The next day, closer to noon, Galina was standing by the stove making herself a light soup. She had planned to spend the day peacefully, without unnecessary conversations, but the doorbell shattered that quiet.
At first she thought it might be a neighbor asking for salt or a delivery courier, but when she peeked through the peephole, she saw a familiar face. Andrei.
He stood there with his usual cocky grin, holding an empty plastic container.
Galina opened the door but stayed on the threshold, not inviting him in.
“Oh, hi!” he said casually, as if nothing had happened. “I was just passing by. And… you know, I thought maybe you’re in a good mood, maybe you could spare something for the kids? You cook so well… Any chance you’ve got some meat left?”
She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him, holding the door slightly ajar.
“What’s this, a generosity crisis?” he continued with a smirk. “You’re not stingy, are you?”
“You know, Andrei,” Galina finally said, “was yesterday’s dinner not enough for you? And aren’t you ashamed to hide behind the kids? I’m not Sergey, you won’t melt my heart!”
“Well, come on, you’ve got plenty of food, more money than you know what to do with,” he repeated, practically quoting himself, “you won’t go broke.”
That phrase infuriated Galina. She wasn’t going to stay silent anymore.
“You’re wrong. I will go broke. But not because of food—because I let people like you treat my home as a free cafeteria.”
The smile slid off his face.
“What, you offended?” he tried to joke, but his voice had tensed.
“No, Andrei. I just stopped being convenient.”
Without another word, she shut the door right in his face.
Sergey, hearing the sound of the door, came out of the room.
“Who was that?”
“Your brother,” she replied calmly. “Came for seconds.”
Sergey frowned.
“And what did you tell him?”
“That we don’t have any more food for him.”
He was silent for a long time, then sat at the table and rubbed his face with his hands.
“Galya, you realize he’ll be upset now?”
“Let him. Better he be upset than me feeling like a maid in my own home every time. Explain that to your brother clearly.”
At that moment Galina realized she was no longer afraid of Andrei, nor of her husband’s displeasure. From now on, her house would run by her rules—period.
The next morning greeted her with the smell of coffee and the sound of a spoon clinking against a mug. Sergey was already in the kitchen. He sat at the table scrolling through his phone and, noticing her, pretended everything was fine. Galina greeted him curtly and silently poured herself some tea.
The events of the previous evening still played over in her head. Every phrase, every glance—like on repeat. And the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced: the conversation they started needed to continue. Without delay.
“Did you call Andrei today? Explain everything?” she asked, looking at the kettle.
“Yes,” he answered after a pause. “Told him it’s all fine, not to worry.”
Galina lifted her eyes.
“Fine? That’s what you call it?”
Sergey leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“Gal, I just don’t want fights. It’s family. So what if he took some meat? You can see they’re having a hard time.”
“I see only one thing,” she cut him off, “that it’s convenient for them to come and take, and it’s convenient for you to pretend that’s how it should be.”
Sergey fell silent. He clearly didn’t expect her to press so hard.
Galina stood up, walked to the sink, and set her cup down.
“From this day on,” she said quietly but distinctly, “there will be different rules in our house. If you want to help—help. But not at my expense and not by humiliating me.”
Sergey looked at her for several seconds, then lowered his eyes to his phone. It seemed like he was about to say something, but in the end he just shrugged.
That morning Galina felt different. For the first time in a long while, she felt not only resentment, but confidence. She was no longer going to bend to others’ expectations and endure things for the sake of someone else’s peace.
She grabbed her bag and keys.
“I’m going out,” she said on the way out.
“And dinner?” he asked.
“You’ll manage, the fridge is full of food,” she replied and closed the door behind her.
Outside it was fresh, a light breeze playing with her hair. She walked down the street, feeling she had taken the first step toward change. Maybe it would be painful. Maybe Sergey would resist. But she knew one thing: she could never go back to the way things were, where her opinion could be ignored.
Deep down, Galina understood—there were conversations ahead, decisions, maybe even a choice that would change their lives. But now, walking through the morning city, she felt stronger than ever.
She decided to stop by a shop to buy something for herself. Not for the house, not “for everyone,” but just for herself. While picking out a new handbag, she realized she hadn’t allowed herself such small joys in a long time. All her time had been spent caring for the house, her husband, and his relatives.
While she stood at the checkout, her phone vibrated in her bag. Sergey’s name flashed on the screen.
“Yes?” she answered, trying to keep her voice even.
“Galya… Andrei’s here,” there was noise and some laughter in the background. “Says he wanted to apologize…”
Her heart involuntarily clenched. That sounded far too unlikely. Andrei and apologies—those things didn’t mix.
“I’ll be home soon,” she said briefly and ended the call.
The walk home felt longer than usual. Possible scenarios spun in her head: either he came to smooth things over, or—again with some “request.”
When she entered the house, Andrei was sitting in the kitchen, leg casually thrown over his knee. In front of him on the table was a plate of sandwiches, and next to it—a bag, clearly not empty.
“Galya,” he drawled, “why’d you get so worked up yesterday? We’re all good… And anyway, your fridge is full, you won’t miss it.”
Galina silently took off her coat and set her bag in the corner.
“‘All good’ is when you ask before taking. When you take silently, it’s called something else.”
Andrei smirked, but a shadow of irritation flickered in his eyes.
“Listen, that’s how it’s always been in our family. What’s ours is everyone’s.”
“Maybe it was for you,” she replied calmly, “but here—this is my home, and the rules here are mine too.”
Sergey stood by the stove nervously twisting a mug in his hands. He clearly didn’t know whose side to take.
Andrei got up, grabbed his bag and tossed out:
“I see how you live, I’m not taking your last bite. Fine, live how you want. Just don’t complain later if you don’t get any help. Bad times happen to everyone. And you, brother, I’ll say this: you’ve spoiled your wife, she’s got too much temper, you’ll suffer.”
When the door closed behind him, Galina turned to Sergey.
“You heard everything. Next time, if you can’t support me, I’ll do it myself.”
Sergey slowly nodded. Something new flickered in his eyes—maybe understanding, maybe fear of losing her.
Galina took the cup of cold tea from the windowsill, poured it into the sink, and felt a wave of relief inside. This wasn’t the end of the conflict, only the beginning, but now she knew: her voice in this house would no longer be quiet.
In the evening, as dusk settled outside the windows, Sergey walked into the kitchen. He looked tired, but there was a kind of caution in his movements, as if he were walking on thin ice.
“Galyunya,” he began, sitting on a stool, “I understand that yesterday and today were… well, ugly. I just… I don’t know how to be tough with them. They’ll take offense.”
“Let them,” she interrupted. “I’m tired of being convenient.”
He ran a hand through his hair and looked away.
“And if it leads to us not talking anymore?”
“Then so be it. I’m not going to sacrifice myself so someone can take half the fridge and then call me stingy.”
Doubt flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he got up and quietly went to the living room. Galina stayed alone in the kitchen, listening to the sound of the TV turning on in the next room.
She understood that change wouldn’t happen overnight. Andrei and Lida would most likely try to go back to the old scheme. There might be talk behind her back, attempts to turn Sergey against her. But now she had a solid foundation inside—a readiness to defend her boundaries, even if it cost her the peace in her home.
A couple of days later, the phone rang—Lida’s name on the display. Galina looked at it but didn’t answer. Let her call three times—the conversation would happen only when Galina wanted it.
That evening she lit a soft light in the kitchen, took fresh pastries out of the oven, and for the first time in a long while felt the taste of food cooked for herself. Not to impress guests. Not to please her husband. Just because she wanted to.
Sergey came in, sat across from her, and without looking at her took a piece.
“Tasty,” he said quietly.
“I’m glad,” Galina replied, then added, looking straight into his eyes: “This is our home, Seryozha. And I’m the mistress here too.”
He nodded, and at that moment she noticed—there was no longer the old confusion in his gaze. Rather, there was an understanding that from now on everything would be different.
Inside her was a quiet feeling of victory. Small, but hers. And that victory was more important than any meat, container, or ingratiating words. She knew: the road to respect began right there, at their kitchen table.
Three months passed. Galina sat at the kitchen table with a cup of hot coffee, watching the snow melt on the roof of the neighboring house. The house was quiet—Sergey was still asleep. Much had changed over these months. Andrei and Lida never showed up again, though they called Sergey a couple of times. To Galina’s surprise, he didn’t invite them over, limiting himself to short “see you on the street” conversations.
At first it felt strange. The absence of constant tension, the anticipation of uninvited visits—as if not only the noise, but also the shadow that had always hung over their marriage had left the house. She realized she was living more easily.
And her relationship with Sergey… changed too. Not perfect—he still tried to smooth out rough edges, but now not at her expense. He asked her opinion more often, consulted with her before making decisions affecting them both.
One evening he admitted:
“You know, I thought that if I pleased everyone, they’d respect us more. But it turned out that’s the very thing that makes them stop respecting both me and you.”
Galina didn’t say anything then. She just smiled—not that strained smile she used to wear, but a genuine one.
Now, looking at the morning light streaming through the kitchen, she understood: it all started that evening when someone brazenly scooped up the meat into a container and said, “You won’t go broke.” And with her firm “no,” spoken for the first time in a long while.
Inside, there was a quiet, confident feeling: boundaries, once set, cannot be broken. And if she had to defend them again in the future—she was ready.