Nika had always aspired to be the ideal wife for Lev—like a well-kept exhibit, she cooked, cleaned, and kept everything in order. But she was unaware that her constant effort to please others was gradually dissolving her sense of self.
One Sunday morning, while preparing breakfast, she heard Lev’s sleepy voice as he entered the kitchen.
“Good morning,” he mumbled, clearly expecting food.
Nika smiled and began gathering mushrooms and tomatoes for an omelette, with coffee brewing nearby.
Lev came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.
“You’re the lady of the house, right?” he said, his tone laced with something that made her uneasy—she knew that voice usually signaled bad news.
“What is it?” she asked, turning to him, narrowing her eyes.
“Nothing really,” he replied, looking away. “Just that Mom and Kristina are dropping by. For lunch.”
Nika exhaled slowly. She knew that “just for a little while” with Lev’s family meant hours. She clenched her fists to hide her anxiety.
“What time?” she asked, her voice tight.
“One or two. And… Kristina’s bringing the kids.”
Nika silently counted to ten. Kristina’s twins weren’t just playful—they were chaotic. Their visits always left the flat in ruins.
“Fine,” she said, trying not to show her frustration as she turned on the stove. “I might need to go to the store. We’re low on food.”
“You know how much Mom loves your cooking,” Lev said, moving to hug her. But Nika pulled away. Now wasn’t the time.
Varvara Dmitrievna, Lev’s mother, was never satisfied with her cooking—too salty, undercooked, too plain.
By two, the apartment was spotless, the oven roasted a meat-and-potato dish, and Varvara’s favorite cake chilled in the fridge.
At 14:15 sharp, the doorbell rang. Nika fixed her apron before answering.
“Niku-sha!” Varvara exclaimed, sweeping in with her coat flying. “Darling, how are you?”
Kristina followed with her unruly twins, who charged straight into the living room without removing their shoes.
“Kids, your shoes!” Nika called out.
But Varvara waved dismissively. “Let them run—sitting still is hard for them.”
Watching muddy prints spread across the carpet, Nika bit her tongue. She wondered why no one ever asked the kids to take off their shoes.
Kristina entered the kitchen and eyed the food. “Ooh, casserole? I made one with mushrooms last week—it turned out amazing!”
Seated at the table, Varvara smiled. “Kristina could teach Niku-sha a thing or two—cooking is her strength.”
Nika stayed silent as she set the table. A loud crash from the living room made her flinch.
“Lev, can you check on them?” she asked.
“Let them be,” Lev shrugged without looking. “They’re just kids.”
“Yes,” Varvara added, “Nika, you’re such a perfectionist.”
“I just like things clean,” Nika whispered.
“A home should feel alive!” Varvara declared. “You fuss too much. If you had kids, you’d never sit still.”
Nika flushed. After two miscarriages, doctors had told her to wait before trying again. She said nothing, swallowing her feelings.
Lunch went as usual—Varvara gave advice, Kristina bragged, the kids wreaked havoc, and Lev sat content, oblivious to Nika’s growing discomfort.
After her second slice of cake, Varvara announced, “Kristina and I thought—it would be lovely to come every Sunday. Your kitchen’s big, and you’re such a passionate cook.”
Nika froze, holding her cup. “Every Sunday?” she repeated quietly.
“Of course!” Kristina chimed in. “It’ll be great. Mom can share recipes, I’ll bring dishes, the kids love it here.”
Another crash from the living room. Nika suspected it was the figurine she had brought from Italy.
“Lev, your nephews again,” Varvara prompted.
“Great idea,” Lev said, smiling. “Right, honey?”
Nika placed her cup down, feeling invisible.
She tried to object, but Varvara was already assigning next Sunday’s menu.
Nika stood abruptly. Even her weekends were now endless housework.
“I’d like to rest next Sunday,” she said, firm but quiet.
Varvara froze mid-bite. “Rest? What about family time?”
“I need a break,” Nika replied softly.
“From what?” Kristina scoffed. “Walking around the house?”
Lev frowned. Varvara snapped her napkin. “Niku-sha, you’re spoiled. In my day—”
“Mom, enough,” Lev interjected. “Talk to Nika.”
That evening, after everyone had left, Nika cleaned up the broken figurine. Lev approached, hesitant.
“Why did you cause that scene? Mom’s upset,” he said, exhausted.
“A scene?” Nika didn’t look up. “I just asked for rest.”
“From family?” Lev exploded. “These dinners mean the world to Mom and Kristina!”
“And what about me?” Nika turned to him, eyes pained. “Don’t I matter?”
“You’re a wife, not a guest!” Lev snapped. “You have responsibilities!”
Nika backed away, wounded.
“So that’s what I am? Your family’s servant?” she said, voice rising.
“I didn’t mean that,” Lev tried to backpedal. “Let’s be reasonable—”
“No,” she cut him off, resolute. “I won’t keep doing this. I need rest.”
The following Saturday, the home was heavy with tension. Lev tried persuading her.
“Mom’s coming tomorrow at two,” he said without meeting her eyes.
“Fine,” Nika replied. “I won’t be cooking.”
“What?!” Lev slammed the table. “They’re expecting a feast!”
“I expect respect,” Nika said, exhausted. “We don’t always get what we want.”
The next morning, the kitchen bustled—but Nika stayed in her room, reading. She didn’t respond to the doorbell or the shouting.
“She’s in bed?” Varvara cried. “While the family waits?!”
Nika turned a page.
The guests left disappointed. Varvara even demanded a “better” wife for her son.
When Nika emerged later, Lev was slumped in the kitchen.
“Happy now?” he said bitterly. “You humiliated me.”
Nika stared at him. After five years of compromise, something inside her had shifted.
“I finally get it,” she whispered.
“What?”
“I’ll never matter more to you than your mother and sister.”
Nika returned to the bedroom, shaking but resolute. She began to pack.
“You’re leaving?” Lev said, stunned.
“Yes,” she said simply. “I’m done.”
“Where will you go?”
“To Alina. She invited me long ago.”
“You can’t just leave!” he cried.
“Five years of trying. I was just your maid,” Nika replied, zipping her suitcase.
She called Alina.
“Is the offer still open?”
An hour later, a cab drove her away. Lev stood frozen in the doorway. Nika felt no guilt.
Alina greeted her warmly. “Finally! I told you this had to end.”
Nika felt free in her friend’s cozy home. No nagging, no judgment—just peace.
Her phone buzzed with calls and angry messages. Lev missed her. Varvara sent rants. Kristina scolded.
Nika silenced her phone and slept peacefully for the first time in years.
The next morning, she noticed her reflection—lighter, stronger.
“You look different,” her boss remarked. “Like a burden’s been lifted.”
Nika smiled. “I finally chose myself.”
A week later, Lev showed up at her office, pleading.
“Please come back. Things will change.”
“Really?” Nika asked calmly. “What will change?”
“I’ll talk to my mom—they’ll visit less.”
Nika shook her head. “The problem’s deeper than that.”
She walked away without regret and got into Alina’s car.
Later that evening, she opened her divorce papers. The decision was painful but necessary.
“Are you sure?” Alina asked gently.
“Yes,” Nika said. “I should’ve done this long ago.”
Varvara didn’t take it well. She called, shouted, accused.
“How can you treat my son this way? He loves you!”
“No,” Nika replied softly. “He loved having me around. That’s not the same.”
The divorce was surprisingly smooth. Lev accepted it, perhaps realizing their marriage had reached its end. They sold the apartment.
Three months later, Nika moved into a modest but wholly her own place. As she arranged her things, a sense of peace settled over her. She was finally home.
That night, sipping tea, she thought of how hard she tried to be the perfect wife—losing herself in the process, too afraid to say no.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Lev: I miss you. Can we try again?
Nika glanced at it, then deleted it without hesitation.
The past was done. Her new life had begun.
She stood by the window, bathed in moonlight, feeling calm.
Morning came, and she was ready for it—on her own terms. That was beautiful.
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