Lev

— And no one cares what I think? — Nika placed the dustpan on the shelf and turned to her husband. Her voice was heavy with fatigue.

— I’m a person too, Lev. I’m exhausted.

— You need to remember you're a wife, not a guest in this house! — Lev snapped, his face flushed. — You have duties to this family!

Nika tapped her fingers on the counter, watching the kettle come to a boil, filling the kitchen with steam. That Sunday morning felt unusually quiet, as though the world had pressed pause just for her. The sheer curtains fluttered in the light breeze, sunlight filtering through, highlighting every corner, every speck of dust. And there she stood, in that rare silence, simply breathing.

She remembered when she and Lev had first moved in five years ago. The apartment had been sparse, nearly barren. Now it radiated warmth, every inch shaped by her touch. She thought of how long it took to pick the right wallpaper for the living room, how many arguments they’d had over curtain colors, how delighted she’d been when she found the perfect couch.

— Good morning, — Lev said drowsily as he walked in. — What’s for breakfast?

— Omelet with mushrooms and tomatoes, — Nika smiled faintly, pulling ingredients from the fridge. — And fresh coffee.

He came up behind her, wrapping his arms gently around her shoulders.

— You really are the queen of this house, — he said in a tone that immediately set her on edge. There was always something behind that voice — something that usually led to bad news.

— What’s going on? — she asked, narrowing her eyes.

— Nothing major, — Lev looked away. — It’s just… Mom and Kristina are coming over for lunch.

Nika let out a breath. "Just for a while" often turned into half the day when it came to Lev’s family. She clenched her hands, trying not to show her unease.

— What time are they coming? — her tone betrayed her tension.

— Between one and two. And… — Lev hesitated. — Kristina is bringing the kids.

Nika silently counted to ten. Kristina’s six-year-old twins weren’t just energetic — they were tiny whirlwinds. After every visit, the apartment looked like it had been turned inside out.

— Fine, — she said, picking up a frying pan and switching on the stove. — Then I’ll have to run to the store. We don’t have enough food.

— Come on, you know how much Mom loves your cooking, — Lev tried to hug her again, but she stepped aside, pretending not to notice. She didn’t want affection right now.

In truth, Varvara Dmitrievna never missed a chance to critique her cooking. The soup was too salty, the meat underdone, or the salad lacked flavor.

By two o’clock, the apartment was spotless, and the oven was filled with the comforting aroma of roasting meat and potatoes. The cake that Varvara adored was chilling in the fridge.

The doorbell rang at exactly 2:15 PM. Nika adjusted her apron and went to answer.

— Niku-sha, darling! — Varvara Dmitrievna burst through the door like a gust of wind, coat flaring behind her. — How are you, my dear?

Kristina followed, her children racing into the living room without removing their shoes.

— Kids, shoes! — Nika called out, but Varvara waved her hand dismissively.

— Let them be. You know it’s hard for them to sit still.

Nika pressed her lips together as she watched the pristine carpet instantly covered in muddy tracks. She always wondered why no one made the kids take their shoes off — but she never said it. No one listened anyway.

— What’s for lunch? — Kristina asked as she stepped into the kitchen. — Oh, a casserole? Mom, remember the one I made last week with mushrooms? It was a masterpiece!

— Of course, I remember, sweetheart, — Varvara said with a warm smile. — Niku-sha, you could learn a thing or two from Kristina. She’s so talented in the kitchen.

Nika stayed quiet, setting out silverware. Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the living room.

— Lev, please check what your nephews broke, — she said calmly.

— Oh, let them play, — Lev replied, not even turning around. — They’re just children.

— Exactly, — Varvara agreed. — You’re always so uptight, Nika. Everything doesn’t have to be perfect.

— I just like things to be tidy, — Nika said softly.

— A home should be lived in! — Varvara announced. — Honestly, Niku-sha, you’re so obsessed with cleanliness. Just imagine if you had kids — you’d be chasing them around with a rag!

Nika’s cheeks flushed. The topic of children stung deeply — after two losses, doctors had told her to wait before trying again. But she said nothing. She had no strength to explain.

The lunch dragged on as usual. Varvara offered opinions, Kristina bragged about her cooking, and the children ran wild, destroying anything in their path. Lev sat there calmly, seemingly oblivious to the rising tension in his wife.

— You know, Niku-sha, — Varvara said while enjoying her second slice of cake, — Kristina and I were thinking… maybe we should all start gathering here every Sunday? Your kitchen is spacious, and you cook with such love.

Nika froze, cup in hand, and stared at her.

— Every Sunday? — she repeated, trying to control her breathing.

— Of course! — Kristina chimed in. — It’ll be great! I’ll bring my special dishes, Mom can share her recipes. And the kids adore coming here!

Another crash sounded from the living room. From the sound of it, Nika guessed it was the ceramic figurine she had brought back from Italy.

— Lev, what do you think? — Varvara turned to her son.

— It’s a great idea! — he grinned, ignoring the irritation on Nika’s face. — Right, honey?

With effort, Nika placed her cup down. Her mind flooded with one thought: no one cared what she wanted.

— I don’t think… — she began, but Varvara was already making plans.

— Next Sunday I’ll bring my apple pie. Niku-sha, you can prepare something with meat, and maybe more salads — the kids love your Olivier salad!

Nika stood up, a tight knot forming in her chest. The weekdays were already full of work and responsibilities — now Sundays, too?

— Excuse me, but next Sunday I’d like to rest, — she said, quiet but firm.

Varvara paused mid-bite.

— What do you mean rest? And what about our family lunch?

— I’m just tired, — Nika tried to keep her voice even. — I need a break.

— Tired of what? — Kristina scoffed. — You just stay home all day, right?

Lev frowned, sensing the room shift. A tense silence followed, broken only by Varvara unfolding a napkin.

— Sweetheart, let’s talk about this later, — he tried to manage the situation.

— There’s nothing to talk about, — Varvara said sharply. — Families stick together. And you, Niku-sha, are simply being spoiled. In my day…

— Mom, please, — Lev interrupted, noticing the rising tension. — I’ll talk to Nika.

That evening, after everyone had left, Nika swept up the broken pieces of her figurine. Only a crack remained. Lev stood behind her, unsure how to start.

— Did you have to cause a scene? Mom’s really upset, — his voice was weary.

— A scene? — Nika didn’t look up. — All I said was that I needed rest.

— Rest… from your family? — Lev raised his voice, frustrated. — Family meals, traditions — they matter to Mom, to Kristina!

— And what about me? Doesn’t my opinion matter? — Nika turned to him, her voice trembling. — I’m a person too, Lev. I’m tired.

Lev looked shocked, then responded more harshly than he should have.

— You’re a wife, not just a guest! — he said sternly. — You have obligations to the family!

Nika took a step back, stunned. Her heart ached, and her eyes filled with tears.

— Is that how you see me? Just someone to serve your family? — she asked quietly, her voice filled with emotion.

— That’s not what I meant, — Lev said, backtracking. — I just want you to understand...

— No, Lev, you need to understand, — Nika interrupted, her voice steady and resolute. — I’m not going to cook and clean for your family every Sunday anymore. I need space. I need time for myself.

The next morning, Saturday, the house felt unnaturally quiet. Still, there was tension in the air. Lev seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

— Mom called. They’ll be here tomorrow at two, — he said flatly, not meeting her eyes.

— That’s fine, — Nika replied evenly. — But I won’t be cooking.

— What do you mean, you won’t cook? — Lev’s voice tightened. — They’re expecting a family meal!

— And I’m expecting understanding, — Nika said calmly. — Unfortunately, we don’t always get what we expect.

On Sunday morning, the kitchen filled with the clatter of cookware — but this time, it wasn’t Nika. It was Lev, doing his best. Nika remained in the bedroom, quietly reading her book.

At 2 o'clock, the doorbell rang. Varvara Dmitrievna’s voice echoed through the hallway as she entered.

— She’s in the bedroom, — Lev’s voice came from the kitchen. — She said she’s tired.

— What? — Varvara’s voice rose in disbelief. — Staying in bed while the whole family’s waiting? Niku-sha! Come out here right now!

Nika turned a page, choosing not to react.

— This is completely unacceptable! — Varvara exclaimed. — Lev, how can you allow this? Your wife is out of line!

— That’s right, — Kristina added. — I would never act this way toward my in-laws.

An hour passed. When it became obvious there would be no family meal, the guests began to leave. Varvara, on her way out, declared loudly that her son deserved someone more appreciative.

When the door finally shut, Nika came out of the bedroom. Lev was in the kitchen, looking at the messy table and half-prepared dishes.

— Are you satisfied now? — his voice carried disappointment. — You embarrassed me in front of everyone.

Nika looked at his back. In that moment, the truth came into sharp focus. Five years of compromise, effort, and silence — and still, she didn’t matter.

— You know what, Lev? — she said softly. — I finally realized something.

— What? — he turned sharply.

— I’ll never mean as much to you as your mother and sister do. That’s never going to change.

She turned away, walked to the bedroom, and began packing her suitcase. Her hands trembled, but her decision was steady — unshakable.

— What are you doing? — Lev stood at the door.

— I’m leaving, — Nika said without turning around. — I can’t live like this anymore.

— Where will you go?

— To Alina’s. She offered me a place a long time ago.

Lev ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep control of the situation.

— You can’t just walk out! Let’s talk. Maybe we can work something out.

— Five years of ‘working something out,’ Lev, — Nika zipped up her bag. — All it got me was the role of a live-in cook and housekeeper for your relatives.

She grabbed her phone and dialed.

— Hi Alina. Is your offer still open?

An hour later, she was in a taxi. Through the rearview mirror, she saw Lev standing at the doorway like a statue. She felt no guilt.

Alina greeted her with open arms.

— Finally, — she smiled. — I told you it couldn’t go on like that.

In her friend’s warm apartment, Nika felt a weight lift. No demands. No criticism. No expectations she didn’t agree to.

Her phone buzzed nonstop. Messages from Lev. Long texts from Varvara blaming her. Kristina chiming in to accuse her of turning her back on the family.

Nika silenced her phone and slept deeper than she had in years.

The next morning, getting ready for work, she caught her reflection. Something had shifted. She looked more at peace.

— You look different, — her boss commented. — Like you’ve let go of something heavy.

— Exactly, — Nika smiled. — I’ve finally started living for myself.

A week later, Lev showed up at her office. He looked nervous, regretful.

— Please come back, — he said. — I understand now. Things will change.

— Really? — Nika raised an eyebrow. — What exactly will change?

— I’ll talk to Mom. They won’t come so often…

— And it’ll all return to the way it was, — Nika shook her head. — You still don’t get it.

She walked past him and got into Alina’s waiting car.

At home, unpacking her things, Nika pulled out a folder — divorce papers. A necessary step. Five years was enough to know when something was truly over.

— Are you sure? — Alina asked gently.

— Absolutely, — Nika nodded. — I should’ve done this much sooner.

Varvara didn’t take it well. She called, visited work, sent long messages. She couldn’t understand how her son could be left behind.

— How could you do this to my son? — she asked.

— He doesn’t love me, — Nika replied. — He loves convenience. I don’t want to be convenient anymore.

The divorce went through quietly. Lev didn’t contest it. Perhaps he understood, too. They put the apartment up for sale.

Three months later, Nika moved into a small place of her own. Modest — but hers. As she arranged her books and dishes, a sense of peace settled in her chest.

That evening, sitting by the window with tea, she reflected on the years she spent trying to please everyone. Afraid to say no. Afraid to disappoint.

Her phone lit up — a message from Lev: “I miss you. Can we try again?”

Nika read it, paused, then deleted it. No regret. No sadness. Just a quiet certainty.

The moonlight filtered in, soft and calm. Nika exhaled. She was where she needed to be — in her own space, living her own life.

And when morning came, she woke up feeling free.