— Dry again! Where did you even learn to cook? — Oleg pushed the plate away and grimaced. — My mom’s is always juicy! You could at least go over there once and see how you’re supposed to cook!
Kristina slowly set her fork down and looked at her husband. He was scrutinizing dinner with a sour face — chicken breast with rice and vegetables, which she’d spent nearly an hour cooking after work.
— I went to see Aleksandra Matveyevna last time… Remember how that ended? — Kristina tried to keep her voice calm. — She spent two hours explaining that I even cut the vegetables for salad wrong!
— So what? At least she could have taught you something! — Oleg grabbed his phone and started scrolling the newsfeed, ostentatiously ignoring the food. — You’re an adult, you should be able to take criticism!
Kristina drew a deep breath. This conversation had repeated almost every evening for the last six months. Oleg would come back from his mother’s and immediately start comparing their apartment, the food, the tidiness — nothing was ever like at Aleksandra Matveyevna’s.
— How about we skip the “criticism” for today? — she tried a smile. — Why don’t you tell me how your day went?
— Fine, — Oleg grunted. — But for some reason Mom’s place is always cleaner than ours! Look at this windowsill! — he ran a finger along the edge. — Dust! And my mom works full-time, not like you with your three-quarters schedule, and everything still shines at her place!
Kristina clenched her teeth. Her hours had been cut because of the crisis, and every day after work she freelanced so their household budget wouldn’t shrink. Oleg knew this perfectly well.
— I wiped the dust the day before yesterday! — she stood up and started clearing the table. — And anyway, your mom’s apartment is half the size of ours! It’s easier to keep spotless!
— More excuses! — Oleg rolled his eyes. — Just admit you’re not as good a homemaker as my mother! It’s no big deal, but at least try!
Kristina barely kept herself from throwing the plate at his head. Instead, she carefully set the dishes in the sink and turned to him.
— We’ve lived together for four years! In all that time your mother has not praised a single thing I’ve done! It’s always just remarks and advice! Doesn’t that strike you as odd?
— What is there to praise? — Oleg shrugged. — When there’s something to praise, she’ll praise it! Mom’s fair; she’s not going to hand out compliments for nothing!
He got up from the table and headed to the bathroom. Kristina followed him with her eyes. When they met six years ago, Oleg had been completely different — attentive, caring, he appreciated her. For the first years of their relationship, Aleksandra Matveyevna kept her distance, but later, especially after the wedding, she gradually began interfering in every aspect of their lives.
At first it was harmless advice. Then came Oleg’s regular visits to his mother after work. Now he stopped by her place every day, and when he came home he brought a fresh portion of criticism.
Kristina turned off the water and dried her hands. A bag of turnovers lay on the table — Oleg had brought them from his mother. “In case your dinner is as tasteless as usual,” he had passed along his mother’s words as he walked into the apartment.
She picked up a turnover and took a bite. Delicious, no arguing that. Aleksandra Matveyevna really did cook excellently. But it wasn’t about culinary skills. It was about how, with each passing day, Kristina felt more and more like a stranger in her own home. As if she were competing with an invisible opponent she could never beat to begin with.
Oleg came out of the bathroom with wet hair.
— By the way, don’t forget about next Sunday! — he said, toweling his head. — Mom’s expecting us for lunch! And please wear something more decent! Last time you showed up in those ripped jeans, and Mom thinks a woman should look feminine! Put on a dress or something…
Kristina felt a swell of irritation rise inside her. But she just nodded. Not now. She was too tired for another fight.
— All right, — she answered quietly, looking out at the darkening sky.
Satisfied with her pliancy, Oleg plopped down in front of the TV. Kristina stood by the window for a long time, thinking how much longer she could endure this slow destruction of her self-respect.
Saturday morning greeted Kristina with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. She smiled — Oleg had made breakfast himself. Moments like these reminded her why she’d fallen in love with him once.
— Good morning! — she walked into the kitchen, trying not to notice the crumbs scattered on the table and the coffee stains on the countertop.
— Hey, — Oleg was drinking coffee with his eyes buried in his phone. — I already ate! I left you some eggs!
Kristina glanced at the skillet: the eggs looked overcooked, the edges curled up. But she nodded gratefully.
— Thanks, honey! You didn’t forget it’s our wedding anniversary today, did you?
Oleg tore his gaze from the phone and frowned.
— Oh, right! Saturday… I marked it somewhere in the calendar… Four years! Listen, I need to stop by Mom’s today! I have to assemble a wardrobe for her!
— On our anniversary? — Kristina froze with her cup halfway up. — We agreed we’d go to that restaurant where you proposed!
— I’ll be quick, there and back! — Oleg waved it off. — Two hours, tops! We’ll make it to the restaurant in the evening!
Kristina turned to the window without a word. She already knew that “two hours” would turn into “all night.” Aleksandra Matveyevna would surely feed her son lunch, then show him family albums, and Oleg would come home closer to evening — full and content.
— I ironed your shirt! — she said at last. — The new blue one!
— Great! — Oleg finished his coffee and stood up. — I’m off! I’ll call when I’m free!
The door slammed, and Kristina was left alone. She tidied the kitchen unhurriedly, put on a new dress she’d bought especially for today, did light makeup. She looked at the clock — half past twelve. Oleg had left three hours ago.
She called the restaurant and confirmed their seven o’clock reservation. She prepared a small gift for her husband — a leather bracelet he’d recently had his eye on. Then she sat on the couch and waited.
At five o’clock her phone pinged with a message: “Running late. Mom’s not feeling well, her blood pressure. I’ll stay with her until evening.”
Kristina reread the message several times. They’d skipped the last anniversary too — that time Aleksandra Matveyevna’s “back started to hurt.” And before that, a “burst pipe.” Every time something happened precisely on days that mattered to Kristina.
She dialed her husband’s number. It rang, but he didn’t pick up. Kristina canceled the restaurant reservation, changed into home clothes, and poured herself a glass of wine.
Oleg came back a little after nine-thirty, without the usual bag of food from his mom’s, but with that telltale smell of her disgusting cabbage pie.
— How’s your mom? — Kristina asked, not getting up from the couch.
— Better now! — Oleg tossed his keys onto the stand. — The pressure’s stabilized! I bought her some pills…
— Funny, I called you all evening…
— My phone died! — Oleg shrugged and flopped into an armchair. — So what’s for dinner?
Kristina slowly set her glass down on the side table.
— Nothing! Dinner was supposed to be at the restaurant! It’s our wedding anniversary today, remember?
— I told you Mom wasn’t feeling well! — Oleg frowned. — What was I supposed to do? Leave her alone with high blood pressure?
— Your mother “doesn’t feel well” every time we have something important! — Kristina tried to keep her voice even. — Doesn’t that seem strange to you?
— Are you implying she’s faking it? — Oleg raised his voice. — My mother is getting on in years and she has health problems!
— Your mother is fifty-six and races around like a torpedo every day! I saw her almost outrun a bus trying to catch it! — Kristina shot back. — And somehow her blood pressure spikes only when we plan something for the two of us!
— Don’t you start! — Oleg stood and began pacing. — Mom’s always treated you well, and you’re constantly suspicious of her!
Kristina gave a bitter smirk.
— Treated me well? In four years she’s never once called me by name! Always “her,” “your wife,” or “that girl”! And she constantly criticizes everything I do.
— She just wants to help you get better! — Oleg slammed his fist on the table. — It’s not her fault you can’t take advice!
— Advice? — Kristina stood, looking him straight in the eye. — Those aren’t advice, Oleg! That’s constant humiliation! And you indulge her in everything!
— I’m not in the mood to listen to this! I’m going out for some air! — he said, snatching his jacket off the hall hook.
He left, slamming the door. Kristina remained alone, staring at the gift box with the bracelet. After a moment’s thought, she put it away in a desk drawer. Maybe it would come in handy next year. If this marriage survived to the next anniversary…
Sunday turned out sunny and unexpectedly warm for mid-autumn. Kristina woke early and found Oleg already up — his voice drifted from the kitchen; he was humming something.
— Want breakfast? — he asked when his wife walked in. The irritation from yesterday was gone from his voice, which gave Kristina a bit of hope.
— Yes, I’d love some, — she sat at the table. — Hey, maybe we could go for a walk today? The weather’s wonderful, and it’s been ages since we went anywhere together!
Oleg hesitated, shifting from foot to foot.
— Actually, I promised Mom I’d help with the bathroom renovation! Need to relay the tiles!
Kristina froze with her mug halfway up.
— Again? — she said softly. — We agreed to spend this day off together! After yesterday…
— Kris, why are you starting up again? — Oleg waved a hand irritably. — I promised Mom a week ago! She lives alone — who else should help her?
— Your mom has a younger brother who lives three blocks away! — Kristina set down her untouched tea. — And a cousin and her husband in the same building! But somehow you’re the only one who has to help!
— Are you seriously jealous of my own mother now? — Oleg stared at his wife in disbelief. — That’s insane! Parents are sacred — I don’t get how you don’t get that!
Kristina stayed silent. Any attempt to argue ended with her being labeled a selfish person who doesn’t respect family values.
— Fine, go help, — she said at last. — What time will you be back?
— Don’t know! — Oleg was already putting on his jacket. — Maybe by dinner, maybe later! You know tile work takes time!
— But tomorrow’s a workday…
— Kris, stop it! — he yanked the zipper up, irritated. — I’m not a child; I’ll manage!
The door slammed, and Kristina was left alone in an apartment that with every day felt less like their home.
She didn’t expect Oleg for dinner — and she was right. He showed up close to eleven at night, carrying a big bag and smelling of “Mom’s cutlets.”
— Hi! — he looked pleased. — I brought you food! Mom made enough to last a week!
Kristina looked at the bag. Before, she would have thanked him, put the food in the fridge, and kept quiet. But something inside her clicked.
— I’ve already had dinner, — she said. — And I’ve prepped everything for tomorrow too!
— Your loss! — Oleg took out a container. — Look at these cutlets! Not like yours — dry as shoe leather!
— What did you just say? — Kristina asked quietly.
— That Mom’s cutlets come out better! — Oleg repeated carelessly. — She runs the meat through the grinder three times and adds pork fat, that’s why they’re so juicy! And you…
— Enough! — Kristina stood abruptly. — I’m not going to listen to this anymore! Every single day you come home and tell me how wonderful your mother is and how useless your wife is! I’m sick of it!
— What’s wrong with you? — Oleg was taken aback. — I’m just stating facts! Mom really does cook better, keeps house better, and generally…
— And generally you should have married her! — Kristina shouted.
— What?! — Oleg didn’t catch it at first.
— Then go live with your mother already, since you’ve got no mind of your own, and I’d rather live alone than with such a mama’s boy!
His face flushed crimson with rage.
— What did you say? Say it again!
— You heard me! — Kristina stared straight at him, feeling the long-suppressed anger roaring inside. — I won’t keep competing with your mother for a place in your life! This is my apartment, my life, and I won’t let the two of you turn me into a doormat!
— Oh yeah? — Oleg grabbed the candy dish off the table. — So now it’s your apartment? But when I pay for utilities and repairs — then it’s ours? How convenient!
— Put the dish down, — Kristina said coldly. — And yes, it’s my apartment! I inherited it from my grandmother! And we split the utilities fifty-fifty, in case you forgot! But you and your mother apparently already consider it yours! Based on what, exactly?
— You… you… — Oleg was sputtering with indignation. — How dare you talk about my mother like that? She only ever wanted to help you!
He hurled the dish at the wall. It shattered, fragments scattering across the kitchen.
— Help? — Kristina gave a bitter smile. — She wanted to control me through you! And she succeeded!
Oleg stared at the shards with a childlike bewilderment, as if he hadn’t been the one to throw it. Then he looked back at Kristina.
— See what you’ve driven me to? I’ve never done anything like this!
— Yes, before you’d just run off to your mommy! — Kristina folded her arms. — And now you’re going to wreck the place?
Her icy calm seemed to enrage Oleg even more. He grabbed the sugar bowl from the table and, shouting,
— My mother… She’s the only woman in the world who means more than anything to me! Her! Not you! And you’re forcing me to choose between you?
— No, Oleg! — Kristina shook her head. — You already made your choice! A long time ago, and unambiguously!
Oleg hurled the sugar bowl to the floor.
— And what now? — he spread his arms. — You going to file for divorce? Because I go help my mother?
— Not because of that, — Kristina stepped around the shards. — Because you don’t respect me! You never have! My feelings, my boundaries, my work — none of it!
While Kristina went to get a broom and dustpan so she wouldn’t cut herself on the broken dish and sugar bowl, to her surprise Oleg suddenly rushed into the living room and overturned the coffee table. Everything he saw, he began smashing mercilessly.
— What are you doing?! — Kristina recoiled.
— This! — Oleg moved to the shelf with her books. — If you don’t care about what’s dear to me, I can do the same!
He swept the first book to the floor — the cover tore off the pages. Kristina lunged at him, trying to stop him.
— Stop it right now!
But Oleg was already on a rampage. He methodically knocked one book after another off the shelf, laughing loudly whenever Kristina tried to stop him.
— You’re insane! — she tried to pull him away from the shelf, but he just shoved her aside.
— I like it! — he kept destroying things. — Maybe now you’ll understand how it feels when someone destroys what matters to you!
Kristina looked around in panic. Smashed figurines, shards of glass, overturned furniture, ripped books — their apartment was turning into a battlefield. Oleg headed toward her desk where her laptop stood.
— Touch it and you’ll regret it! — she warned.
— And what will you do? — he sneered, reaching for the computer.
Kristina didn’t remember how she grabbed the frying pan left on the trivet by the stove. She remembered only the sound of the blow and the body collapsing to the floor. And then came silence — deafening, piercing silence.
Oleg lay on the floor, breathing raggedly. Unconscious, but alive. Kristina slowly lowered the frying pan and leaned against the wall, taking in the chaos around her.
Her hand reached for her phone by itself. But she didn’t call an ambulance or the police. Instead, she opened the closet and pulled out a large travel bag.
Morning greeted Oleg with a headache and a spinning room. He lay on the floor, a pillow under his head, a glass of water and some pills beside him. Kristina sat across from him in an armchair, calm and composed.
— What… — he tried to sit up, but the room spun even more.
— Lie still, — she said evenly. — You probably have a concussion.
Oleg forced his eyes to focus on his wife.
— You… You hit me!
— And you trashed our apartment! — Kristina nodded toward a suitcase by the door. — Your things are packed. Leave the keys on the stand.
— What?! — Oleg finally managed to sit up. — You’re kicking me out?!
— Yes, — she answered simply. — I will no longer live with someone who doesn’t respect me and lets his mother dictate how we should live.
— But you hit me! — he clutched the back of his head. — That’s domestic violence! I can file a report…
— Go ahead, — Kristina cut him off. — I’ll file one too about how you wrecked the apartment! And I think the neighbors will confirm who started it! Everyone heard it!
Oleg fell silent, looking around the apartment. The shards had been swept up, the furniture set back, but the traces of destruction still caught the eye.
— You can’t do this! — he said at last. — We’re a family!
— We were a family, — Kristina corrected him. — Until your mother became the center of our family life.
She stood and walked to the door.
— You’ve got an hour. Then I’m changing the locks.
— Kris… — he made one last attempt. — Let’s talk! I know I was wrong! We can start over…
— No, — Kristina snapped. — We’ve been talking for four years! Nothing’s changed! Take your things and go to the one who’s always been first for you!
Oleg staggered to his feet. He looked at his wife as if seeing her for the first time.
— You’ll come crawling back to me, just you wait! — he muttered, zipping his jacket.
— I doubt it, — Kristina opened the door, waited for the disgruntled Oleg to step over the threshold, and slammed it shut just as he turned to say something else.
All that remained was to file for divorce, split the cars, and forget about that half-baked family as if it were a bad dream…