— Where are you going? Enough, Serezha — I whispered, gripping his hand under the table.
My chest tightened with familiar fear. Every family dinner ended the same way: his drunken shouting, broken dishes, my tears in the kitchen.
But today was a special day. We were celebrating my mother-in-law’s anniversary. We had booked a fancy restaurant, the hall was packed with relatives and family friends. I naively hoped that in front of strangers, Serezha would try to control himself.
— Don’t teach me how to live! — Serezha hissed through his teeth, yanking my hand away. — I’m relaxing.
My stomach tightened with old fear.
He poured himself a full glass of brandy and downed it in one gulp. His face turned an unhealthy red, and his eyes became cloudy and angry.
Vera Mikhailovna sat at the head of the table in a glittering dress, watching us vigilantly. My mother-in-law had never truly liked me. I had always been “the girl who came ready for everything” in their spacious apartment.
— Anya, why are you bothering your husband? — my mother-in-law said loudly across the room.
The music had just quieted, and her voice sounded particularly sharp. The guests flinched and turned toward our table.
— Let Serezha rest — she continued in a sugary voice. — He’s worked all week, fed us. And you always ruin his mood with your looks. Sit properly and don’t embarrass us.
Inside, everything twisted with shame. Dozens of eyes judged me or hid pity in their glance.
— He won’t be able to get up tomorrow morning, Vera Mikhailovna — I said softly but firmly. — You’ll call his boss and lie about high blood pressure yourself.
The smile immediately vanished from my mother-in-law’s face. Her lips pressed together, her gaze turned icy.
Serezha suddenly turned toward me, the chair creaking under him.
— How dare you talk to my mother? — he growled.
— I’m telling the truth. It’s time for you to stop.
— Shut up immediately! — my husband shouted across the restaurant.
And in the next moment, he slapped me across the face.
The smack echoed painfully. Someone among the guests gasped. A fork clattered to the tile floor.
My cheek immediately burned. My ears rang. I jerked my head away from the blow but miraculously stayed in the chair. I slowly turned my face toward him and looked into his eyes.
He was breathing heavily, clenching his fists. Triumph shone in his eyes. The triumph of a man who had just proven his power.
Cold sweat ran down my face. Across the table, Vera Mikhailovna sat, delicately wiping her lips with a napkin. A barely perceptible satisfied smile played on her face.
The guests stared at us in tense silence. No one spoke a word in my defense. Not a single man stood up. They were just waiting for me to cry as usual and run to the bathroom.
But there were no tears.
Instead of the usual pain and sorrow spreading through me, a cold calm flooded my body. That conscious calm when you know precisely: enough is enough. No more enduring.
I slowly pulled out the chair, stood up, and reached for my bag from the back of the chair.
— Enjoy your meal — I said in an even tone to the silent room.
I turned and walked toward the door. The gazes of countless relatives burned my back, but I did not quicken my pace.
Outside, fresh, cool air greeted me. I took out my phone and called a taxi. My heart beat steadily. I felt neither fear nor panic.
The restaurant door slammed open, and Serezha ran out onto the steps. He looked around nervously, finally noticing me on the road.
— Anya, stop! — he ran to me, grabbing my elbow.
I pulled my hand away with disgust.
— What do you want?
He faltered. The alcohol had somewhat worn off, and the anger was replaced by familiar anxiety.
— Sorry, alright… I just lost it, it happens. You were at fault too, always nagging with your advice.
He tried to hug me around the shoulders, but I stepped back.
— Go back into the hall — he muttered, lowering his head. — Mom said it was too much. People are talking, giving weird looks. Don’t make a scene over a small thing.
I just looked at his frightened, desperate face and stayed silent.
He really thought I would go back. He thought I would forgive the humiliation as I always forgave his drunken outbursts at home. Because he was sure I had nowhere to go.
That I was completely dependent on him, his salary, and his mother’s huge apartment.
— You haven’t understood anything, Serezha — I said quietly. — I’m not going back. Not to this table, not to your apartment.
He smirked crookedly.
— Where will you go? You make pennies at your office. Are you going to your mother in the village by bus? Shaking along the dusty road?
I pulled out my keyring from my bag, with a new shiny keychain, and showed it to him.
— No. I’m going to my own home.
My husband frowned. He didn’t understand.
— What home? Whose keys are those?
— The keys are mine, Serezha. The keys to my own small one-room apartment on the outskirts of the city.
His face twisted. He blinked frequently.
— Where did you get an apartment? You’re lying! You never had money like this!
— Do you remember, a year and a half ago my grandmother passed away? The same grandmother you couldn’t even say goodbye to before the hospital?
He opened his mouth but could not find words.
— She left me her little house in the village — I continued with a calm smile. — I quietly sold it, without unnecessary fuss. I put the money in a separate account you didn’t know about.
I took a step toward him; he instinctively recoiled.
— Remember last year you complained all year that the food was bad? That I bought cheap meat, stopped buying deli meat completely? I told you prices were rising. In reality, I saved every penny.
I bought sale items, searched for discounts. I didn’t buy a single new piece of clothing all year. I wore old boots, patched my coat.
Serezha stood with his mouth open.
— I saved every penny. I put my entire small salary in a separate account as well. Two months ago I bought a one-room apartment. With my own money. From selling grandmother’s house and my savings.
— You… deceived me?! — his voice trembled with outrage.
— I just stayed silent. That you didn’t notice what you were eating while drinking yourself blind every evening — that’s your problem.
A yellow taxi stopped by the curb. I grabbed the door handle.
— The apartment was bought during the marriage! — my husband shouted. — Half of it is mine by law! I’ll take you to court!
— Go ahead — I nodded calmly. — But the apartment was bought with inheritance money. My grandmother died three years ago; I just sold the house now. I have all the documents, all the receipts, every chain of transactions.
You have no claim to this apartment. And remember the prenuptial agreement? The one you signed three years ago and didn’t even read? When your debts piled up, your mother made us go to the notary?
She wanted to ensure I could never claim her property. It clearly states: everything inherited remains my personal property.
Serezha froze. He finally understood the truth. He realized this was not hysteria. This was the end.
— Anya… — his voice trembled. — And now what about me?
— Go back to your mother’s table, Serezha. You two are perfect for each other. I’m leaving. Forever.
I sat in the back seat and closed the door. The taxi moved smoothly, taking me away from the restaurant, from my husband, from all the filth of the past.
My life in the new apartment began with silence. Unknown, but so longed for silence.
I no longer had to flinch at every footstep in the hallway. I didn’t have to anxiously listen, wondering if he was sober or drunk.
My little apartment was tiny. Only an old sofa from the previous owners and a cheap kitchen table stood inside. But it was clean and free here, like it had never been in my mother-in-law’s luxurious apartment.
Every morning, I woke with a light heart. I brewed tea, sat by the window, and just watched the street.
Serezha later tried calling for a long time. He sent angry messages, then cried into the phone, begging me to come back. My mother-in-law even threatened to come in person to “deal with me.”
I simply got a new number and threw away the old SIM card.
The divorce went quickly. Serezha did not appear in court. He had probably drunk too much the night before. So the verdict was made without him.
On that memorable evening, I bought a small cake, brought it home, lit a candle on the table, and cut a big slice. My cheek had long since healed. My soul healed with every new calm day.
I watched the candle flame and smiled. I was no longer a free servant. I had become the mistress of my own life. And that was the most wonderful feeling in the world.
