“What divorce? You’re still paying off loans, go heat up the soup instead!” — the mother-in-law laughed, her voice filling every corner of the cramped apartment, as if even the walls were forced to echo her mocking words.
In the hallway, heavy, stale air lingered, mixed with the smell of burnt food, the damp suffocating scent of old clothes, and the remnants of cigarette smoke that seemed unwilling to ever leave the space.
Every corner of the apartment carried exhaustion and accumulated tension, as if no one had ever truly tried to clean away the burdens of the past years.
From the living room came the monotonous sound of television, showing flickering images of a sports channel, although no one was truly watching, only filling the silence like unnecessary background noise.
Between the sounds, there was also a slow, rhythmic chewing that became increasingly irritating as the tension of the moment grew.
Ksenia slowly removed her wet coat, soaked completely by the November rain, its fabric already heavy with water.
The fibers of the collar were tangled, as if they had absorbed the fatigue of the entire day, making every movement feel even heavier.
“I want a divorce,” she said quietly but firmly, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, her gaze slowly sweeping across the space where everyone was present but no one truly looked at her.
Maxim, sitting on the sofa, did not even turn toward her, as if the images on the television mattered more than any human conversation.
The springs of the sofa creaked softly as he leaned back comfortably, taking another handful of crackers into his mouth, crumbs slowly falling onto his clothes.
Zoya Nikolaevna, the mother-in-law, immediately turned from the stove, staring at her daughter-in-law as if she were an unwanted stranger standing in her home.
She quickly wiped her hands on a worn, greasy apron that had long lost its original color and shape.
“What kind of nonsense is this,” she said sharply, her voice growing more irritated with every word. “Talking about divorce while you still haven’t paid off your loans, go heat up the soup like a proper wife should.”
Her words were not only critical but deeply condescending, as if Ksenia’s decisions held no value within this house. The atmosphere grew increasingly tense, as though every spoken word was building another invisible wall between them.
“Look at her, the little princess wants a divorce,” Zoya continued, laughing bitterly and shaking her head. “And who do you think would ever need you? Four years of marriage and still no child, only problems coming from you.”
Meanwhile, Maxim slowly lifted his mug, took a large sip, and leaned back again as if the entire conversation had nothing to do with him.
His expression was bored, almost indifferent, like someone watching a stranger’s family drama in a film.
Ksenia leaned against the wall and closed her eyes for a moment, her thoughts drifting back a few hours earlier when she had still been living in an entirely different world.
Behind the theater’s backstage, she worked in a place where lights, scenery, and roles created an entirely different reality.
As a set and costume designer in a dramatic theater company, she built new worlds with every performance, where every material, color, and shape carried meaning.
That day, she had an urgent task to deliver props for a large corporate event, so she hurried toward the back exit carrying cardboard boxes in her arms.
That was when she noticed a familiar coat in the wardrobe, stopping her for a moment. Her heart slowed as she stepped closer and saw Maxim sitting at a secluded table.
He was alone, until shortly after, Lilia appeared beside him, a receptionist at their own company. She laughed, leaned in close, and playfully twisted her hair around her finger as if everything were natural and harmless.
“Your wife is still running around with her little boxes,” Lilia said mockingly, smiling. “She’ll spend her whole life paying off your debts and never get rid of you.”
“Let her,” Maxim replied with a tired smile, pulling the woman closer. “She’s obedient. She won’t leave.”
Those words cut deeper into Ksenia than anything else in recent years, because in that moment she finally understood how those she had sacrificed everything for truly saw her.
A year earlier, an accident at a construction site had completely changed their lives. Maxim’s crew had been renovating a villa, and after finishing work, during a careless celebration, they forgot to shut off the heating system.
Hot water flooded the house all night, and by morning the wooden floors had swelled, the walls had cracked, and the furniture was completely ruined. The client demanded massive compensation and threatened to sue.
The crew members disappeared as if they had never existed, and only Ksenia remained, going from bank to bank trying to find a solution. Eventually, she took out a huge loan with crushing interest, putting herself into years of debt just to save her husband.
And now that same man sat in front of her, calmly chewing snacks while his mother humiliated her with every sentence.
“Tomorrow I will file for divorce,” Ksenia said quietly, but every word carried finality. “And you can move in with Lilia, because I know everything.”
The room suddenly fell silent, even the television sound fading into the distance. Maxim slowly lowered his hand and looked at her properly for the first time, as if seeing her now for the first time in years.
Zoya shouted something in outrage, but Ksenia no longer listened. She walked into the bedroom, took an old sports bag, and quietly began packing her clothes, every movement calm and decisive.
There was no rush in her actions, only the quiet certainty of a decision long overdue.
Fifteen minutes later, the door slammed behind her, and the cold air immediately wrapped around her body. She had nowhere to go, but she no longer wanted to turn back.
She slowly walked toward the theater, the only place where she still felt at home. The night guard let her in without a word, as he was used to her occasionally staying overnight.
In the workshop, she lay down on the large cutting table among pieces of fabric that still carried the scent of upcoming performances. The smell of paint, wood, and glue was strangely comforting compared to any apartment she had ever lived in.
In the morning, she woke up to footsteps, and in the doorway stood Arkady, a visiting director working on a new play. He placed two cups of coffee on the table and spoke calmly.
“Pack your things,” he said simply, as if everything had already been decided.
Ksenia sat up, exhausted, and only asked.
“Why?”
“You’re being transferred to the regional theater,” Arkady replied. “They need you there, and you’ll have housing too. No more sleeping on tables.”
There were no more questions.
A week later, she was already working in a new, spacious workshop where the light was brighter and the future felt slightly less heavy. The work slowly filled the empty spaces in her life that had once been occupied by pain and disappointment.
And every day, as the sound of the sewing machine filled the room, Ksenia increasingly felt that something new was beginning, something in which she could finally decide who she wanted to become.
