A Woman’s 40th Birthday That Changed Everything
Before dawn, Natal’ja woke earlier than usual. With her eyes still closed, a thought surfaced: today marks her fortieth birthday. A number that once seemed遥远, now confronted her every morning in the mirror, framed by delicate wrinkles at the outer corners of her eyes.
Beside her, Sergej snored softly, undisturbed as she carefully slipped from the bed. Over the years, his sleep grew deeper and his attentiveness toward her gradually faded. Checking the clock, she noted it was half-past five. There was still a lengthy list of preparations before the guests arrived.
She softly closed the bedroom door and headed towards the kitchen. Their three-room apartment, today, would transform into a meeting place for two worlds: her family and Sergej’s friends. Despite many years of togetherness, they never formed a truly united family. Most of her friends had vanished into family responsibilities, while his friends remained unchanged.
Preparing a strong coffee, Natal’ja opened the refrigerator. Until last night, she had been marinating meat, chopping vegetables, and assembling ingredients for salads. Now all that was left was to turn these into a celebratory meal. Usually, they preferred dining out on birthdays, but turning forty was special. She desired something warm, homemade, crafted by her own hands.
“Mom, can I have two hundred rubles?” Her son’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.
Sixteen-year-old Kirill stood at the kitchen doorway, tousled but dressed.
“Where are you going at this hour?” Natal’ja asked, handing him a five-hundred-ruble note.
“I arranged a bike ride with the guys before it gets too hot,” he pocketed the money. “I’ll be back for the party.”
“Kirill, do you know what day it is today?”
He paused momentarily, then smiled awkwardly:
“Your birthday, of course. Didn’t say happy birthday this morning because I wanted to do it later.”
“Don’t you want to help? There’ll be lots of people; it’s tough to manage everything alone.”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other:
“Mom, what’s there to help with? You already know how to do it.”
“You forgot Polina’s at a friend’s dacha. She’ll return at six, just when the guests arrive.”
“Eh… what’s there to do?” He shrugged. “God knows you’ll do it better anyway.”
Natal’ja sighed, lacking the strength or desire to argue. Once, she had been proud of managing everything at home, confident the family couldn’t survive without her. Now, that thought just tired her.
“Go on,” she waved her hand. “But I want you here by six.”
He kissed her cheek and vanished down the hallway. The front door slammed shut behind him.
By nine a.m., the kitchen buzzed with activity. The oven was on for the meat, vegetables for the salads were laid out on the table, and dough for the cake was rising under a cloth. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the air.
“Good morning,” Sergej appeared in pajamas and a shirt. “Why are you up so early?”
“I’m preparing,” she replied evenly. “Guests arrive at six, and much remains to be done.”
“You could’ve slept in on your day.” He poured coffee. “Anyway, happy birthday.”
He bent down and kissed her cheek, the scent of toothpaste mingling with his usual cologne.
“Thanks,” she expected something more—perhaps a gift or a helping hand.
Instead, Sergej sat at the table, coffee cup in hand, absorbed in his phone.
“Are you working today?” Natal’ja asked, cracking an egg into a bowl.
“No, I took the day off. There’s plenty to do around the house…”
“Perfect,” she tried to mask irritation. “Will you help set the table?”
“Sure,” he said without looking up. “Just after I finish reading the news.”
Three hours later, he was still not done. Sergej had moved to the living room and switched on the TV. The sounds of a football match occasionally punctuated by his remarks on the players. Natal’ja kept slicing, mixing, whipping, and baking. Thoughts swirled in her mind: “Forty years old, and this is how I celebrate.”
The doorbell rang at three in the afternoon. Wiping her hands on a tea towel, she went to open it. Standing was her younger sister, Lena, holding a bunch of carnations.
“Happy birthday, little sister!” she embraced her. “I thought I’d come early and help. Are you not ready yet?”
“I’ve been cooking since early morning,” she let her in. “Guests come at six, but I’m glad you’re here.”
“Where’s the party dress?” Lena eyed her faded jeans and t-shirt.
“No time,” Natal’ja shrugged. “I still have to finish the salads and decorate the cake…”
“Let’s see.” Lena inspected the kitchen quickly and returned to the hallway. “And Sergej isn’t pitching in?”
“He’s… busy.”
From the living room came a loud, energized “What are you doing, cripple!”
“I can tell,” Lena observed. “Let’s fix that.”
She headed to the living room, and moments later Sergej appeared in the kitchen, pouting.
“How can I help?” he grumbled.
“Set the table in the living room,” Natal’ja instructed calmly. “Lena, assist him with the dishes.”
The next two hours went by with relative harmony. Guided by Lena, Sergej arranged dishes and cutlery, occasionally stepping toward the TV “just a moment.” By five, most work was done. Natal’ja felt the weariness seep in: her back ached, legs were numb, and the evening had only just begun.
“Go get ready,” Natal’ja nudged Lena toward the kitchen exit. “I’ll finish the salads.”
Heading to the bedroom, she saw the new dress hanging in the closet—navy blue with an elegant neckline, purchased for this special night. Yet it required makeup and hairstyling, and she lacked the energy. Instead, she grabbed a simple black sheath dress she wore for work. Quickly fixing her hair and applying a light lipstick, she returned to the living room just as the first guests arrived.
By six, the apartment buzzed with voices and embraces. Natal’ja’s and Sergej’s parents, some colleagues, a few long-time couples arrived. The children returned home: Polina brought a small cake from the trendiest bakery; Kirill carried a hastily bought greeting card.
Natal’ja smiled through the greetings, though dizziness swirled inside her. She couldn’t even take aspirin—attention from guests was demanded. Suddenly, Sergej animated himself like a perfect host, distributing drinks, cracking jokes, and playfully hugging Natal’ja whenever someone toasted her.
At last, everyone sat down. Natal’ja placed the roast meat, her signature dish, in the center.
“Nata, be careful with these salads,” Sergej whispered as he took some Olivier salad. “Mayonnaise is all fat. You should be careful…”
He trailed off, then glanced at her figure. Natal’ja felt her cheeks flush. Beside her, Lena tensed.
“The meat is a bit dry,” Sergej raised his voice, slicing a piece. “You left it in the oven too long.”
“I think it tastes good,” Natal’ja’s mother quickly intervened.
“I’m not criticizing,” Sergej smiled. “Just compared to last time, it was juicier.”
Natal’ja ate silently, her gaze fixed on her plate. The celebration she had envisioned was turning into a bitter evening filled with sharp remarks.
Many toasts followed. Colleagues wished professional success, friends longed for youth’s renewal, and parents prayed for health and patience. Finally, it was Sergej’s turn.
Raising his champagne flute, he scanned the silent table:
“I want to congratulate my wife on this milestone: forty years is an important age for a woman. Natal’ja has always been good, kept herself well…”
A nervous chuckle rippled through the guests.
“…though, of course, she could take better care of herself,” he continued with a frosty grin. “But we love her just the same. Cheers, darling!”
Silence fell. Glasses raised, yet no eyes met hers. Natal’ja remained motionless, head bowed over the tablecloth. Something long suppressed finally erupted inside her.
Slowly, she stood.
“Thank you for the wishes,” she said clearly, then left the room.
Behind the closed door, murmurs arose among the guests before chatter resumed as if nothing happened. No one followed her. Not even Sergej. Especially not him.
Approaching the mirror, she lingered, gazing at a weary woman with dull eyes, an unremarkable dress, and untidy hair. When had she become this person? And why had she allowed it?
In a daze, she took the navy dress from the wardrobe. Carefully dressed in it, she opened the rarely used makeup kit and applied foundation, eyeshadow, mascara, and lipstick. Fixing her hair, she donned earrings Sergej gave her—in another life when his compliments were sincere and not veiled barbs.
She pulled out her high heels—the ones she had danced in at their wedding—and slipped them on; they still fit perfectly.
Calling a friend, she spoke softly:
“Vika? It’s me. Listen, are you free tonight? …Yes, it’s my birthday, but I want to celebrate differently… No, not alone, with you… Can you be at ‘Palermo’ in half an hour? …Great, I’ll reserve a table.”
Hanging up, she took one last look. In the mirror stood another woman: confident, beautiful, upright, and with determined eyes.
Returning to the living room, the murmurs ceased. All eyes fixed on her, astonished. Sergej’s mouth dropped open.
“Now you look like a woman!” he exclaimed standing up. “Why didn’t you dress like this earlier? Come, sit down.”
Natal’ja smiled genuinely for the first time.
“You know, Serioža, I won’t be sitting.”
“Why not?” He stared at her, bewildered.
“After such humiliation, why should I smile and stay here? Celebrate without me,” she spoke calmly but with a steely voice. “I’ve decided to celebrate differently. The taxi arrives in five minutes. Vika and I are going to a restaurant.”
“What humiliation? Don’t make things up,” he said, speaking more to the guests than her. “I was only joking!”
“You know, in every joke…” Natal’ja began but stopped herself. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving. Have a good evening, everyone.”
She turned and walked toward the exit. Lena caught up in the hallway.
“Natal’ja, are you sure?” she whispered. “You know he didn’t mean harm…”
“Lena,” she looked into her eyes. “For sixteen years, he’s told me he doesn’t mean it. Maybe it’s true. But I don’t want to endure it anymore. Especially on my birthday.”
Lena hugged her, and she left. It was cool and silent outside the building.
Descending the stairs, she felt with every step her inner burden grow lighter. It was as if the dam not only broke but vanished, freeing a river of liberty.
She did not know what tomorrow held. Sergej might understand; difficult choices could loom. But today, on her fortieth birthday, she finally felt free.
Outside, she breathed deeply the warm evening air. A taxi waited on the curb. As she entered and gave the restaurant address, her phone vibrated with Sergej’s call. She silenced it, not glancing at the screen.
This night, at last, belonged solely to her.
Key Insight: Natal’ja’s birthday became a personal turning point, marking a step toward self-worth and independence, reminding us of the power of reclaiming one’s life amidst adversity.