Galina left the hospital at half past six. Her legs were buzzing, and her head was empty. Twelve hours in a row. A diabetic patient — coma, intensive care, the whole shift down the drain.
She made it to the bus stop, sat down on a bench and closed her eyes. Just a minute. Just a second of silence.
And then — a call.
“Hello?”
“Where the hell are you?!” Viktor yelled so loudly she had to pull the phone away from her ear.
“Vitya, I just got out of the hospital.”
“I don’t care! My relatives came to visit, they’re waiting for dinner! When are you coming home?!”
“What relatives?” Galina blinked in confusion. “You didn’t say anything.”
“And why should I have to tell you? Are you my wife or what? You’re supposed to be here when people arrive! Aunt Zina from Voronezh with her daughter! And nephew Seryozha! They came here especially to see us!”
“Vitya, I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know! It’s always the same with you — didn’t know, didn’t have time, couldn’t manage! ” He was almost choking with rage. “They’ve been sitting here for two hours already! Hungry! And the table’s empty!”
“Vitya, maybe you could—”
“Could what?!” he roared. “What am I, some woman, to run around the kitchen? You’re the wife! Your job is the house, guests, food! Not hanging around hospitals till night!”
“I’m not hanging around! I’m working! We nearly lost a patient.”
“I don’t give a damn about your patients! Family comes first! Get home immediately and make dinner!”
He hung up.
Galina sat there staring at the phone screen. “Call ended.” Just like that. Twenty-two years of marriage in one sentence.
The bus came fifteen minutes later. On the ride she kept thinking: what could she cook quickly? There was probably not even any potatoes at home. She’d have to run to the store again. Lug bags again. Stand at the stove again.
And they were sitting in the living room — Viktor, Aunt Zina, her daughter. What were their names? Lena? Ira? Didn’t matter. Sitting there, complaining and discussing what a terrible wife she was.
“Can you imagine,” Viktor was surely saying, “she thinks work is more important than family!”
And Aunt Zina would shake her head:
“Ah, Vitenka, your wife needs to know her place…”
Galina walked into the apartment and immediately heard laughter from the living room. Cheerful, satisfied. So Vitya had already managed to entertain everyone with his jokes about his “missing” wife.
“Galia’s here!” he shouted. “Finally!”
She went into the room. Indeed — the couch was full of guests. Aunt Zina — stout, in a bright dress. Next to her a woman of about thirty — probably the daughter. In the corner a young guy with a phone — the nephew.
“Oh, Galya!” Aunt Zina got up from the couch. “You’ve lost so much weight! Completely worn yourself out, poor thing!”
“Hello,” Galina managed to say. “Sorry I’m late.”
“That’s all right, that’s all right!” the aunt waved it off. “We understand. That’s your job. But now you’re home! Vitya says you bake such delicious pies!”
Galina looked at her husband. He was sitting in an armchair, smiling contentedly.
“Galya,” he said softly, “maybe you could set the table? People have come a long way, they’re hungry.”
“Of course,” she replied.
And she went to the kitchen to cook dinner for people she was seeing for the first time in her life.
At half past eleven Galina put the last dish on the table — fried potatoes with pork fat. Just the way Viktor liked it. Or no — maybe it was nephew Seryozha who’d asked for it. Or Aunt Zina?
All the faces had blurred into one hungry, pleased, expectant face.
“Galya, at last!” Aunt Zina clapped her hands. “We were already thinking we’d go to bed hungry!”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Galina muttered. “It took a long time to cook.”
“Oh, it’s fine!” the aunt’s daughter waved a hand. “Now it’s a real feast!”
Viktor, satisfied, was pouring vodka.
“Well then, to the reunion! To family!”
Galina sat down on the very edge of a chair. All she wanted was one thing — to take off those cursed shoes. Her legs were humming after twelve hours at the hospital and then another three in the kitchen.
“Aunt Galya, is there any more bread?” the nephew asked without even looking up from his plate.
“Sure.” She got up and went for the bread.
“And bring some pickles!” shouted Aunt Zina. “I saw some in the fridge!”
“And mustard!” added Viktor. “Without mustard the pork fat’s just not the same!”
Galina walked back and forth. Bringing whatever they asked for. No one said “thank you.” It was natural — a wife was supposed to serve.
At the table they talked about children, work, food prices. No one asked Galina how she was. She was background. A member of the service staff.
“Remember, Vitya,” laughed Aunt Zina, “how we used to visit Grandma as kids? She cooked so well too!”
“Yeah, those were good times,” Viktor agreed. “Not like now.”
“By the way,” the aunt looked at Galina, “you’re still the same, Galya: quiet, invisible. Vitya’s lucky! A housewifely wife is a blessing.”
Galina tried to smile. Inside, something clenched. “Quiet, invisible.” That’s all they thought of her.
At one in the morning the guests finally started to leave. There were long goodbyes, hugs, promises “not to lose touch.”
“Thanks for dinner!” the aunt’s daughter shouted from the hallway. “It was really delicious!”
“Galya, you’re wonderful!” Aunt Zina pecked her on the cheek. “Vitya, take care of your wife!”
The door closed. Viktor stretched contentedly.
“Well, that was nice. Haven’t seen the family in ages.”
Galina silently gathered the dirty dishes. Plates, shot glasses, salad bowls. Mountains of dirty dishes.
“Vitya,” she said quietly, “could you help?”
“What?” He was already undressing. “Oh, the dishes. You’ll get through them quickly. I’m really tired. I have to be up early.”
“I’m tired too. And I have to get up early as well.”
“Galya, don’t start,” he grimaced. “I have a responsible job. And you, what does it cost you to wash a few plates.”
She stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding a greasy frying pan. Tears were running down her cheeks.
“What’s the big deal, washing some plates.” Twelve hours at the hospital. Saving someone else’s life. Then three hours of cooking for strangers. And now — doing the dishes until two in the morning.
“What’s the big deal.”
In the morning Viktor left for work without even saying goodbye. Galina got to the hospital as if in a dream. She dozed off on the bus and missed her stop.
“Galina Ivanovna, are you okay?” asked her colleague Lida. “You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine,” Galina lied. “Just didn’t sleep enough.”
“Guests?”
“Yeah. My husband’s relatives came.”
“I see,” Lida nodded sympathetically. “I know these family celebrations. The wife slaves away and everyone else relaxes.”
All day Galina worked on autopilot. Injections, IV drips, taking blood pressure. Mechanical, soulless movements.
“Galina Ivanovna,” doctor Petrov called to her, “are you going to the seminar? On new methods of stroke rehabilitation?”
“What seminar?”
“Tomorrow at six. Nearby, at the medical center. It’s free. They give a certificate.”
“I don’t know,” Galina thought of home. Of Viktor, who would be expecting dinner. “Probably won’t be able to.”
“That’s a pity. There’ll be some interesting lectures. And in general, it’s useful to get out of the routine sometimes.”
That evening at dinner Viktor was unusually talkative.
“By the way, Aunt Zina called. She thanked us for last night. Said you’re an excellent cook.”
“Really?” Galina listlessly pushed her salad around her plate.
“Yeah. And she also said I’m lucky to have a wife like you.” He smirked contentedly. “I agreed.”
“Vitya,” she suddenly said, “there’s a seminar at the medical center tomorrow. Can I go?”
“What seminar now?”
“On new treatment methods. They give a certificate.”
“And who’s going to cook dinner?” he frowned.
“You can do it yourself just this once.”
“Galya, don’t make things up. What do you need seminars for? Isn’t your job enough? There’s plenty to do at home.”
“But it’s for work! To improve my qualifications!”
“And what are you going to learn there?” Viktor snorted. “How to give injections? You’ve been doing that for thirty years already. Enough with these seminars. Better take care of normal things at home.”
Galina fell silent. Then got up and started clearing the table.
“Enough with these seminars,” she repeated to herself. Thirty years. For thirty years she’d been giving injections. And he thought there was nothing left to learn.
Yet once she’d dreamed of becoming a doctor. She’d been accepted into medical school. But in her second year she met Vitya. Fell in love. Got married. Dropped out.
“What do you need to be a doctor for?” her husband had told her then. “Being a nurse is a good profession too. You get a salary and you’ll still have time to manage everything at home.”
And she’d listened. Went to nursing school. Became a nurse.
And now — “enough with these seminars.”
“Galya,” Viktor called out, “the salad was under-salted. Next time add more salt.”
She nodded silently.
“Next time,” she thought. “What if there won’t be a next time?”
The thought came out of nowhere. And it scared her.
The next day Lida ended up going to the seminar.
“Galina Ivanovna!” her colleague called out. “How’s it going? Are you coming to yoga?”
“Yoga?” Galina stopped.
“Yeah, there’s a notice over there. Free classes for women over fifty. At the medical center, every Tuesday. Do you want to go?”
Galina looked at the bright leaflet. “Yoga for body and soul. Find harmony.”
“I don’t know…” she began.
“Oh, come on!” Lida took her by the arm. “Let’s go! What have we got to lose? It’s an hour. Maybe we’ll like it.”
And Galina went. Simply because she was tired of arguing. Tired of always having to explain to someone why she couldn’t, why it didn’t work, why she had no time.
There were about twenty people in the room. Women of different ages were laying out mats. The instructor — a young woman with a calm voice — asked everyone to lie down and close their eyes.
“Feel your body,” she said. “Listen to your breathing.”
For the first time in many years Galina really felt her body. Her tired shoulders. Her tense neck. Her clenched jaw.
And for the first time in many years — silence in her head.
The class lasted an hour. When they turned the lights back on, Galina didn’t want to open her eyes.
“Did you like it?” Lida asked.
“Yes,” Galina said, surprised at herself. “Very much.”
“Then shall we come again next Tuesday?”
“I will.”
At home she was greeted by an annoyed Viktor:
“Where were you? I’ve been waiting for dinner for half an hour!”
“I was at a class,” Galina answered calmly.
“What class now?”
“Yoga. I liked it.”
“Yoga?” he snorted. “At your age? Galya, have you lost your mind?”
For three weeks she went to yoga in secret. Told him she was staying late at work. And every Tuesday she felt alive.
And then came another phone call.
Galina was standing in tree pose, holding her balance when her phone rang.
“Don’t answer,” the instructor said. “This is your time.”
But the answering machine turned on by itself:
“Where are you?!” Viktor’s voice growled. “We’ve got guests! Aunt Zina and her daughter are here! Where’s dinner?! Get home immediately!”
Everyone in the room turned to look. Galina stood there, red with shame.
“You can call back later,” the instructor suggested quietly.
Galina looked at her phone. Seven missed calls on the screen.
And suddenly something clicked inside her.
“No,” she said. “I won’t.”
She switched off the phone.
“Let’s continue the class,” she asked the instructor.
After yoga Galina walked home slowly. She was getting ready. The phone buzzed in her pocket now that it was on again, but she didn’t pick up.
At home she was met by a furious Viktor:
“Where were you?! Aunt Zina left without dinner! What a disgrace for the whole family!”
“I was at a class,” Galina said.
“What class?! Why the hell didn’t you answer your phone?!”
“At yoga. And I turned my phone off.”
“Yoga?!” he shouted. “I don’t care about your damn yoga! When I call — a wife should answer!”
“Yes,” Galina nodded. “A wife. Not a maid.”
“What?”
“I said — not a maid. And not a slave. If your guests come — you cook for them. Or order food.”
“What nonsense are you talking?!” Viktor was stunned. “I don’t know how to cook!”
“And I didn’t know how to give injections. I learned. You’ll learn too.”
“Galya, are you crazy?”
“On the contrary,” she smiled. “I’ve finally come to my senses.”
Viktor stared at his wife and didn’t recognize her. This calm, smiling woman was nothing like his obedient Galya.
“You don’t love me anymore?” he asked helplessly.
“I do,” she answered honestly. “But I’m starting to love myself too.”
A month later Galina submitted a request for paid vacation.
“Galya,” Viktor said over breakfast, “maybe you shouldn’t? Things are hectic at work for me right now, you could stay home.”
“I’ve already bought a package,” she replied calmly.
“A package? Where to?”
“To a resort. On the Black Sea. For two weeks.”
“Alone?!” his eyes bulged.
“Alone.”
Viktor was silent for a moment, processing this.
“And what if my relatives come to visit?”
“Order delivery. Or cook yourself. There are recipes on the internet.”
“But that’s not right! A wife can’t just do that!”
“She can,” Galina smiled. “I checked.”
At the resort she woke up at nine in the morning. Without an alarm. For the first time in thirty years.
Outside the window the sea was roaring.
Her phone was silent. She’d turned it off the night before.
“I wonder what Viktor is doing,” she thought. And was surprised — she thought it without anxiety. Just out of curiosity.
She turned the phone on. Seven missed calls. Four messages.
“I ordered pizza. It’s expensive!”
“When are you coming back?”
She turned the phone off again.
Breakfast was a buffet. She took a chocolate croissant. The kind she never bought at home — she hardly ever bought anything for herself.
At the next table sat a woman her age, reading a book and sipping coffee.
“Is it a good book?” Galina asked.
“Wonderful!” the woman smiled. “About a woman who decides to change her life at fifty.”
“And did she manage to?”
“I haven’t finished yet. But I think yes.”
Galina poured herself a cup of coffee. Real, strong coffee. At home she always drank instant — quicker, easier.
After breakfast she went to the beach. She lay down on a deck chair and closed her eyes.
“What if I don’t go back?” she suddenly thought.
The thought was unexpected. And frightening. And tempting.
Of course she would go back. She had a job, an apartment, a life now, finally. But now she knew — she didn’t have to. If she didn’t want to.
She came home tanned, rested, with a new haircut.
Viktor met her at the door.
“At last! I missed you!”
He hugged her, and she didn’t push him away. But she didn’t cling to him the way she used to either.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Fine. Though I lost some weight. I kept eating pizza.”
“And you didn’t try cooking borscht?”
“How would I cook borscht?!” he protested.
“The same way I did thirty years ago. Using a recipe.”
Galina walked into the kitchen. The sink was full of dirty dishes. Pizza boxes on the table.
“Vitya,” she said calmly, “tomorrow I’m going back to work. And the day after tomorrow I have yoga. Every Tuesday and Thursday.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts.’ That’s my time.”
Viktor looked at his wife and understood — something had changed for good. This woman was no longer going to run at the first ring. No longer going to apologize for existing.
“And dinner?” he asked uncertainly.
“We’ll cook together,” she smiled. “Or take turns. Like grown-up people.”
She poured herself a cup of tea and looked at her husband expectantly.
“So, are we going to learn how to cook? Or are you going to keep living on pizza?”
Viktor sighed.
“Guess I’ll learn.”
“Good,” she nodded. “Then we’ll start with borscht
