Valentina stood at the stove, mechanically stirring the vegetable stew. The kitchen smelled of braised eggplant and spices. Outside, the October day was slowly fading, painting the sky in pale lilac tones. From the living room came Sergei’s loud voice—once again he was telling someone over the phone what a “spineless” wife he had.
“Can you imagine, Maksim,” he laughed, “yesterday she tried again to prove something to me about the renovation. Says, let’s do the bedroom in different colors. I explained to her right away—it will be the way I DECIDE. She doesn’t understand a thing about design, how would she know what looks good and what doesn’t.”
Valya slowly lowered the ladle. Her hands began to tremble slightly. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. This had been going on for all three years of their marriage. At first it had been little jabs, then open contempt, and now—blatant humiliation at every opportunity.
“And her salary is a joke,” Sergei went on. “She works as a nurse at the clinic for peanuts. If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t be able to afford anything at all. Even this apartment we only bought thanks to my money. Her contribution is basically NOTHING.”
Valentina slowly turned toward the doorway. A strange feeling was rising in her chest—not the hurt she’d grown used to, but something new. Anger. Pure, cold anger.
“And you know what’s funniest?” Sergei burst out laughing. “She actually thinks her opinion matters! Yesterday she started arguing with me about our vacation. I quickly put her in her place—reminded her who the master of the house is.”
Valya stepped into the hallway. In the mirror she saw a pale face with dark circles under the eyes. When had she become so worn out? When had that cheerful girl disappeared, the one who three years ago got married full of hope?
“Sergei,” she called from the hallway.
“CAN’T YOU SEE I’m talking?” he barked, covering the receiver with his palm. “Go finish dinner and don’t get in the way!”
Valentina went back to the kitchen. She took plates out of the cupboard and began setting the table. Her hands no longer shook. Inside, it was as if a steel spring had formed.
Half an hour later Sergei finally condescended to appear in the kitchen. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the beginnings of a belly from his sedentary job as a sales manager. He flopped down on a chair without even looking at his wife.
“What’s for dinner?” he grumbled, pulling out his phone.
“Vegetable stew with chicken,” Valya replied, setting a plate in front of him.
“This crap again?” Sergei twisted his face. “How many times do I have to say—I like meat, real meat! Not these diet fantasies of yours.”
“Chicken is meat,” Valya calmly remarked.
“DON’T ARGUE with me!” Sergei slammed his fist on the table. “I’ve had enough of you! I work all day, come home—and there’s nothing decent to eat here either!”
Valentina silently sat down across from him. She began to eat, trying not to look at her husband. Sergei ostentatiously pushed his plate away, took some sausage out of the fridge and sliced it into thick pieces.
“That’s more like it,” he muttered. “You and your healthy eating… You just want to starve me, that’s what.”
The next morning Valentina woke up to the sound of the front door slamming. Sergei had gone to work, as usual, without saying goodbye. A note lay on the nightstand: “Pasha and Rita are coming tonight. Make something decent. And MAKE YOURSELF PRESENTABLE—you look like a ragamuffin.”
Valya crumpled the note and threw it in the trash. She got up and went to the mirror. She really did look bad—she’d lost weight, there were shadows under her eyes, her hair was dull. But the problem wasn’t her appearance. The problem was that in recent months she’d been living like a ghost in her own home.
At work, her colleagues noticed her depressed state.
“Valyush, what’s wrong?” the senior nurse, Elena Petrovna, asked kindly. “You’re not yourself lately.”
“Everything’s fine,” Valya answered automatically, preparing syringes for vaccinations.
“Girl, I can see it. Trouble at home?”
Valentina was about to wave it off again, but suddenly the words poured out on their own:
“Elena Petrovna, have you ever felt like you just… like you simply DON’T EXIST? Like you’re nothing, an empty spot?”
The older woman gave her a long, thoughtful look.
“It’s your husband, isn’t it? He mistreats you?”
“It’s not exactly that he beats me or anything… He just…” Valya faltered. “He despises me. For everything. For my job, my salary, my looks, my character. To him I’m just service staff. A free housemaid who also brings money into the family budget.”
“And you put up with this?”
“What else can I do? We just took out a mortgage on the apartment. Thirty years to pay it off…”
Elena Petrovna shook her head.
“Valya, remember this—no apartment is worth your dignity. NONE. You’re a young, pretty, smart woman. Why do you need a man who doesn’t value you?”
All day Valentina thought about those words. By evening, while she was preparing dinner for the guests, the doorbell rang. On the threshold stood Pavel, Sergei’s best friend, and his wife Margarita.
“Hi, Valya!” Pavel smiled. “How are you?”
“Fine, come in.”
Margarita gave her an appraising look.
“You don’t look so good. Are you sick?”
“No, just tired.”
“Well of course,” Rita snorted. “With a husband like yours. Sergei’s a real tyrant, everybody knows that.”
“Rita!” Pavel rebuked his wife.
“What? I’m just telling the truth. Valya, you’re a saint for putting up with him. If I were you, I’d have long ago…”
At that moment the front door slammed. Sergei walked into the apartment, taking off his jacket as he went.
“Oh, you’re already here! Pasha, Ritka, hey!” He slapped his friend on the shoulder and pecked Margarita on the cheek. He didn’t so much as glance at his wife. “Valya, bring the appetizers to the living room. And some beer from the fridge.”
Valentina silently went to the kitchen. From the living room she could hear Sergei starting his usual stories:
“Can you imagine, yesterday Valka started mouthing off again. Wanted to buy a new couch. I told her— we have a mortgage, what couch? And she bursts into tears! Drama queen, that’s what she is.”
“Sergei, maybe don’t talk about your wife like that?” Pavel said uncertainly.
“What’s the big deal? I’m just telling the truth. She’s like a child—‘I want it and that’s that!’ She doesn’t get that money has to be earned, not wasted on nonsense.”
Valentina froze with the tray in her hands. That strange cold anger was rising again inside her.
“By the way, do you know how much she makes?” Sergei went on. “Twenty-five thousand! It’s a JOKE! I earn more than that on a single contract. And she still tries to throw her weight around.”
“Sergei, that’s not nice,” Margarita cut in. “Valya is a good person, don’t talk about her like that.”
“Oh, come on! She’s used to it by now. Right, Valya?” he shouted toward the kitchen. “You’re our PATIENT one, aren’t you!”
Valentina set the tray down on the coffee table. She straightened up and looked her husband straight in the eye.
“Sergei, we need to talk.”
“We’ll talk later,” he waved her off. “Can’t you see, we have guests?”
“NO. Now.”
Everyone stared at her in surprise. Sergei frowned.
“Valya, just what do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m filing for divorce.”
Dead silence fell in the living room. Sergei slowly rose from the couch.
“What do you mean, DIVORCE?” he asked in disbelief. “We just took out a mortgage!”
“I mean exactly what I said. I can’t and won’t go on living with someone who despises me.”
Sergei laughed.
“Are you out of your mind? What divorce? Because I tell it like it is?”
“Because you humiliate me. Constantly. At every opportunity. To you I’m nothing.”
“Don’t make things up!” Sergei stepped right up to her. “I support you, feed you, clothe you. I bought this apartment! And you’re UNGRATEFUL!”
We bought the apartment,” Valya didn’t look away. “I paid the down payment. From my savings and my mother’s inheritance.”
“Your pennies?” Sergei snorted contemptuously. “That’s NOTHING compared to what I put in!”
“Maybe we should go…” Pavel said awkwardly.
“Sit!” Sergei barked. “Let everyone see what kind of WIFE I have! Putting on a scene out of nowhere!”
Valentina took a deep breath.
“Tomorrow I’m filing the papers at the registry office. We’ll sell the apartment and split the money fifty-fifty. We’ll pay off the mortgage.”
“You’re insane!” Sergei’s face flushed purple. “There will be no divorce! You’re MY wife and you’ll do what I say!”
“NO!” Valya cut him off sharply. “Not anymore. For three years I’ve put up with your rudeness, contempt, humiliation. ENOUGH.”
“And who would want you?” Sergei exploded. “You’re thirty, no real profession, no money! You’ll regret this for the rest of your life!”
Margarita couldn’t hold back:
“Sergei, stop it! This is your own fault—you drove her to this!”
“STAY OUT OF IT!” he yelled. “This is our family business!”
“It’s not ‘family’ anymore,” Valentina said coldly. “I’ll pack my things and go stay with a friend. I’ll leave the keys on the nightstand.”
She turned and went to the bedroom. Sergei rushed after her.
“STOP! Where do you think you’re going? Get back here! I ORDER you!”
Valya took a suitcase out of the wardrobe and began packing her things. Her hands didn’t shake. Inside she felt a strange emptiness and at the same time—relief.
“Valya, stop this nonsense!” Sergei tried to snatch the suitcase from her. “Quit this circus!”
“DON’T TOUCH me!” Valentina jerked the suitcase toward herself. “And don’t you dare lay a hand on me!”
“How dare you, you—” Sergei raised his hand, but Pavel managed to grab his arm in time.
“Sergei, calm down! You can’t do that!”
“Let go!” Sergei tore himself free. “She’s MY wife! I have the right!”
“Not anymore,” Valya snapped the suitcase shut. “You don’t have any rights over me anymore.”
A week passed. Valentina was living with her friend Olga, who had readily offered her a room in her two-bedroom apartment. Sergei called ten times a day, but Valya didn’t answer. He sent messages—first threatening, then pleading, then threatening again. She didn’t reply.
Everyone at work noticed the change—Valentina seemed to come back to life. The dark circles under her eyes disappeared, color returned to her cheeks, her eyes shone again.
“Good girl,” Elena Petrovna approved. “You did the right thing. Don’t let anyone walk all over you.”
During her lunch break Valentina was sitting in the staff room when the door burst open with a crash. Sergei was standing in the doorway—unshaven, shirt rumpled, eyes red from lack of sleep.
“So THAT’S where you are!” he shouted. “Get your things, we’re going home, NOW!”
“Sergei, leave,” Valya stood up from the table. “I have work to do.”
“She has work to do!” he mocked. “At her miserable little job! Enough playing games, get your stuff!”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. And I’m asking you to leave my workplace.”
“YOUR workplace?” Sergei stepped toward her. “Without me you’re nobody! Dust! A ZERO!”
Elena Petrovna appeared in the doorway, alarmed.
“What’s going on here? Young man, who are you?”
“I’m this ungrateful woman’s HUSBAND!” Sergei roared. “And I demand that she come with me right now!”
“You have no right to ‘demand’ anything,” the nurse said sternly. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call security.”
“Oh, go to hell!” Sergei roughly shoved the woman. “Stay out of this, old hag!”
Valentina flared up.
“DON’T YOU DARE touch her! GET OUT of here, right now!”
“Or what?” Sergei smirked. “What are you going to do to me, little grey mouse?”
And something exploded inside Valentina. All the anger, hurt, and humiliation she’d bottled up for three years burst out.
“I SAID—GET OUT!” she screamed. “GET OUT OF HERE! You’re a pathetic, small, miserable little man! The only way you can feel important is by humiliating others! You are NOBODY! Do you hear me? NOBODY!”
Sergei recoiled, stunned by her fury.
“For three years I’ve put up with your rudeness!” Valentina went on, advancing on him. “For three years I’ve listened to how worthless I am! But you know what? YOU’RE the worthless one! You can’t even fry an egg! Or iron a shirt! Without a woman you’re just a lump of meat whose only skill is stuffing his face!”
“Shut up!” Sergei tried to cut her off, but Valya couldn’t stop now.
“NO, you shut up! ‘Sales manager’—as if that’s such a big deal! You shove useless junk on people and think you’re the center of the universe! And me? I treat people! I help them! And I don’t care that my salary is small—what I do actually matters! And what do you do? Sit in an office, drink coffee, and yap on the phone!”
“I’ll…” Sergei clenched his fists.
“What?” Valya stepped right up to him. “Hit me? Go ahead! Just remember—I’ll write a statement, and you’ll end up with a criminal record! Let’s see how you like job-hunting with that!”
Sergei backed away. He had never seen his wife like this—eyes blazing, her whole posture radiating strength and resolve.
“You’re… you’re not the woman I thought you were,” he muttered.
“Exactly. I’m not the doormat you wiped your feet on. I’m a PERSON. And I demand respect. And you are incapable of respecting anyone—you can only be rude and cruel!”
In the corridor, other staff had gathered, drawn by the commotion. Two security guards cautiously peeked into the staff room.
“Comrade Valentina Andreevna, should we call the police?” one of them asked.
“No need,” Valya caught her breath. “This man is already leaving. FOR GOOD.”
Sergei staggered out of the clinic. His head was buzzing. He had never expected such resistance from his quiet, compliant wife. Where had that frightened woman gone, the one who silently endured all his outbursts?
At home he discovered that Valentina had taken all her things. She’d even taken her favorite mug—the one she used to drink tea from in the mornings. On the kitchen table lay an envelope. Inside was a petition for divorce and a lawsuit for division of property.
Sergei threw the papers on the floor. He pulled out his phone and started dialing number after number. First his mother-in-law—she hung up as soon as she heard his voice. Then Olga, his wife’s friend—she told him exactly where to go in very clear language. Even Pavel, his best friend, said it was his own fault and that he shouldn’t have treated a good woman like that.
A month passed. Sergei didn’t look nearly so self-assured anymore. Things at work went downhill—he couldn’t concentrate and was losing deals. At home, chaos reigned—dirty dishes, unwashed floors, a mountain of laundry. It turned out that without Valentina he was utterly incapable of managing daily life.
He now lived on convenience foods and takeout—he still hadn’t learned to cook. He sent his shirts to the dry cleaner—there was no one to iron them. The apartment they’d bought together now felt huge and empty.
His attempts to win his wife back led nowhere. Valentina was adamant—only through the courts, only an official divorce, only a legal division of property. No talks, no meetings.
And then something happened that Sergei hadn’t expected at all. At the next staff meeting, the boss announced staff reductions. The very first person on the layoff list was Sergei—his performance numbers had dropped, clients complained about his rudeness, and colleagues didn’t want to work with him.
“But how? Why?” Sergei asked, bewildered. “I’ve been with the company for so many years!”
“That’s exactly why we’re giving you two weeks to look for a new job,” the boss replied coldly. “We could have fired you for cause—for violating workplace rules. You were late three times just this past week, ruined an important deal, and were rude to a client. Consider yourself lucky.”
Sergei left the office in a daze. No job, no wife, a mortgage around his neck. His attempts to find a new position went nowhere—everywhere they asked for references, and of course he didn’t get any from his previous employer.
He had to sell the apartment urgently—he couldn’t afford the mortgage on his own. After paying off the loan and splitting the remainder with Valentina, he was left with just enough money to rent a small one-room apartment.
Three months later, Sergei got a job as an ordinary salesperson in an electronics store. His salary was that same “ridiculous” twenty-five thousand he used to mock. A young female manager bossed him around like a schoolboy, made him wash floors and wipe display cases.
One evening, on his way home from work, he saw Valentina. She was coming out of a café with some man—a tall, intelligent-looking guy in glasses. They were talking animatedly; Valya laughed. She looked wonderful—fresh, prettier, in a new coat.
Sergei wanted to go over, but his feet seemed rooted to the pavement. Valentina noticed him, and for a second their eyes met. There was no anger or resentment in her gaze—only indifference. She turned away and got into the car with her companion.
Sergei stayed standing at the bus stop, watching the taillights disappear. A fine autumn drizzle began to fall. It was three bus stops to his rented apartment. In his pocket his phone chirped pathetically—a text from the bank about a past-due payment on his credit card.
He trudged toward the stop, hunching his shoulders against the rain. He suddenly remembered how a year earlier he’d said to Pavel, “Valka will be lost without me, she can’t do anything.”
Turned out, he was the one who was lost without her.
At home—in the shabby rental with peeling wallpaper—Sergei collapsed onto the sagging couch. In the fridge there was a lonely bottle of kefir and a bag of dumplings. On the table loomed a mountain of dirty mugs. Somewhere behind the wall, the neighbors were shouting.
He took out his phone and opened the gallery. In the photo, Valentina was smiling—a picture from two years ago, from their trip to the sea. Back then he hadn’t yet considered her “nobody,” hadn’t humiliated her at every opportunity. Or had he already, and just hid it better? Sergei himself no longer remembered when he’d started treating his wife like a servant.
Outside, the night city hummed. Somewhere out there, in a cozy apartment at her friend’s place, Valentina was starting a new life. Without humiliation, without contempt, without constant reproaches. And he was left alone—with his arrogance, his overblown ego, and his emptiness.
His phone vibrated—a message from a former colleague: “Heard your ex got married. To that doctor from the private clinic. They say he treats her like a queen.”
Sergei dropped the phone. That was it. The end. He had finally and completely lost the one woman who had once loved him.