Vera was sitting on the bed, sorting through summer dresses. The tickets lay on the nightstand — the train to Sochi was tomorrow morning. A week of planning, choosing a hotel, studying routes. The first vacation in three years when she could just be herself. Not a wife, not a hostess, not the organizer of family events. Just Vera.
“What are the plans for tomorrow?” her husband asked, passing by the bedroom.
“The train at seven in the morning,” Vera reminded him, packing a swimsuit into her suitcase. “I already told you.”
“Oh, right, your trip,” Oleg nodded absentmindedly. “Have fun there.”
“Have fun.” As if it were just a walk in the park, not a long-awaited rest. Vera said nothing. Fifteen years of marriage had taught her not to expect enthusiasm from her husband about her plans.
The last few months had been especially hard. Work, home, endless family duties. Oleg was used to his wife organizing everything, making all the decisions, remembering everything. His cousin’s birthday — Vera bought the gift. Meeting friends — Vera cooked dinner. Mother-in-law’s illness — Vera went to the hospital.
When was the last time her husband asked how she felt? When did he ask how work was going? She couldn’t remember. Oleg lived in his own world, where his wife was part of the furniture. Convenient, functional, always ready to be used.
“I’m getting up early tomorrow,” Vera said, closing her suitcase. “I’ll try not to wake you.”
“Uh-huh,” the husband replied from the next room.
Vera smiled. Finally. Sea, sun, silence. No one to feed, no one to clean up after, nothing to plan. Just a week for herself.
In the morning, she woke up to the alarm. Oleg was asleep, turned toward the wall. Vera silently got ready, took her suitcase, and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” her husband’s voice made her stop at the door.
“On vacation,” Vera said in surprise. “I told you.”
Oleg sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes. He looked confused, as if just waking from a nightmare.
“Oh, right. Your trip,” the husband mumbled. “Hey, when will you be back?”
“In a week. Sunday evening.”
“Got it,” Oleg got up and walked to the window. “Who’s going to cook?”
Vera froze. Cook? Her husband was thirty-eight years old, but the question sounded serious.
“Oleg, you can cook,” the wife reminded him. “And the stores haven’t disappeared.”
“I just can’t do it properly,” the husband shrugged. “Only fried eggs.”
“You’ll learn in a week,” Vera said, reaching for the door handle.
“Wait,” Oleg came closer. “Maybe you should postpone the trip? It’s a bit inconvenient.”
“Inconvenient?” Vera turned. “In what way?”
“Well, the house without a hostess… I work late, no time to cook…”
“Oleg, I bought the tickets a week ago. Booked the hotel. You didn’t object.”
“I didn’t object,” the husband agreed. “But now I’m thinking… Maybe another time?”
Vera put the suitcase down on the floor. What was happening? Just yesterday Oleg had reacted calmly to her plans, and today he was asking to postpone the trip?
“When another time?” the wife asked. “I took vacation specifically for these dates.”
“Well…” the husband hesitated. “When it’s more convenient.”
“Convenient for whom?”
“For everyone,” Oleg answered vaguely.
Vera checked the clock. Forty minutes before the train, and it took half an hour to get to the station.
“I have to go,” the wife said and picked up her suitcase again.
“Wait,” Oleg blocked her way. “I’m serious. Maybe we should really postpone?”
“No,” Vera answered firmly. “We won’t postpone.”
The husband frowned. Apparently, he expected a different reaction.
“Alright then,” Oleg said with dissatisfaction. “Go.”
Vera nodded and left the apartment. In the taxi, she thought about the strange conversation. Why did her husband suddenly get anxious? Before, her absence hadn’t caused any problems. Maybe he was tired of handling the household alone? But a week wasn’t a month. He could manage.
The train left exactly on time. Vera settled by the window and took out a book. Finally, the vacation was starting. No house chores, no calls from the mother-in-law, no reminders about family duties.
Three days in Sochi flew by unnoticed. The sea, walks, cafes on the promenade. Vera didn’t even turn on her phone — she wanted to completely disconnect from her usual life. On Wednesday evening, she decided to check her messages.
Fifteen missed calls from her husband. The first ones were neutral — how are you, how’s the weather. Then the tone changed.
“Vera, I need to talk to you. Call me urgently.”
“Why aren’t you answering? Something important happened.”
“Vera, it’s serious. Call immediately!”
The last message came an hour ago: “If you don’t call by evening, I’ll make decisions without you.”
Vera dialed her husband’s number. Oleg answered on the first ring.
“Finally!” irritation in his voice. “Where have you been?”
“Resting,” the wife answered calmly. “You know that.”
“Resting?” the husband repeated sarcastically. “And the family matters don’t concern you?”
“What matters?” Vera got cautious.
“Mom’s anniversary on Saturday,” Oleg announced. “Seventy years. All the relatives will gather.”
Vera closed her eyes. Of course. The mother-in-law was turning seventy, and her husband only just remembered.
“Oleg, couldn’t you remember earlier?” the wife asked tiredly.
“I thought you remembered,” the husband answered. “You always plan everything.”
“I’m on vacation,” Vera reminded him. “Until Sunday.”
“Yes, but mom is expecting a celebration,” Oleg insisted. “It’s important for her that everything is beautifully organized.”
“Then organize it yourself.”
“I don’t know how!” the husband almost shouted. “You know I’m clueless about this!”
Vera was silent. Fifteen years ago, when they got married, Oleg was also “clueless” about housework. Then clueless about children’s matters, though they never had kids. Then clueless about family celebrations, meetings with friends, gifts for relatives. About everything that required attention and effort.
“Vera, are you listening?” the husband called.
“I’m listening.”
“At our dacha, we’ll celebrate mom’s anniversary. You handle cooking and welcoming guests,” Oleg said in a tone that allowed no objections.
Vera sat on the edge of the bed in the hotel room. Outside the window, the sea was noisy, bathing suits were drying on the balcony. Tomorrow she planned a trip to the dendrarium, the day after — a mountain hike.
“Oleg, I’ll only be back Sunday evening,” the wife said slowly.
“Then come back Friday,” the husband cut in. “There’s little time to prepare.”
“I can’t come back Friday.”
“Why can’t you?” his voice grew harsh. “What’s stopping you?”
“The tickets,” Vera answered. “Hotel paid. Plans for tomorrow and the day after.”
“Plans?” Oleg snorted. “What plans are more important than family?”
Family. Her husband’s favorite word when he needed to make his wife do whatever was convenient for him. The family for which Vera gave up meeting friends. The family because of which she didn’t develop her career. The family that consisted of the husband and his mother, while the wife was just an accessory.
“Oleg, your mother is your responsibility,” Vera said quietly.
“What?” the husband clearly didn’t expect that answer.
“Organize the celebration yourself. Or ask someone to help.”
“Who?” Oleg got confused. “Mom is expecting it from you!”
“Why from me?”
“Because you…” the husband hesitated. “Because you’re the wife! Your duty!”
Duty. Another word from her husband’s lexicon. Duty to cook, clean, remember birthdays, buy gifts, smile at relatives.
“I’ll be on the train Saturday,” Vera said calmly. “Won’t arrive until late Sunday evening.”
“Are you serious?” Oleg’s voice became piercing. “Mom will be upset!”
“Then make sure she’s not.”
“I don’t know how to organize a celebration!” the husband almost shouted.
“You’ll learn,” Vera replied and hung up the phone.
Her hands trembled. For the first time in years of marriage, she openly refused her husband’s demand. A feeling both frightening and liberating.
The phone rang again. Oleg. Vera declined the call. Then another. And another. Finally, she turned on silent mode and put the phone in her bag.
The remaining days of vacation passed in a strange state. On one hand — sea, sun, long-awaited freedom. On the other — anxious thoughts about what awaited her at home. Oleg surely hadn’t forgiven the “betrayal.” The mother-in-law would be unhappy, too.
On Sunday morning, packing up, Vera checked her phone. Forty-three missed calls from her husband. Two messages from her mother-in-law: “Where are you? Oleg says you won’t come to my birthday. Is it true?” and “Very upset by your behavior. Didn’t expect this.”
Vera put the phone in her bag and went down to the sea. One last time to sit by the shore, listen to the waves. Tomorrow — normal life, work, house chores. And explanations with her husband.
The train left in the evening. In her compartment, Vera finally turned on her phone and read all the messages. Oleg wrote every two hours: from reproaches and threats to attempts to evoke pity.
“You’re selfish. Only think about yourself.”
“Mom is crying. Are you happy now?”
“Had to cancel the celebration. Everyone is asking where the wife is.”
“I don’t understand what happened to you. You used to be normal.”
Normal. Meaning convenient. Compliant. Ready at any moment to drop her own affairs for others’ needs.
The last message came an hour ago: “We will have a serious talk when you return. Your behavior is unacceptable.”
Unacceptable. The husband spoke to his wife like a boss to a subordinate. And expected her to apologize for disobedience.
The train rushed through the summer night. Vera looked out the window at the passing lights and thought about what had changed these past few days. Not outwardly — inside. For the first time in many years, she felt like a separate person, not an appendage to someone else’s life.
Tomorrow a talk with her husband awaited. Oleg would surely demand explanations, reproach irresponsibility, remind her of her duties as a wife. What could she answer? That she was tired of being convenient? That sometimes she wanted to live for herself?
The train approached the city. Vera packed her things and prepared to face reality.
At home, her husband waited in the hallway. He stood with his arms crossed, his face stone-like. Vera set her suitcase by the door, took off her summer sandals.
“Well, satisfied?” Oleg’s first words sounded like an accusation.
“Very,” the wife answered calmly, walking to the bathroom to wash her face.
“The celebration is ruined,” the husband followed her. “Mom is in tears. Everyone was asking where you were.”
Vera lathered her hands with soap and looked at herself in the mirror. Tanned face, rested eyes. She looked better than she had in months.
“What did you say?” the wife asked.
“What’s there to say?” Oleg widened his eyes. “That the wife abandoned the family for a vacation?”
“More or less,” Vera agreed, drying her face with a towel.
The husband froze. Apparently expecting excuses, tears, pleas for forgiveness. Not this reaction.
“Are you serious?” Oleg muttered. “Don’t you understand what you’ve done?”
Vera went to the bedroom and began unpacking her suitcase. The husband stood in the doorway, watching.
“Mom is offended now,” Oleg continued. “Says you’ve changed. Became selfish.”
“Maybe,” the wife hung dresses in the closet. “Or just stopped being convenient.”
“Convenient?” the mother-in-law didn’t understand.
“Compliant. Ready to drop her own affairs at any moment for others’ needs.”
Galina Mikhailovna got up and paced the room. Her face was stern, dissatisfied.
“So you’re not going to apologize?” the mother-in-law asked.
“For what?” Vera answered calmly.
“For ruining the celebration! For upsetting the family!”
“No,” Vera said calmly. “I’m not going to.”
The mother-in-law stopped and stared at her daughter-in-law.
“Then we have nothing to talk about,” Galina Mikhailovna said coldly. “But remember — the family remembers.”
“I will,” Vera nodded.
The mother-in-law gathered her things and left, slamming the door. Vera was left alone in the quiet apartment.
In the evening, Oleg returned. Moody, displeased.
“Mom told me about the conversation,” the husband said. “You didn’t even apologize.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Vera repeated.
“How is there nothing?” Oleg was outraged. “You let the whole family down!”
“I chose myself,” the wife said quietly. “For the first time in fifteen years.”
The husband looked at his wife for a long moment. Something like understanding flashed in his eyes.
“So, everything will be different now?” Oleg asked.
“Yes,” Vera answered. “Different.”
Oleg nodded and went to the bedroom. Vera stayed in the kitchen, brewing evening tea. Outside, the sun was setting, painting the sky pink. Somewhere far away, the sea she missed was splashing.
But inside, there was no longer emptiness. For the first time in many years, Vera felt whole. Not part of someone else’s life, but an independent person. A person who has the right to say “no.” The right to choose. The right to live for herself.