— Anechka, I’ll make the menu, and you’ll cook — said Valentina Petrovna, handing over three sheets filled with a list. — I would do it myself, but my hands hurt, the arthritis has really been acting up.
Anna took the list. Cold appetizers, hot dishes, salads, three types of desserts. Eight people were invited for the anniversary — without asking Anna.
— Valentina Petrovna, maybe it would be easier to just order catering? — she lifted her head, trying to make sense of the whole ordeal.
— Order?! — her mother-in-law snapped, spreading her hands, on which there wasn’t a hint of arthritis. — What will my friends think? That we don’t know how to host? No, Anechka, show what you can do!
Anna folded the list into quarters. Then again. And again. Finally, a small square of paper landed on the table.
— Alright. I’ll show you.
Seven months ago, right after the wedding, Dmitry said they would live with his mother for now.
“For now” turned out to last forever. Valentina Petrovna, whose husband had passed away seven years earlier, lived alone in a three-room apartment and suffered greatly. Not from loneliness — from the obligation to cook and clean.
The day after the wedding, her mother-in-law had a migraine.
— Anechka, darling, my head is splitting, I can’t even get up. Just make something yourself, alright?
Anna did. Then she cleaned. Then she did the laundry. By evening, Valentina Petrovna went to the salon to have her hair done. She returned fresh, smelling of expensive shampoo, her hair shining in waves.
Migraines returned every time before cooking. Dizziness — before cleaning. Arthritis appeared when the dishes had to be washed, and disappeared when her mother-in-law leafed through magazines or went shopping.
Dmitry didn’t notice. Or didn’t want to notice.
— So what, your mother can’t, she has her health. You’re young, you can handle it.
Anna handled it. She got up at five in the morning, made breakfast for the three of them, drove the kids to school, returned by six, and until eleven in the evening did laundry, cleaned, cooked for the next day.
Dmitry came home, ate dinner, and lay down in front of the TV. Sometimes he asked why she was “always in a bad mood.”
She was losing weight. Dark circles appeared under her eyes. Her hands became dry, her nails split. In the mirror, Anna saw a stranger — tired, aged, empty.
And three weeks ago, Valentina Petrovna announced the anniversary.
On the morning of the celebration, Anna woke up at five, but didn’t go to the kitchen. She put on jeans and a light blouse, did her makeup. She took a box with an envelope from the wardrobe — a full-day spa voucher.
The last savings she had, the ones she was saving for a coat.
Valentina Petrovna came out for breakfast in a silk robe, saw her dressed-up daughter-in-law, and pursed her lips.
— Why are you dressed like that? You’ll be stuck in the kitchen all day. Change.
— I have things to do — Anna handed over the envelope. — This is for you. A gift for the anniversary.
Her mother-in-law opened the envelope, her eyes widened.
— Spa? Anechka, how lovely! But today I can’t, I need to watch the table, the guests…
— Valentina Petrovna — Anna sat down across from her, looking her straight in the eyes — you want Ludmila to see you glowing, right? Imagine how jealous she’ll be.
Everyone will ask where you got this transformation. And I’ll take care of everything at the table myself, don’t worry.
A pause. Valentina Petrovna thought. Her fingers stroked the envelope. Vanity won.
— Well… maybe. Ludka really is always bragging about her cosmetologist. Dimi will take me?
— Of course — Anna called her husband.
Dmitry appeared, sleepy, displeased. He listened, grunted in agreement. Half an hour later, they left. The apartment was empty.
Anna went to the bedroom. She took out a black dress, bought yesterday at a second-hand store, and high heels.
She called her friend Kira, who worked as a part-time makeup artist. By five o’clock, everything was ready: hair, makeup, dress. Anna looked in the mirror. She didn’t recognize herself. Alive.
She didn’t go to the kitchen.
Guests began arriving at six thirty. First in was Svetlana Markovna, a corpulent woman with a loud voice, and she froze.
The table was set perfectly. A white tablecloth without a single wrinkle. Candles. Crystal glasses. Cutlery for eight. Everything in its place.
There was no food.
— Anechka, um… where are the appetizers? — Svetlana Markovna turned.
— Surprise — Anna smiled. — We’re waiting for the guests of honor.
The rest arrived: Valentina Petrovna’s friends, Dmitry’s colleagues. All with flowers, gifts, elegantly dressed. They sat, exchanged glances, looked at the empty table. Someone joked about a trendy diet. An awkward laugh.
Anna poured mineral water. Smiled. Waited.
At seven, Dmitry and his mother arrived. Valentina Petrovna floated into the hallway radiant: skin glowing from a peeling, hair in waves, manicure flawless. She shrugged off her coat and stepped into the living room.
She stopped.
The table was empty. Eight guests sat with disbelief on their faces. Anna in a black dress, a glass of water in her hand.
— Wh… what is this?! — Valentina Petrovna’s voice broke into a shriek. — Anna! Where is the food?! I gave you a list!
Dmitry came in after her. He saw the table. His face flushed.
— Anna, have you lost your mind completely? The guests came for the anniversary, and the table is empty!
He yelled through the house. Guests stared at plates, phones, windows — anywhere but at this scene.
— What are you doing?! Are you in your right mind?!
Anna waited. Placed the glass on the table. Quietly.
— This is my surprise.
Silence fell like a curtain.
— In honor of our anniversary, I am announcing a divorce — Anna removed her wedding ring. Placed it on the white tablecloth. It clinked. — I’m leaving. Today. Now.
Dmitry opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened again.
— You… in front of people?! You staged this circus in front of the guests?!
— I staged the truth — Anna picked up the bag she had prepared in advance. — For seven months, I’ve been your servant. Cooking, washing, cleaning. From five in the morning until midnight. And you never once asked how I was. Never once helped. You just used me. I was convenient for you. That’s all.
Ludmila, one of her mother-in-law’s friends, snickered into her sleeve. Svetlana Markovna nodded — barely.
— Anechka, dear, wait, we’ll talk about it — Valentina Petrovna stepped toward her, hands outstretched, with perfect manicure. — You’re just tired, I understand. We’ll hire help, right, Dimi?
— Too late — Anna walked to the door.
Dmitry lunged, grabbed her arm.
— Stop! You can’t just leave!
— I can — Anna freed herself. — Look.
She opened the door. Behind her, she heard Dmitry panicking over the phone:
— Hello, restaurant? Delivery for eight immediately! Now! I’ll pay whatever it takes, just quickly!
Anna closed the door. Went to the stairwell. Took out her phone, wrote to Kira: “Can I come over?”
The reply came instantly: “Come, you fool. About time.”
Anna stayed at Kira’s for a week. Slept on a folding bed. Went to work, returned, and simply looked out the window. Kira didn’t ask questions.
Dmitry called for three days. First he yelled, demanded she return, called her ungrateful. Then his tone changed — he begged, promised change. Anna listened in silence and declined.
On the fourth day, a message came: “Mom is sick. Really bad. Happy now?”
Anna blocked the number.
Instead, Svetlana Markovna, the same guest, wrote: “Anechka, sorry for bothering you. You’re amazing. I spent thirty years with the same kind of mother-in-law. I didn’t have the courage to leave. You’re a hero.”
Then Ludmila. Then someone else. Everyone wrote the same: you did the right thing.
A week later, Kira came back from shopping and said she saw Dmitry. Standing with a cart full of frozen dumplings and semi-prepared foods. He looked haggard, eyes red.
— I asked how he was. He muttered that his mother is really sick now, can’t do anything. He has to cook, clean, and work. They hired someone for a few hours, but it’s expensive. Already sold the car. Gave up fishing. No time for anything.
Anna listened. Felt nothing. Neither schadenfreude nor pity. Just relief.
— He asked where you were. Said to tell you that if you come back, everything will change.
— It won’t — Anna shook her head. — At least now he knows the price of what I did.
Another week later, Anna rented a room in a shared building near the school. Ten square meters, shared kitchen. Window to the yard where pigeons cooed. Nothing special. But hers.
She sat on the bed, looked at the walls. On the floor, a suitcase with her things. Everything she took.
Her phone vibrated. Unknown number: “Anna, it’s Valentina. Sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing. Come back. We’ll change.”
Anna read it. Deleted it. Placed the phone on the windowsill.
Outside, an old lady scattered crumbs, pigeons descended, jostled, cooed. Loud. Alive. Smelled of autumn, wet asphalt, strangers’ meals from the shared kitchen.
It didn’t smell of her mother-in-law’s perfume and her eternal migraines. Didn’t smell of Dmitry, who never learned to see.
Anna opened the window wider. Cold air hit her face. She inhaled it deeply, down to the very bottom of her lungs.
For the first time in seven months, she went to bed at eight in the evening simply because she wanted to. Not because she collapsed from exhaustion, but because she could allow herself to.
No one would wake her demanding shirts be ironed. No one would say she wasn’t trying hard enough. No one would use her compliance as weakness.
In the morning, the sun woke her. Saturday. No need to get up. She could sleep more, go for a walk, or just lie there. Any choice — hers.
In the kitchen, her neighbor Tamara, a woman in her fifties, was boiling water for tea.
— Tea?
— Thank you.
They sat in silence. Outside, pigeons, cars, someone arguing in the yard. An ordinary morning. Strange. But hers.
Anna finished her tea, rinsed her mug. Looked at her reflection in the glass. Pale, without makeup, hair tousled. Ordinary. Free. Alive.
She smiled.
