“Three minutes—convince me not to get a divorce!” Oleg leaned dramatically on the back of his chair and tossed his smartphone onto the center of the kitchen table.
Anna slowly wiped her hands with a waffle towel. The bright screen showed the menacing red numbers of the timer, frozen in place.
“Time’s started, Anya. Go on, tell me why I should stay in this marriage. There’s no real comfort here, dinner’s ruined again. The meat is overcooked—I’m chewing it like an old boot.”
For twenty years, he played this game. Whenever things didn’t go his way—from an unironed shirt to her wanting a new coat—her husband whipped out his favorite argument. Divorce threats were his go-to method of control. In the past, Anna would get scared. She’d start fussing, offer to quickly fry some eggs, look into his eyes and promise to fix everything, to be better.
Oleg loved these situations. He felt in complete control, like a strict but fair judge.
But tonight, the air in the kitchen felt heavier. Anna didn’t rush to the stove. She simply stood by the sink, silently watching the man sitting at the table.
“Are you deaf?” he snapped irritably, noticing her calmness. “A minute’s already up. I’m moving out tomorrow. I’ll leave you this two-room apartment, live here by yourself, and I’ll start a new life. I’ll find someone who at least knows how to cook. Well? Tell me you understand, while I’m still in a good mood.”
He reveled in his power. In his mind, his forty-eight-year-old wife was worthless without him. Where would she go on her own? Who would pay half the utility bills or drive her to the dacha on weekends?
Anna watched the seconds slip away. Two minutes. In a blink, it was like a fog lifted. She didn’t see a fearsome man holding her fate anymore, just an aging, smug guy in a baggy home t-shirt. Someone who had fed off her fear of loneliness for years. And suddenly she realized: she wasn’t afraid at all anymore. The pain that had built up over decades just faded, leaving nothing but icy clarity.
“I don’t need three minutes,” she said, her voice steady and completely unfamiliar. “Thirty seconds is enough for me.”
Oleg smirked with satisfaction:
“Go on then. Surprise me.”
Anna turned and walked to the hallway. A moment later, she returned holding a plain blue plastic folder. She set it right in front of her husband, pushing aside his half-eaten dinner plate.
“Open it.”
Oleg frowned; the amusement slowly faded from his face. He pulled at the folder’s plastic clasp. He took out several printed pages stamped with seals. His eyes darted over the text: “Divorce petition,” “On division of jointly acquired property”…
“I’m not going to argue with you about anything,” Anna said confidently. “Let’s get a divorce. Right now. I prepared everything back in spring. I was just waiting for the last bit of sympathy for you to disappear. That happened tonight.”
Her husband sat there, mouth wide open.
“What papers? What division of property?” he stammered, tossing the pages aside. “Are you out of your mind? You’ll be lost without me on your meager salary!”
“I got a promotion back in October. I just didn’t tell you, because you’d have made me put the extra money toward your new car.”
Oleg tried to force a smile, but it came out awkward and pathetic. He was starting to realize he was facing a completely different person now. Not the timid, convenient woman he’d shaped all these years.
“Fine then!” Oleg suddenly burst out, raising his voice to save face. “We’re getting a divorce! We’ll sell the apartment and split the money! I can’t wait to see what kind of dump you’ll buy with your share of the pennies.”
At that, Anna almost smiled, just barely.
“What apartment, Oleg?” she asked gently. “This one? Have you forgotten that we’re living in the place my grandmother gave me a year before our wedding? By law, gifted property isn’t subject to division. This home is only mine. You just have residency here, and the lawyer has already prepared the request for you to move out.”
Oleg blinked. He looked from the blue folder to his wife, back and forth.
“Now, the car we bought on credit last year,” Anna continued, “that’s considered marital property. But since you took out the loan, I’m being generous and dropping any claim to the car. Keep making the payments yourself—it’s all yours.”
“Wait…” Her husband’s voice lost all its bravado and turned to confusion. “Where am I supposed to go this late at night?”
A sharp, piercing beep sounded from the table. The timer. Three minutes were up.
Anna nodded toward the hallway.
“Your things are already packed. There are three duffel bags by the front door. I put everything together while you were watching football in the other room. Oh, and I called your mom half an hour ago. Let her know her beloved son is coming back to his old childhood room. She’s already made up the couch and is waiting for you.”
The timer’s sound sliced through the kitchen. Oleg sat there, staring at his smartphone screen, his fingers frozen and unable to press the cancel button. Everything had collapsed around him. It wasn’t just the timer that stopped. His comfortable life had, too.
Anna walked to the stove, turned on the burner, and set the kettle to boil. Ahead was a whole new life—one where no one would ever put her on a timer again.