Again that smell. Cinnamon with vanilla. I check the cheesecake recipe for the hundredth time, although I know it by heart. My hands shake as I take the form out of the oven. Please, let it be perfect this time.
— Masha, did you fall asleep there? — Andrei’s voice comes from the living room. — The guests are waiting for the dessert!
I hurriedly cut the cheesecake, decorate it with fresh raspberries. Every move is precise — I’m afraid of making a mistake. His words from the last family dinner echo in my head: “As usual, all thumbs. Can’t even cut a simple cake properly.”
I enter the living room with the tray. His entire family is at the table — mom, dad, sister with her husband. They smile, chat. Only my mother-in-law looks on with her usual squint.
— Here comes our little chef! — Andrei greets me with his trademark smirk. — I hope there are no surprises this time?
I set the plates, trying not to meet anyone’s gaze. Andrei is the first to taste. I hold my breath.
— Hmm… — he grimaces theatrically. — Do you seriously think this is edible? Where have you seen a cheesecake this dry?
— Sorry, I… — I begin, but he interrupts:
— Can’t you remember a simple recipe? How many times do I have to say — 160 degrees, no higher! Any fool can manage, but you…
Mother-in-law shakes her head:
— Andrei, don’t be angry. Masha tried…
— Exactly, she tried! — he pushes the plate away irritably. — It’s always mediocre. Sometimes I think — maybe I should have married someone who can at least cook?
Everyone laughs awkwardly. And I stand, gripping the tray with pale fingers. Inside, something breaks — quietly, but irreversibly.
— I’ll bring some coffee, — I squeeze out and run to the kitchen.
Hands trembling, I place cups on the tray. In my head, it pulses: “How much longer? How much more can I endure this?”
In the evening, when the guests have left, I stand long in front of the bedroom mirror. When did I become like this? A gray face, dull eyes, drooping shoulders. Where is that cheerful girl who once dreamed of great love?
Andrei’s voice comes from the living room — he’s making a call:
— Can you imagine, she messed up the dessert again. I don’t know how to teach her anymore — you might as well bang your head against the wall…
I stare at my reflection. Something dark and heavy grows in my chest. The ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly becomes deafening.
Enough. Never again.
That night I barely slept. For the first time in ten years of marriage, my mind was crystal clear. A plan formed itself — simple and frightening at the same time.
Tomorrow I’ll show him what it feels like to be humiliated. And to hell with the consequences.
— Masha, darling, have you lost your mind? — Andrei jerks in the bonds attached to the bedpost. — Untie me immediately!
I look at him, so helpless, and a strange calm spreads inside me. No more trembling hands, no breaking voice.
— You know, dear, I was thinking… — I slowly trace a finger down his cheek. — Ten years is enough time to learn to make a perfect cheesecake. But somehow you still find something to nitpick.
— Masha, stop this circus! — he tries to speak authoritatively, but fear slips through his voice. — Untie me immediately, or…
— Or what? — I lean closer. — Tell everyone what a worthless wife I am? Oh, wait… you do that already. At every opportunity.
I stand up and start pacing the room. Dawn is breaking outside, but the curtains are tightly drawn. Phones are off — nothing will interrupt our special conversation.
— Remember our wedding? — I stop by the dressing table. — That was the first time you humiliated me in public. ‘Clumsy bride can’t even throw a bouquet properly!’ Everyone laughed. And I smiled because I thought — you were just joking.
— Masha, I… — he stops under my gaze.
— Be quiet. It’s my turn to speak, — I take a comb, run it through my hair. — You know what’s funny? I really did try to get better. Took cooking lessons, read etiquette books, lost weight… But it was never enough for you.
Andrei falls silent. For the first time in all these years, he listens to me, really listens.
— And remember last year’s corporate party? When you told all your colleagues how clueless I am? ‘Imagine, she can’t even turn on an iron properly — always burns something!’
I walk to the window, slightly move the curtain. The city is waking up.
— Did you know I cried in the bathroom then? No, of course you didn’t. You were too busy — spinning tales about your worthless wife.
— Masha, I didn’t mean to… — his voice is muffled. — They were just jokes…
I turn sharply:
— Jokes?! And when you told my parents I can’t get pregnant because I’m ‘even incompetent at that’ — was that also a joke?
He pales. We both remember that moment all too well.
— Three miscarriages, Andrei. Three! And you… you turned my pain into another joke.
I sit on the edge of the bed. I pull out an album from the drawer of the bedside table.
— Look how happy I am here, — I show a photo from ten years ago. — Eyes bright, smile genuine. And here’s a photo from last New Year’s, — I turn the page. — See the difference? You slowly killed everything lively in me, day by day, year by year.
Andrei squirms in his bonds:
— Listen, I realize I was wrong. Let’s talk calmly…
— Oh, now you want to talk? — I smirk. — Where was this desire before? When I tried to explain how much your ‘jokes’ hurt me?
I stand up, go to the closet. I start methodically packing things.
— What are you doing? — panic in his voice.
— What I should have done a long time ago, — I neatly fold a blouse. — I’m leaving.
— You can’t! — he almost shouts. — What about me? What will people say?
— That, my dear, is no longer my problem, — I zip up the suitcase. — Let your mom teach you how to make the perfect cheesecake.
I take out my phone, type a message to his sister: ‘Come to Andrei’s in a couple of hours. The key is under the mat.’
— You realize I won’t let this go? — his voice trembles with rage. — I’ll tell everyone what a psycho you are!
I turn to him one last time:
— Go ahead. Just keep in mind — I have dozens of recordings of your ‘sweet jokes.’ And believe me, the public will be thrilled by your sense of humor.
His face contorts:
— You… you recorded everything?
— Did you think I just endured it? — I smile. — No, dear. I learned. Learned to be strong. And you know what? Thank you for that lesson.
I take the suitcase, head to the door. Behind me, I hear his screams, pleas, threats. But inside — absolute silence and peace.
In the hallway, I stop by the mirror. I look into the eyes of that other Masha — determined, free. She smiles at me, and I smile back.
Goodbye, dear. Thank you for everything.
The lock clicks behind me, and I take my first step into a new life. Inside, a wonderful feeling spreads — like a bird that has been caged for years finally spreading its wings.
And in my pocket, the phone buzzes — a message from Andrei’s sister: ‘I’m on my way. What happened?’
I don’t reply. Let her see for herself. Let everyone see.
I get into a taxi:
— To the airport, please.
The driver nods, and the car moves off. In the rearview mirror, I watch the silhouette of the house where I spent ten years of my life. Ten years of humiliation, pain, and fear.
But that’s in the past. Ahead — only freedom.
And you know what? I will definitely learn to make the perfect cheesecake. But now — only for myself.
A week later, I sit in a cozy cafe somewhere on the outskirts of Barcelona. In front of me — a cup of hot chocolate and the latest issue of the local newspaper, which I’m trying to decipher in Spanish.
The phone vibrates — another missed call from my mother-in-law through the internet messenger. I smile and turn off the sound. In these days, I’ve received, probably, a hundred messages and calls. From his parents, from mutual friends, even from neighbors.
— Another coffee? — the waiter brings the bill. And he speaks not in Spanish.
— No, gracias, — I reply with a smile, glad that I’ve at least learned these simple phrases.
I open my laptop. There’s an email from Andrei’s sister, Katia:
‘Masha, I understand your feelings, but what you did… Andrei is in a terrible state. He’s not even going to work. Maybe it’s worth talking?’
I close the email without replying. Instead, I open a document that I started writing on the plane. ‘The Story of a Marriage’ — a trite title, but what difference does it make?
‘I learned to smile when it hurts. Learned to swallow tears along with another dose of humiliation. Every morning I woke up thinking — maybe today will be different? Maybe today he will finally see a person in me, not an eternally incorrect, clumsy, unworthy wife…’
I write and write, not noticing how time flies. Words pour out — all that I’ve held inside for years.
The phone comes alive again — this time a message from a friend:
‘Turn on the First Channel online! Your husband is giving an interview there!’
I quickly find the broadcast. True enough — Andrei in the studio of some talk show. Gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes.
— I was blind, — his voice trembles. — Only when she left did I realize what a monster I was. Masha, if you’re watching this — forgive me. I’ve realized everything. Let’s start over…
I turn off the broadcast. Bitterly laughing — what a talented actor. I wonder how much they paid for this show?
A new message — from his mother:
‘Masha, darling, he’s really changed! Please, come back, give him a chance…’
And then — from Andrei himself:
‘I’ve signed up with a psychologist. I’m changing. I swear, everything will be different…’
I shake my head. Too late, dear. Too late.
In the evening, I walk along the promenade. The sea roars, the air smells of salt and freedom. I enter a small bakery where an elderly Spaniard, José, works. He already knows me — I come here every day to learn to make desserts.
‘Cheesecake Lover,’ — he smiles.
I nod. Tomorrow we’ll start with cheesecake. What irony.
I return to the apartment in the dark. It’s small but cozy — white walls, large windows, a view of the sea. The first home I chose myself.
I open my laptop — a new email from a publisher:
‘Dear Maria! We’re interested in your story. Ready to discuss publication…’
I smile. Who would have thought that my pain would turn into a book, which might help other women find the strength to start a new life.
Several months later, I enter my bakery — yes, now it’s mine. José agreed to sell me the business, seeing my passion for baking. Luckily, I had saved enough money over the years. Every morning I bake cheesecakes, croissants, tarts. And you know what? They are perfect.
On a table by the window — the latest issue of a Russian magazine. On the cover, a photo of Andrei with a new girlfriend and the headline: ‘A Story of Repentance: Prominent Businessman Talks About His Mistakes…’
I smirk and toss the magazine. It’s no longer my story.
The phone rings — an unknown number.
‘Maria? This is Elena from the support center. I read your book… Could you speak to our clients? Many women need your story.’
‘Of course,’ — I reply without hesitation. — When?’
In the evening, I sit on the balcony, watching the sunset. In the oven, another cheesecake bakes — this time with lavender and blueberries. My special recipe.
The phone pings — the last message from Andrei:
‘I still love you…’
I don’t reply. Instead, I open my email and write:
‘Dear Elena! Yes, I am ready to share my story. Because every woman deserves to be happy. Every woman deserves respect. And everyone should know: it’s never too late to start over…’
The air smells of freedom. And you know what? This freedom is far sweeter than any dessert.
I wrap myself in a blanket and watch the sun slowly sink into the sea. Who would have thought — me, always so proper and cautious, suddenly took a crazy step. Left everything and moved to a foreign country. You know what’s most surprising? For the first time in many years, I’m not replaying what Andrei would have said in my head. I don’t imagine his contemptuous smirk, don’t hear his biting comments. For once, I don’t care whether I’m living ‘correctly’ or not.
I would have gladly stayed in my own country, but I’m still afraid of him.
I take a sip of coffee and smile at my thoughts. Funny how it turns out — by losing my familiar life, I seem to have found my true self. The girl who once dreamed of opening her own bakery. Who loved to goof off and wasn’t afraid to seem silly.