Nika had always tried to be the perfect wife for Lev. Like a showcase, she cooked, cleaned, and kept everything in order. She didn’t realize that her relentless effort to please others was slowly eroding her identity.
One Sunday morning, as she was preparing breakfast, she heard Lev approaching, his voice groggy but expectant.
“Good morning,” Lev murmured as he entered the kitchen. “Breakfast—what’s on?”
Nika smiled as she pulled out mushrooms and tomatoes from the fridge for an omelet. Fresh coffee, too.
Lev came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.
“You’re the lady of the house, aren’t you?” he said in a tone that made Nika uneasy. His way of speaking usually foreshadowed unpleasant news.
“What happened?” Nika asked, turning around, squinting her eyes.
“Nothing in particular,” Lev avoided eye contact. “Just… Mom and Kristina are coming over. For lunch.”
Nika let out a second sigh. Lev’s family often used the phrase “just for a bit” to mean several long hours. She clenched her hands so her frustration wouldn’t show.
“What time are they coming?” she asked, tension in her voice.
“Around one or two. And…” Lev paused. “Kristina’s bringing the kids too.”
Nika started counting slowly to ten. Kristina’s six-year-old twins weren’t just mischievous—they were hurricanes. Their visits turned the apartment into a battlefield.
“Alright,” Nika muttered, grabbing a pan and lighting the stove, trying not to reveal her irritation. “I’ll need to go to the supermarket. We’re low on food.”
“Sweetheart, you know how much Mom loves your dishes,” Lev said, trying to hug her, but Nika pretended not to notice. Why the affection now?
In truth, Varvara Dmitrievna always criticized her cooking. Salty soup, undercooked meat, boring salad—everything had an issue.
By two o’clock, the house gleamed and a potato-meat casserole was baking in the oven, filling the air with a delicious aroma. Varvara’s favorite dessert was chilling in the fridge.
The doorbell rang at 2:15. Nika went to answer, adjusting her apron.
“Niku-sha!” Varvara Dmitrievna burst into the hallway, her coat billowing. “Darling, how are you?”
Kristina followed behind with her children. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the twins ran into the living room without removing their shoes.
“Kids, shoes off!” Nika said, but Varvara waved her off.
“Let them run. You know they can’t sit still.”
Nika clenched her jaw as she watched the muddy footprints on the white carpet. She always wondered why no one made them take their shoes off, but no one ever listened.
“What’s for lunch?” Kristina asked as she walked into the kitchen. “Oh, casserole? Mom, I made one with mushrooms last week. It was fantastic!”
Varvara sat at the table, smiling.
“Kristina could teach Niku-sha a thing or two. Cooking is her strength.”
Nika stayed silent as she set the table. A loud crash came from the other room.
“Lev, go check what your nephews did,” she said softly.
“Ah, let them play,” Lev waved it off without turning his head. “They’re kids.”
“Yes,” Varvara added. “Besides, Nika, you’re too uptight. Everything has to be perfect.”
“I like order,” Nika whispered.
“A house should be alive!” Varvara exclaimed. “Niku-sha, you stress over cleanliness. If you had kids, you’d be chasing them around with a rag all day.”
Nika felt her cheeks burn. Children were a painful topic—doctors had asked her to wait after two failed attempts. She stayed silent, holding back the words ready to burst.
Lunch went on the same way. Varvara offered unsolicited advice, Kristina boasted about her dishes, and the twins wrecked the house. Lev sat comfortably, pleased with the lively atmosphere, unaware of Nika’s discomfort.
When Varvara reached for a second slice of dessert, she said:
“Kristina and I were thinking—we should meet here every Sunday. You’ve got a big kitchen and you cook with such passion.”
Nika froze, holding a teacup mid-air.
“Every Sunday?” she repeated slowly, trying to remain calm.
“Of course!” Kristina chimed in excitedly. “It’ll be fantastic! Mom can share recipes, I’ll bring special dishes. The kids love playing here!”
Another crash from the other room—it sounded like the figurine Nika brought from Italy.
“Lev, say something,” Varvara turned to her son.
“Great idea!” Lev smiled, though Nika clearly disagreed. “Right, darling?”
Nika placed the cup down with effort, feeling her voice had lost all meaning.
She wanted to speak, but Varvara was already planning:
“I’ll bring my special pie next Sunday. Niku-sha, you handle the meat. The kids love your Olivier salad—more salad!”
Angry, Nika rose from the table. Even Sundays had become a chore after a long workweek.
“I’m sorry, but next Sunday I want to rest,” she said quietly but firmly.
Varvara raised her fork, surprised:
“What do you mean, ‘rest’? What about family lunch?”
“I need a day for myself,” Nika said, exhausted.
“Tired from what?” Kristina scoffed. “Walking around the house?”
Lev glanced over, worried. Varvara grabbed a napkin and broke the silence.
“Darling, we’ll talk about this later,” Lev tried to smooth things over.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Varvara said, her voice rising. “Family must stick together. Niku-sha, you’re spoiled. In my day—”
The tension escalated, so Lev cut in:
“Mom, please. Talk to Nika.”
That evening, Lev approached Nika while she was sweeping up the broken figurine. He stood behind her, struggling to find the words.
“Why did you make that scene? Mom’s upset,” his voice was tired.
“A scene?” Nika clenched the broom, not turning. “I just wanted to rest.”
“From family?” Lev snapped, losing patience. “Family dinners are sacred to Mom and Kristina!”
“What about my opinion?” Nika placed the broom aside and faced him. “I’m a person, Lev. I’m tired.”
“Don’t forget—you’re a wife, not a guest!” Lev burst out. “You have family responsibilities!”
Nika recoiled, her eyes burning and her heart tightening.
“So that’s how you see me? The family’s maid?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Lev tried to explain. “Please try to understand…”
“No, you understand,” Nika interrupted, her voice loud and clear. “I’m not cooking every Sunday anymore. I need rest.”
The next Saturday, the house was quiet but tense. Lev tried several times to convince her.
“Mom called. They’re coming tomorrow at two,” he said softly, avoiding eye contact.
“Fine,” Nika said calmly. “I’m not cooking.”
“You’re not cooking?” Lev snapped, slamming his fist on the table. “They expect a meal!”
“I expect understanding,” Nika shrugged. “We don’t always get what we want.”
On Sunday, as kitchen noises filled the air, Nika locked herself in her room. From the sounds, Lev seemed to be trying to manage on his own. Nika immersed herself in a book.
As expected, the doorbell rang at two. Varvara stormed in, her loud voice echoing through the house.
“She’s in the room,” Lev said from the kitchen. “Said she’s tired.”
“What?!” Varvara’s voice shook the walls. “In bed while the family’s hungry? Niku-sha! Come out this instant!”
Nika ignored the shouting and turned another page.
“This is absurd!” Varvara continued. “How can you stand this, Lev? Your wife is irresponsible!”
Kristina chimed in. “I would never treat my husband’s family this way.”
An hour later, the guests left. The gathering had failed. Varvara demanded a more suitable wife for her son.
Nika came out after the door closed. The disappointment was clear on Lev’s face.
“Happy now?” his voice was tired and defeated. “You humiliated me in front of everyone.”
Nika looked at him, and everything became clear. Five years of marriage, sacrifice, and trying to please everyone had been in vain.
“You know what I finally realized?” Nika whispered.
“What?” Lev spun around.
“That I’ll always matter less to you than your mother and sister. And that will never change.”
Nika walked back into the room without another word. She trembled, but she was resolute. She began packing her suitcase, as if leaving an entire life behind.
“What are you doing?” Lev’s voice called from the doorway.
“I’m leaving,” Nika said without turning. “I can’t anymore.”
“Where to?” His voice sounded worried.
“To Alina’s. She’s invited me many times.”
Lev ran his fingers through his hair, trying to keep control.
“You can’t leave! Let’s talk, make a compromise.”
“Five years of compromise, Lev,” Nika said, zipping the suitcase. “You know what I got in return? I became the free chef and cleaner for your family.”
Nika picked up her phone:
“Hello, Alina? Remember that offer? Is it still open?”
An hour later, a taxi picked her up. In the rearview mirror, she saw Lev frozen at the doorstep, and she felt no guilt.
Alina greeted her with a warm hug.
“Finally, you did it! I told you this couldn’t go on.”
In Alina’s cozy apartment, Nika felt lighter. No one demanded family lunches, scolded her, or controlled her.
Her phone kept buzzing with calls and messages. Lev missed her. Varvara sent angry emails. Kristina scolded her for abandoning the family.
Nika silenced the phone and, for the first time in years, slept peacefully.
The next morning on her way to work, she noticed something had changed. She looked lighter, more confident.
“You look different,” her boss said. “Like a weight’s been lifted.”
Nika smiled.
“It has. I’m finally living for myself.”
A week later, Lev showed up at Nika’s office. With a pocketful of worried words, he stood at the door.
“Please come back. I understand now. Things will change,” his voice was firm, but Nika had no more regrets.
“Really?” Nika looked at him carefully. “What will change?”
“I’ll talk to Mom. They’ll visit less.”
Nika shook her head:
“Everything will go back to the same. The real issue remains.”
She walked away without looking back and got into Alina’s car.
At home, she opened a folder of documents. Divorce. It was a hard step, but necessary. Five years—enough to realize that sometimes things end, and it’s pointless to continue.
“Are you sure?” Alina asked with concern.
“Yes,” Nika affirmed. “I should’ve done this sooner.”
Varvara was furious. She called, wrote, exploded.
“How can you treat my son like this? He loves you!”
“No,” Nika said gently. “He loves comfort. I don’t seek comfort anymore.”
Against all expectations, the divorce went smoothly. Lev accepted it. Maybe he realized the marriage was over. They had to sell the apartment.
Nika moved into a small place, but it was hers. Her heart felt lighter as she arranged her things. Finally, she was home.
That evening, with a—