Does my opinion matter to anyone?” Nika quietly placed the dustpan back on the shelf and faced her husband, the hurt clear in her voice.
“I’m a person too, Lev. I’m exhausted.”
Lev’s face flushed with frustration. “You need to remember your role—you’re a wife, not a guest! Family duties come first.”
Nika tapped her fingers on the kitchen counter, eyes fixed on the kettle as it began to steam. The Sunday morning air was unusually still, as if the world paused to offer her a moment of calm. Soft sunlight filtered through sheer curtains barely fluttering in the gentle breeze, illuminating every corner, every speck of dust. She stood there, embracing a rare silence in her otherwise chaotic life.
She recalled when, five years ago, she and Lev first moved into this apartment—walls bare and the furnishings starkly simple. Now, every nook radiated warmth and comfort. The battles over wallpaper choices, curtain colors, and that perfect sofa seemed distant memories.
“Morning,” Lev murmured as he entered the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What’s on the menu?”
“Omelette with mushrooms and tomatoes,” Nika replied, pulling ingredients from the fridge with a faint smile. “Fresh coffee, too.”
Lev slipped his arms around her from behind.
“You really run this household, don’t you?” he teased, though a shadow crossed his voice—a warning.
“What’s wrong?” Nika asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Nothing much,” he said, averting his gaze. “Mom and Kristina plan to visit today—just for lunch.”
A sigh escaped Nika. When Lev’s family said “just a little while,” it usually meant hours. She clenched her fists, swallowing rising anxiety.
“What time will they arrive?” she asked, tension thick in her tone.
“Around one or two. Kristina’s bringing the kids, too.”
She counted silently to ten. The twins—Kristina’s six-year-old boys—were whirlwinds of chaos, leaving destruction in their wake.
“Alright,” Nika said, grabbing a frying pan and switching on the stove, forcing calm over her irritation. “Looks like I’ll need to make a quick grocery run. Not enough food here.”
Lev stepped closer, reaching for her.
“You know how much Mom adores your cooking,” he said gently.
Nika stepped aside, ignoring him. His mother’s praises always rang hollow—Varvara Dmitrievna was quick to find faults: soup too salty, meat undercooked, salad bland.
By two o’clock, the apartment sparkled. The oven warmed with a roasting meat and potatoes, the fridge held the cake Varvara Dmitrievna adored, waiting.
The doorbell rang promptly at 2:15. Nika adjusted her apron and opened the door.
“Niku-sha!” Varvara Dmitrievna swept inside like a storm, coat swirling. “How are you, darling?”
Shortly after, Kristina arrived with the twins, who raced into the living room without removing their shoes.
“Shoes off, kids!” Nika called out, but Varvara waved her off.
“Let them be—they struggle to sit still.”
Nika bit her lip as muddy footprints stained the light carpet. She wondered why no one enforced the no-shoes rule, but never voiced it—her words fell on deaf ears.
“What’s for lunch?” Kristina asked, entering the kitchen.
“Oh, casserole,” Varvara said with a smile. “Kristina made a fantastic one with mushrooms last week—real culinary genius!”
Nika stayed silent, setting the table. Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the living room.
“Lev, check on your nephews,” she said calmly.
“Let them play—they’re kids,” Lev waved her off without looking.
“Exactly,” Varvara chimed in. “Nika, you’re too uptight. Everything doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“I just like order,” Nika murmured.
“A home should be lively!” Varvara declared. “You obsess over cleanliness. Kids mean mess—they’d be chasing them with rags if you had any.”
Nika’s cheeks flushed. The topic of children cut deep. After two failed attempts and doctors’ warnings to wait, the desire remained unspoken.
Lunch passed in the usual pattern: Varvara handing out advice, Kristina bragging about dishes, the twins wreaking havoc, and Lev enjoying the scene, oblivious to Nika’s growing distress.
“Niku-sha,” Varvara said between bites of cake, “Kristina and I thought—it’d be lovely if we gathered here every Sunday. Your kitchen is spacious, and you cook with heart.”
Nika froze, clutching her cup. “Every Sunday?”
“Of course!” Kristina chimed. “I’ll bring my specialties, Mom will share recipes, and the kids love playing here!”
Another crash sounded—the shattering of a precious figurine from Nika’s Italy trip.
“Lev?” Varvara turned to him.
“Sounds good!” he smiled, ignoring the tension on Nika’s face. “Right, darling?”
Nika placed her cup down with effort, the sinking feeling that her voice no longer mattered weighing heavy.
“I don’t think—” she began, but Varvara cut in.
“Next Sunday, I’ll bring my famous pie. Niku-sha, you could make something with meat? And more salads—kids adore your Olivier.”
Nika rose, heart tight with frustration. Weeks of work and chores culminated in endless cooking and cleaning—even Sundays stolen.
“Actually, next Sunday I want to rest,” she said quietly but firmly.
Varvara froze, fork poised mid-air. “Rest? And what about family lunch?”
“I’m tired,” Nika said, voice weary. “I need a break.”
“Tired of what?” Kristina snorted. “Tired of being home?”
Lev frowned, sitting heavily. Silence fell, broken only by Varvara folding a napkin.
“Honey, let’s discuss this later,” Lev said, trying to steady the mood.
“No discussion needed,” Varvara snapped. “Family must unite. You’re spoiled, Niku-sha. In my day…”
“Mom, please,” Lev interrupted. “I’ll talk to Nika.”
That night, after the guests left and Nika cleaned the broken figurine, Lev approached, hesitant.
“Why make such a fuss? Mom’s upset,” he sighed.
“A fuss?” Nika didn’t turn, clutching the dustpan. “I only said I want to rest.”
“Rest from family?” Lev’s voice sharpened, patience thin. “Family dinners, traditions—they mean a lot to Mom and Kristina!”
“And what about my feelings?” Nika asked, pain thick in her voice. “I’m a person, Lev. I’m worn out.”
“You must remember—you’re a wife, not a guest!” Lev retorted, anger rising.
Nika recoiled, eyes stinging. “So I’m just here to serve your family?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“No, you understand perfectly,” she cut in firmly. “I’m done cooking every Sunday. I need rest.”
The next day was tense. Lev kept trying to sway her.
“Mom called—they’re coming tomorrow at two,” he said quietly, avoiding her gaze.
“Fine,” Nika said, composed. “But I won’t cook.”
“What? You can’t! They expect a feast!”
“And I expect understanding,” she replied calmly. “We don’t always get what we want.”
Sunday morning buzzed with kitchen noises—Lev fumbling with pots, dishes clattering. Nika hid in the bedroom, escaping into a book.
At two, the doorbell rang. Varvara’s voice echoed loudly.
“She’s resting in the bedroom,” Lev called from the kitchen.
“What?!” Varvara roared. “Lying down while family waits? Niku-sha! Come out now!”
Nika turned a page, ignoring the storm.
“This is disgraceful!” Varvara yelled. “Lev, how do you put up with this? Your wife is insubordinate!”
“Yes,” Kristina agreed. “I’d never disrespect my husband’s family like this.”
After an hour of silence and frustration, the guests left. Varvara loudly claimed her son deserved better.
When the door shut, Nika emerged. Lev stood amid the mess.
“Happy now?” he asked bitterly. “You humiliated me.”
Nika watched his back, clarity washing over her. Five years of compromises, trying to please everyone—it was all for nothing.
“Lev,” she said softly, “I finally see one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You value your mother and sister more than me. And that won’t change.”
Without another word, she returned to the bedroom. Her hands trembled, but her resolve was firm. She began packing her suitcase, saying farewell to this home and life.
“What are you doing?” Lev’s voice echoed.
“Leaving,” she replied, not turning.
“Where?”
“To Alina’s. She offered a place long ago.”
Lev ran his hands through his hair, desperation in his eyes.
“You can’t just leave! Let’s talk, find a solution.”
“Five years of solutions, Lev,” she zipped her suitcase. “And what did I get? The role of cook and maid for your family.”
She dialed a number.
“Alina? Hi. Remember when you said I could stay? Is that still true?”
An hour later, a taxi whisked Nika away. She glanced back—Lev stood frozen like a statue. No guilt weighed on her.
Alina welcomed her with open arms.
“Finally! I told you it couldn’t go on.”
In her friend’s cozy apartment, Nika felt the heavy weight lift. No demands, no criticism, no control.
Her phone buzzed nonstop—Lev’s messages pleading, Varvara’s angry calls, Kristina’s scolding texts accusing her of abandoning family.
Nika silenced her phone and slept deeply, free for the first time in years.
The next morning, at work, her boss noted, “You look different. Like a burden’s been lifted.”
Nika smiled.
“I started living for me.”
A week later, Lev appeared at her office, nervously clutching words.
“Please come back. I see now—it’ll be different.”
“Really?” Nika asked cautiously. “What will change?”
“I’ll talk to Mom—they’ll visit less…”
“And then it goes back to how it was,” she shook her head. “You don’t get the problem.”
She passed him and left with Alina’s waiting car.
At home, unpacking, Nika opened a folder—divorce papers. Hard, but necessary. Five years enough to know when to let go.
“Are you sure?” Alina asked kindly.
“Absolutely. Should’ve done this long ago.”
Varvara Dmitrievna raged—calls, visits, tantrums. She couldn’t accept rejection.
“How dare you treat my son this way?” she screamed.
“No,” Nika said calmly. “He loves being convenient for you. I’m done being convenient.”
The divorce went smoothly. Lev didn’t fight it. The apartment was listed for sale.
Three months later, Nika moved into her own small apartment. As she arranged her belongings, a lightness filled her heart. She was home.
That night, tea in hand, she reflected on her journey—trying to be perfect, losing herself, fearing disappointment.
Her phone chimed—Lev’s message: “I miss you. Can we try again?”
For the first time, she felt no pain or regret. She deleted it.
The past was behind. Her future was hers to shape.
Moonlight bathed her room softly, and Nika felt peace. At last, she lived on her own terms.
The new day dawned bright and promising—her day, her life, her choice.