— Do you understand that these are my first days off in two months? — Marina’s voice trembled with exhaustion and indignation. — There was a crazy rush at work, I worked until eleven every night, and you’re telling me I can’t rest?
Andrey didn’t lift his head from the phone, lying on the couch in an old T-shirt.
— So what? — he mumbled. — You can endure one evening. The parents will come, we’ll have dinner, and that’s it.
— One evening? — Marina stood in the middle of their small rented apartment, where the rent cost them half their salary. — Andrey, are you serious right now? I have to cook a full table in three hours, clean the apartment, set everything up, serve everyone, and then wash the dishes until midnight!
— Don’t exaggerate, — her husband waved her off. — Mom will bring a salad.
— What salad? — Marina laughed bitterly. — Your mom hasn’t brought even bread once in five years! She comes here like it’s a restaurant, sits at the table, and waits to be served!
Andrey finally tore his eyes from the screen and looked at his wife irritably.
— They’re my parents. It’s normal for them to come visit us.
— Visit? — Marina sank onto the edge of the armchair, her hands trembling slightly from exhaustion. — Andrey, guests warn you when they’re coming. Guests don’t demand three different dishes. Guests don’t criticize the hostess because the soup is under-salted or the meat is overcooked.
— You’re dramatizing again, — Andrey grunted. — They just want to spend time with family.
— Family? — Marina’s voice lowered, but a dangerous tone sounded in it. — They come here to eat for free and criticize me. And you sit silently when your mother says I’m cooking borscht wrong or that the house is dirty.
— That’s not what she meant…
— Then what did she mean? — Marina got up and paced the room. — When she said that in her time housewives knew how to keep a home tidy? Or when she remarked that modern women don’t know how to cook like before?
Andrey sighed heavily, as if talking to his wife was an unbearable burden.
— Marina, why do you pick on words? She’s old-fashioned, she can’t help it.
— And you? — Marina stopped in front of her husband. — Are you old-fashioned too? Do you think it’s normal that I work just as much as you, bring home half the money, and then at home I become a servant?
— No one calls you a servant, — Andrey got up from the couch, but there was a certain lethargy in his movements. — You’re my wife. Of course, you take care of the house.
— Of course? — Marina shook her head. — Isn’t it natural for you to help me? To go to the store, peel potatoes, set the table?
— My back hurts after work, — Andrey answered automatically.
— And I don’t have any pain? — Marina’s voice grew softer. — My opinion, my well-being, my fatigue? None of that matters?
— It matters, but…
— No “buts”! — Marina stepped closer. — Andrey, I’m tired. I’m very tired. I don’t have the strength to constantly turn our apartment into a restaurant for your parents.
— Then cook something simple, — her husband suggested, as if that solved everything.
— Simple? — Marina laughed without joy. — Do you remember what happened when I served macaroni with sausages? Your mother talked for half an hour about how in her youth they wouldn’t even feed such food to a dog.
Andrey was silent because it was impossible to argue with that.
— Fine, — Marina said after a pause. — I’ll cook. As always.
She turned and went to the kitchen, leaving her husband standing by the window with a guilty look that quickly changed to relief. The problem was solved, he could go back to scrolling on his phone.
Marina mechanically took groceries out of the fridge. Chicken, potatoes, carrots, onions. The same as always. Her hands moved on their own while her thoughts wandered far away. When was the last time she truly rested? When was the last time someone asked her how she was doing, not just out of politeness, but sincerely?
By seven in the evening, the apartment smelled of homemade food. Plates were on the table. Chicken in sour cream sauce. Mashed potatoes. Fresh salad. And a homemade cake Marina baked at the last moment. She remembered how her mother-in-law loved sweets.
The doorbell rang exactly at half past seven. Andrey’s parents were never late for dinner.
— Andryushenka! — mother-in-law Valentina Ivanovna hugged her son without even greeting Marina. — How are you, son? Lost any weight? Are they feeding you well?
Marina stood silently in the hallway holding slippers for the guests.
— Marina, why are you just standing there? — the mother-in-law grumbled impatiently. — We’re hungry from the trip.
— Good evening, — Marina said quietly. — Come in, everything’s ready.
At the table, father-in-law Nikolai Petrovich immediately began praising his son:
— Well done, Andrey, it’s clear you’re doing well. You rented a decent apartment, your wife cooks well.
— Yeah, — added Valentina Ivanovna, tasting the chicken. — Although it could be salted a bit more.
Marina silently stood and brought the salt shaker.
— Andryusha was always handy, — the mother continued. — I remember how he helped me as a kid, he knew everything. Not like men nowadays, they’ve gotten lazy.
Andrey smiled proudly, accepting the praise.
— You know, — Nikolai Petrovich put down his fork, — our neighbor Petka bought a new car. Good man, provides well for his family.
— That’s right, — Valentina Ivanovna nodded. — A man should be the breadwinner. And a woman the keeper of the hearth.
Marina sat at the table watching this scene as if watching a movie. Here the mother-in-law takes a second helping and doesn’t say thank you. Here the father-in-law demands more bread without looking up. Here Andrey talks about his work successes, and when the parents ask about Marina, he answers monosyllabically: “She’s fine.”
No one asked how her work rush went. No one wondered if it was hard for her to cook dinner after a tough week. No one said the food was tasty, though everyone ate heartily.
Marina looked at these people — at her husband, who shined from his parents’ attention, at her mother-in-law, who critically evaluated every detail of the interior, at her father-in-law, who was already demanding tea with cake — and understood that she couldn’t take it anymore.
Fatigue weighed on her like a heavy blanket. Not just physical exhaustion from cooking and cleaning. Emotional exhaustion from having stopped being a person and becoming a function. A function for cooking, cleaning, serving, silently enduring criticism.
When was the last time she was just Marina? Not a wife, not a daughter-in-law, not a cook, not a servant. Just a woman who has her own desires, needs, her right to rest and respect.
Marina quietly got up from the table to bring tea and realized: she was very tired of being invisible in her own home.
Marina put the kettle on the stove and leaned against the kitchen table. Her hands trembled from exhaustion. Behind the wall, the family dinner continued without her — Andrey’s parents talked about neighbors, her husband nodded along. No one noticed her absence.
On Monday morning, Marina came to the office with a firm decision.
— Alla Viktorovna, I need to talk to you, — she addressed her boss.
— Marina, come in. What’s wrong? — the manager put down her documents.
— I would like to switch to remote work. Permanently. Things at home are very difficult right now, I need more time…
—I understand, — Alla Viktorovna nodded. — After that rush, you showed yourself well. I think we can try. You start working from home on Monday.
Marina exhaled with relief. The first step was taken.
All week she walked like in a fog, mechanically performing familiar actions. Cooking, cleaning, listening to her husband’s work stories. Andrey didn’t notice her detachment — or pretended not to.
On Friday evening he put on a jacket and took his keys.
— I’m going to my parents’, the plumbing is acting up, I’ll help fix it, — he said without looking at his wife. — They’ll come for breakfast tomorrow. Prepare something hearty, dad wants omelets with bacon, mom wants pancakes. And make good coffee.
Marina stood by the window, looking at the gray houses outside.
— Okay, — she answered quietly.
— Well, I’m off. See you tomorrow.
The door slammed. Marina stood motionless for a long time, listening to the silence of the apartment. Then she slowly went to the bedroom and took an old travel bag out of the closet.
There were very few things. A few sets of clothes, a book, a laptop, chargers. Life in a rented apartment didn’t encourage accumulating possessions.
In the morning, Marina sat on the train, watching the fields flicker past the window. Her phone was silent until ten a.m.
The call caught her off guard, though she was expecting it.
— Where are you? — Andrey’s voice was full of outrage. — The parents are hungry, nothing’s on the table, the fridge is empty. Where are you?
Marina took a deep breath, looking at the passing trees.
— I decided to live a little for myself, — she said calmly.
— What does that mean? — her husband’s voice rose. — Marina, where are you even?
— I was transferred to remote work, so I’m going to my parents’ house. For at least a month, maybe longer.
— Are you crazy? What about us? What about home?
— Andrey, — Marina closed her eyes, — your parents just drove me to the edge. I’m about to have a nervous breakdown over this, and you never support me. I can’t anymore.
— The parents have nothing to do with it! You’re just spoiled! Come back immediately!
— No, — Marina said firmly and hung up.
A month at her parents’ house passed like a single day. In the morning, her mother brought tea to the room where Marina worked on the computer. No one demanded she cook three dishes for dinner. No one criticized or expected constant service.
In the evenings, they sat on the porch, drank tea with honey, and talked about work, books, life. Her father told news from the village, her mother shared plans for the garden. Marina was simply herself for the first time in years.
Andrey called every two days, demanding she come back. First angry, then begging, then angry again. Marina answered briefly and politely.
After a month, she returned to the city only for her things.
The apartment greeted her with stale air and dirty dishes in the sink. Andrey sat on the couch, unshaven and rumpled.
— Finally! — he jumped up to meet her. — Marina, stop this nonsense! I missed you!
— I came to get the rest of my things, — she said, going into the bedroom.
— What things? What are you talking about?
Marina took a small box with documents and some personal belongings out of the closet.
— Andrey, I’m filing for divorce. We’re not right for each other.
— Are you serious? — he blocked her way. — Because of some argument? Marina, we’re family!
— Family? — she shook her head. — In a family, people support each other. In a family, there is respect. We only have habit.
— I love you!
— No, Andrey. You love convenience. You love being taken care of, having food made for you, being admired. But you haven’t seen the real me for a long time.
He tried to convince her for another half hour. But Marina was firm.
Marina went back to her parents. Remote work paid well. She wouldn’t have to pay rent. There would always be people nearby who truly loved her. No one would use her.
She was free. Free to be herself, live her own life, make her own decisions. And that was wonderful.