Again that smell. Cinnamon with vanilla. I’m checking the cheesecake recipe for the hundredth time, though I know it by heart. My hands tremble as I take the form out of the oven. Please let everything be perfect this time.
«Masha, did you fall asleep there?» Andrei’s voice comes from the living room. «The guests are waiting for dessert!»
I hastily cut the cheesecake, garnish it with fresh raspberries. Each movement is precise—I’m afraid to make a mistake. His words from the last family dinner echo in my head: «As always, clumsy hands. Can’t even cut a simple cake properly.»
I enter the living room with the tray. His entire family is there—mother, father, sister with her husband. They’re smiling, chatting. Only the mother-in-law looks on with her usual squint.
«Here comes our chef!» Andrei greets me with his trademark smirk. «Hope there are no surprises this time?»
I set the plates, trying not to meet anyone’s eyes. Andrei tastes first. I hold my breath.
«Mm…» he grimaces theatrically. «Do you seriously think this is edible? Where did you see a cheesecake this dry?»
«Sorry, I…» I begin, but he interrupts:
«Can’t you remember a simple recipe? How many times must I say—temperature 160 degrees, no higher! Any fool can manage, but you…»
The mother-in-law shakes her head:
«Andriusha, don’t be angry. Masha tried her best…»
«That’s just it! She tried!» he pushes the plate away irritably. «As always—mediocre. Sometimes I think—maybe I should have married someone who can at least cook?»
Everyone laughs awkwardly. And I stand, clutching the tray with whitened fingers. Something inside me breaks—quietly, but irrevocably.
«I’ll bring the coffee,» I squeeze out of myself and run to the kitchen.
My hands shake as I place the cups on the tray. In my head, it pulses: «How much longer? How much more can I endure?»
In the evening, after the guests have left, I stand for a long time in front of the bedroom mirror. When did I become this? A grey face, dim eyes, drooping shoulders. Where is the cheerful girl who once dreamed of great love?
From the living room, Andrei’s voice carries—he’s calling someone:
«Yes, imagine, she messed up the dessert again. I don’t know how to teach her—might as well bang my head against the wall…»
I gaze into my reflection. Something dark and heavy grows in my chest. The ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly becomes deafening.
Enough. Never again.
That night I hardly slept. For the first time in ten years of marriage, it was crystal clear. A plan formed by itself—simple and terrifying at the same time.
Tomorrow I’ll show him what it’s like to be humiliated. And damn the consequences.
Masha, my sunshine, have you lost your mind?» Andrey jerks in the bonds tied to the headboard. «Untie me right now!»
I look at him, so helpless, and a strange calm spreads within me. My hands no longer tremble, my voice does not falter.
«You know, dear, I was thinking…» I slowly trace my finger along his cheek. «Ten years is enough time to learn how to make the perfect cheesecake. But somehow, you always find something to nitpick.»
«Masha, stop this circus!» he tries to speak authoritatively, but fear slips into his voice. «Untie me immediately, or…»
«Or what?» I lean in closer. «Tell everyone what a worthless wife I am? Oh, wait… you do that already. At every opportunity.»
I stand up and start walking around the room. Dawn is breaking outside, but the curtains are tightly drawn. The phones are off—no one will interrupt our special conversation.
«Remember our wedding?» I stop at the vanity. «That was the first time you humiliated me in public. ‘The clumsy bride can’t even throw the bouquet properly!’ Everyone laughed. And I smiled because I thought you were just joking.»
«Masha, I…» he stops under my gaze.
«Silence. It’s my turn to talk,» I pick up a comb and run it through my hair. «You know what’s funny? I really did try to be better. I took cooking lessons, read books on etiquette, lost weight… But it was never enough for you.»
Andrey falls silent. For the first time in years, he listens to me, really listens.
«And remember last year’s corporate party? When you told all your colleagues how clueless I was? ‘Imagine, she can’t even turn on an iron properly—always burning something!'»
I walk to the window and slightly part the curtain. The city is waking up.
«Do you know I cried in the bathroom then? No, of course, you don’t. You were too busy—spreading tales about your worthless wife.»
«Masha, I didn’t mean to…» his voice is muffled. «They were just jokes…»
I spin around sharply:
«Jokes?! And when you told my parents that I couldn’t get pregnant because I was ‘incompetent at that too’—was that also a joke?»
He pales. We both remember that moment all too well.
«Three miscarriages, Andrey. Three! And you… you turned my pain into another reason for mockery.»
I sit on the edge of the bed. I pull out an album from the drawer of the nightstand.
«Look how happy I am here,» I show him a photo from ten years ago. «Eyes sparkling, a genuine smile. And here’s a photo from last New Year’s,» I flip the page. «See the difference? You slowly killed everything alive in me, day by day, year by year.»
Andrey jerks in his bonds:
«Listen, I realize I was wrong. Let’s talk calmly…»
«Oh, now you want to talk?» I smirk. «Where was this desire earlier? When I tried to explain how much your ‘jokes’ hurt me?»
I stand up, go to the closet. I pull out a suitcase, start methodically packing.
«What are you doing?» panic in his voice.
«What I should have done a long time ago,» I neatly fold a blouse. «I’m leaving.»
«You can’t!» he nearly screams. «What about me? What will people say?»
«And that, dear, is no longer my problem,» I zip up the suitcase. «Let your mom teach you how to make the perfect cheesecake.»
I take out my phone, send a message to his sister: «Come by Andrey’s in a couple of hours. The key is under the mat.»
«You realize I won’t let this go?» his voice trembles with rage. «I’ll tell everyone what a psycho you are!»
I turn to him one last time:
«Go ahead. Just remember—I have dozens of recordings of your ‘sweet jokes.’ And trust me, the public will love your sense of humor.»
His face contorts:
«You… you recorded everything?»
«Did you think I just endured it?» I smile. «No, dear. I learned. I learned to be strong. And you know what? Thank you for that lesson.»
I take the suitcase, head to the door. Behind me, I hear his screams, pleas, threats. But inside—absolute silence and peace.
In the hallway, I stop by the mirror. I look into the eyes of the other Masha—decisive, free. She smiles at me, and I smile back.
Goodbye, dear. Thank you for everything.
The lock clicks behind me, and I take the first step into a new life. Inside, a wonderful feeling spreads—as if a bird that had been caged for years finally spread its wings.
And in my pocket, the phone buzzes—a message from Andrey’s sister: «I’m coming. What happened?»
I don’t reply. Let her see for herself. Let everyone see.
I get into a taxi:
«To the airport, please.»
The driver nods, and the car moves off. In the rearview mirror, I watch the silhouette of the house where I spent ten years of my life—ten years of humiliation, pain, and fear.
But that’s in the past. Ahead—only freedom.
And you know what? I will definitely learn to make the perfect cheesecake. But now—only for myself.
A week later, I sit in a cozy café somewhere on the outskirts of Barcelona. In front of me—a cup of hot chocolate and the latest issue of a local newspaper, in which I try to decipher the Spanish words.
The phone vibrates—another missed call from his mother through an internet messenger. I smile and mute the sound. Over these days, I’ve received probably a hundred messages and calls. From his parents, from mutual friends, even from neighbors.
«More coffee?» the waiter brings the bill. And he speaks not in Spanish.
«No, gracias,» I reply with a smile, glad that at least these simple phrases I’ve already learned.
I open my laptop. An email from Andrey’s sister, Katya:
«Masha, I understand your feelings, but what you’ve done… Andrey is in a terrible state. He hasn’t even gone to work. Maybe it’s worth talking?»
I close the email without a response. Instead, I open the document I started writing on the plane. «The Story of One Marriage»—a cliché title, but what does it matter?
«I learned to smile when it hurt. I learned to swallow tears along with another dose of humiliation. Every morning I woke up thinking—maybe today will be different? Maybe today he will finally see a person in me, not a perpetually wrong, clumsy, unworthy wife…»
I write and write, not noticing how time flies. Words pour out—all that I’ve held inside for years.
The phone comes to life again—this time a message from a friend:
«Turn on the First Channel on the internet! Your beloved is giving an interview there!»
I quickly find the broadcast. Indeed—Andrey is in a talk show studio. Hollow-eyed, with dark circles under his eyes.
«I was blind,» his voice trembles. «Only when she left did I realize what a monster I had been. Masha, if you’re watching this—forgive me. I’ve realized everything. Let’s start over…»
I turn off the broadcast. I bitterly laugh—what a talented actor. I wonder how much they paid for this show?
A new message—from his mother:
«Masha, darling, he has truly changed! Please come back, give him a chance…»
And then—from Andrey himself:
«I’ve enrolled with a psychologist. I’m changing. I swear, everything will be different…»
I shake my head. Too late, dear. Far too late.
In the evening, I walk along the promenade. The sea roars, the air smells of salt and freedom. I enter a small pastry shop, where an elderly Spaniard named José works. He already knows me—I come here every day to learn to make desserts.
«Cheesecake lover,» he smiles.
I nod. Tomorrow we start with cheesecake. What an irony.
I return to my apartment in the dark. It’s small but cozy—white walls, large windows, a view of the sea. The first home I chose myself.
I open my laptop—a new email from a publisher:
«Dear Maria! We’re interested in your story. Ready to discuss publication…»
I smile. Who would have thought that my pain would turn into a book that might help other women find the strength to start a new life?
Months later, I enter my own pastry shop—yes, now it’s mine. José agreed to sell me the business, seeing my passion for baking. Thankfully, I had saved enough money over the years. Every morning I bake cheesecakes, croissants, tarts. And you know what? They are perfect.
On a table by the window—a fresh issue of a Russian magazine. On the cover, a photo of Andrey with a new girlfriend and the headline: «A Story of Repentance: Famous Businessman Talks About His Mistakes…»
I smile and toss the magazine. This is no longer my story.
The phone rings—a number I don’t recognize.
«Maria? This is Elena from the help center. I read your book… Could you speak to our wards? Many women need your story.»
«Of course,» I reply without hesitation. «When?»
In the evening, I sit on the balcony, watching the sunset. In the oven, another cheesecake is baking—this time with lavender and blueberries. My special recipe.
The phone pings—the last message from Andrey:
«I still love you…»
I don’t reply. Instead, I open my email and write:
«Dear Elena! Yes, I am ready to share my story. Because every woman deserves to be happy. Every woman deserves respect. And every woman should know: it’s never too late to start over…»
The air smells of freedom. And you know what? This freedom is sweeter than any dessert.
I wrap a blanket around my shoulders and watch the sun slowly sink into the sea. Who would have thought—I, always so proper and cautious, suddenly took a crazy step. Left everything and moved to a foreign country. You know what’s most surprising? For the first time in many years, I’m not replaying in my head what Andrey would have said. I don’t imagine his scornful smirk, I don’t hear his sarcastic comments. For the first time in ages, I don’t care whether I’m living right or not.
I would have gladly stayed in my own country, but I’m still afraid of him.
I take a sip of coffee and smile at my thoughts. It’s funny how it turned out—losing my familiar life, I seem to have found my true self. The girl who once dreamed of opening her own pastry shop. Who loved to fool around and wasn’t afraid to seem funny.
