Not someone who treats you like a servant.”
Ekaterina hugged her mother and, for the first time in a week, felt that she had done the right thing. Yes, it hurt. Yes, it was scary. Yes, there was a divorce ahead that she still had to get through. But even scarier would have been staying with someone who didn’t value her—someone who cheated, and most likely would have cheated again.
A month later the divorce was finalized. Roman tried to call, text, ask to meet, beg for another chance. Ekaterina ignored every attempt to contact her. She blocked his number and deleted him from all social media. She sold the apartment where seven years of her life had passed and bought a small two-bedroom place in another part of the city. She renovated it to her taste—bright and cozy. She got a new, more interesting job she couldn’t take before because Roman didn’t like the irregular hours. She signed up for yoga she’d been dreaming about for three years. She got a cat Roman had never allowed her to have. She started living for herself.
And you know what? She liked it. She no longer woke up at six in the morning to make someone breakfast. She no longer ironed someone else’s shirts in the evenings instead of watching her favorite series. She no longer washed someone else’s socks. She no longer waited for gratitude that never came. She no longer excused indifference as being “busy.” She lived her own life—free, honest, full. She met up with friends. Went to the movies. Traveled. Read books deep into the night. Cooked only what she herself wanted.
And Roman… Roman was left alone. With a suitcase of his things, with a mother who pitied him, and with the realization that he had lost the one person who truly cared for him—who had given him everything for seven years without holding anything back. But it was too late. Ekaterina closed that chapter of her life and stepped into the future—alone, but happy. Free of obligations to someone who didn’t value her work. Free of a love that had existed only on one side