“Did you pack your swim trunks? I don’t see them with the stack of T-shirts. And where are your flip-flops? We have to leave in four hours, and you haven’t even started. You know the taxi won’t wait — the airport fare is fixed.”
Darya was kneeling in front of an open suitcase that took up nearly half the double bed. Around her, like little bright islands scattered across a beige sea, were neat piles of summer clothes: airy sundresses, shorts, several swimsuits rolled carefully into compact bundles to save room. The room smelled of a hot iron and the sweet scent of sunscreen — one of the tubes had cracked, and Darya was in the middle of pouring its contents into a travel bottle. She was completely absorbed in the logistics of packing, weighing every kilogram of luggage in her mind.
Maxim stood in the doorway, one shoulder pressed against the frame. He made no move to come inside, and there was something unnaturally tense in the way he held himself, as if he were bracing to attack or leap forward. He kept turning his passport over in his hands, tapping the stiff cover against his palm. The dry, rhythmic sound scraped against Darya’s nerves, but she tried not to focus on it. The anticipation of this vacation — their first proper seaside break in two years — softened everything else.
“I’ll pack the trunks,” he said at last. His voice sounded flat, stripped of its usual warmth. “And the flip-flops too. But we need to rethink the luggage a little. Take out your second cosmetics case. And leave the travel iron behind. There won’t be enough room.”
Darya lifted her head, blowing a loose strand of hair off her forehead.
“What do you mean, not enough room? Max, we bought tickets with checked baggage. Two bags, twenty-three kilos each. This suitcase isn’t even half full. I picked the big one on purpose so we could bring back wine and cheese on the way home. Why would I leave the iron? I’m not walking around in wrinkled linen.”
Maxim pushed away from the doorframe and walked into the room. He didn’t come near the bed, though — he stopped by the window and stared out at the apartment block across the street. His back under the faded home T-shirt looked carved from stone.
“We only have one checked bag for the two of us now,” he tossed over his shoulder without turning around. “The other one’s taken.”
“Taken by who?” Darya sat back on her heels, still holding the sunscreen bottle. “Did you agree to carry something for someone? Max, we already talked about that. No favors for friends, no ‘take Uncle Vasya a jar of jam.’ I’m not dragging anyone else’s junk around.”
Maxim turned sharply. His face was red, but his eyes were cold and cutting. He took a deep breath, like someone preparing to plunge into icy water, and blurted out the words he had clearly been rehearsing for the last half hour while smoking on the balcony.
“I already bought my mom a ticket! She’s coming on vacation with us! Her blood pressure is acting up, she needs sea air! And she’ll stay in our room so we don’t have to pay extra for a hotel! If you don’t like it, cancel your ticket and stay home. Mom and I will go without you!”
A heavy, stale smell of dust seemed to fill the room all at once, overpowering the sweetness of the sunscreen. Darya blinked. Once. Twice. Her husband’s words reached her slowly, like sound traveling through dense fog. Their meaning broke into separate chunks that refused to fit into one picture. His mother. Her blood pressure. Their room.
“Are you joking right now?” she asked very quietly. Her voice did not shake; it had simply gone flat. “Tell me this is some stupid prank.”
“Do I look like a clown?” Maxim snapped. “She called this morning. She feels awful. The doctor said she needs a change of climate immediately. And we’re flying out. What was I supposed to do? Tell her, ‘Sorry, Mom, just die there while we go drink cocktails’? I bought the ticket an hour ago — the last seat on the flight.”
Darya slowly got up from her knees. Her legs had gone numb, and her joints cracked unpleasantly. She moved to the far side of the bed so she could see his face straight on instead of just his profile.
“Maxim, wait. Let’s go step by step. You bought her a plane ticket. Fine. Let’s say I accept that. But you also mentioned the room. We booked a deluxe room with one large bed. King-size. It’s a room for two people. Eighteen square meters. There’s only one closet. Where exactly do you imagine your mother is going to stay?”
“There’s a sofa,” he answered quickly — too quickly. “I saw it in the photos on the hotel website. There’s a fold-out sofa in the corner. It’s small, but Mom will fit. Or we can sleep there, what difference does it make? We’re going there for the sea, not to sit around in the room.”
“What difference does it make?” Darya felt something dark and boiling start to rise in her chest. “The difference is that this was supposed to be our vacation. A romantic one, in case you forgot. We planned it for six months. I bought lingerie. I reserved tables at restaurants. And now you want to put your mother half a meter away from our bed? Can you imagine what kind of nightmare that would be? One bathroom, one shower, snoring, constant talk about aches and medication from morning till night?”
“Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that!” Maxim barked, taking a step toward her. “‘Nightmare’? Living with a member of the family is a nightmare to you? She’s an elderly woman, Darya! She needs care and supervision. I can’t rent her a separate room — we don’t have an extra hundred and fifty thousand lying around right now. Prices have gone through the roof, it’s peak season. Sharing the room is the only option. The hotel approved it, and I paid next to nothing for the extra bed.”
Darya stared at him and saw a complete stranger. This was not the Maxim who had opened a bottle of wine the night before and talked about watching sunsets from the balcony. The man in front of her now was stubborn, aggressive, and already decided. He was simply forcing his will on her, hiding behind the sacred excuse of “a son’s duty.”
“So you decided to save money at the expense of my comfort?” she asked in an icy tone. “You didn’t ask me. You didn’t discuss it. You just dropped it on me four hours before our flight. Do you honestly think I’m going to agree to sleep in one room with your mother for two weeks? Listen to her advice on how to cut fruit properly and why I put on sunscreen the wrong way?”
“Oh, I see, you’re royalty now?” Maxim twisted his lips into a sneer that made Darya want to slap him. “You need comfort. Privacy. You’re selfish. Always thinking only about yourself. A person may be getting her last chance to see the sea, and you’re worried about your lace panties. Yes, I decided. Because I’m the man, and I’m paying for this whole thing. The money for the trip is mine. Which means the rules are mine too.”
He stepped toward the suitcase and kicked it hard in the side. The plastic shell echoed with a hollow thump.
“So here’s your simple choice, Dasha. Either you shut up, pack my mother’s things — I’ll bring them over in an hour, she’s already packed — and the three of us go together. Or you stay here. Alone. In this apartment. And wait until we come back.”
Darya looked at the neatly folded stacks of dresses inside the suitcase. At the silk robe she had bought especially for breakfasts on the terrace. The entire picture of the perfect vacation turned to dust before her eyes, leaving behind only bitterness and a growing rage.
“I am not going anywhere under those conditions,” she said firmly. “And that is not up for discussion. Cancel my ticket.”
Maxim narrowed his eyes. The muscles in his jaw tightened and worked furiously.
“Oh, that’s how it is? Showing me your principles now? Fine. You were warned.”
He reached toward the suitcase — not to close it, but to grab a fistful of her clothes.
“What are you doing?” Darya lunged forward, but she was too late.
Like a bird of prey, Maxim tore an armful of her things out of the suitcase. A silk blouse, a pair of linen shorts, her favorite summer sundress — all of it became a shapeless mass in his hands in an instant.
“If you’re not coming, then your stuff doesn’t need to be there either,” he snarled, and hurled the clothes across the room onto the dusty floor behind the dresser.
The fabric landed on the laminate with a dull slap. The silk rustled faintly, crumpling into an ugly heap. Darya froze, unable to believe what she was seeing. This was no longer simple disregard for her opinion — it was a direct attack on her personal space, on her dignity.
“Have you lost your mind?” she breathed, staring at the empty space in the suitcase where her carefully chosen vacation wardrobe had been moments before. “Those are my вещи! You have no right to touch them!”
“I have every right in this house because I pay for everything!” Maxim shouted, his face twisted with rage. He reached into the suitcase again. This time he grabbed the bag containing her underwear. “And all this… Where exactly were you planning to wear this? Who were you trying to show yourself off to? If you’re not going with your husband, then these rags are useless to you here inside these four walls!”
He seized the bag, ripped it open with a crack, and shook out the contents. Lace panties, bras, a delicate slip — her most private belongings scattered across the room in a bright humiliating shower. One bra landed on the door handle. Another fell at Maxim’s feet, and without even looking, he stepped on it with his heavy shoe.
“Maxim, stop this right now!” Darya’s voice broke into a scream. She rushed at him, trying to catch his hands, but he shoved her away roughly. The force of it sent her flying backward, and she slammed her thigh painfully into the corner of the table. Pain shot through her leg, but adrenaline swallowed it almost instantly.
“Stay out of it!” he shouted, still ransacking the suitcase like a madman. “We need to clear space! Mom’s coming with two bags. She’s got medication, warm clothes, her own blanket, an orthopedic pillow! And you’re here with all your useless junk!”
He pulled out her makeup case — a large, heavy one filled with expensive creams and serums she had collected over months.
“Maxim, no!” Darya cried, already knowing what he was about to do.
But he had already swung his arm. The case flew across the room and slammed into the wall with a crash. Plastic cracked. Glass shattered. Thick white lotion oozed out through the broken zipper and began sliding down the wallpaper. The smell of expensive perfume mixed with the smell of aggression, filling the bedroom with something suffocating.
“There,” Maxim said, breathing heavily. He stood over the suitcase, now half-empty and chaotic, like a battlefield. “Now there’s room. See? Simple.”
Darya slowly slid to the floor, leaning back against the bed. She stared at the scattered clothes. At the crushed sundress in the corner. At the trampled lingerie. At the greasy stain on the wall. It all looked like some surreal nightmare. The man she had lived with for three years, the man she thought she knew, had turned into a brute destroying everything in his path for the sake of his mother’s whim.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. Her voice was quiet, stripped of emotion. Inside her, an icy emptiness had formed. “You do realize that after this, I definitely won’t go anywhere with you.”
Maxim looked down at her. There was not a trace of remorse in his eyes, only the cold triumph of someone who had forced his rules on another by sheer power.
“You’ll go,” he declared confidently, wiping his hands on his jeans as if he had just finished some filthy task. “Where would you go? The tickets are nonrefundable. The money’s spent. You really think I’m going to let a trip that cost two hundred thousand go to waste? You’re going, Darya. And you’ll smile. Because Mom doesn’t need to see that sour face of yours.”
He nudged her shoes by the bed with the tip of his boot.
“And you won’t need those heels there either. Mom and I are going to take slow walks along the promenade and breathe the sea air. She’s not allowed to strain herself. No discos. No bars till dawn. It’ll be a sanatorium schedule. Up at seven, breakfast, treatments — I already arranged them, she needs massages, and you’ll be taking her — then lunch, nap, dinner, bed.”
Darya listened in disbelief.
“You want me to spend my vacation taking your mother to massages?” she asked, lifting her eyes to him.
“Who else?” Maxim replied, genuinely surprised. “Me? I’m a man — I’m going there to relax. I’m the provider, I earned this. And you’re a woman. Caring is your nature. You’ve got young legs, you can run around, make appointments, escort her there, wait in the hallway. It’s not hard for you, and it’ll make Mom happy. She’s old, Dasha. She needs attention.”
He bent toward her until his face was very close to hers. He smelled of coffee and old sweat — he must have been nervous on the drive back with the ticket.
“And remember this,” he said through clenched teeth, staring directly into her eyes. “No alcohol. Mom can’t stand the smell of it. You’ll drink juice. And dress more modestly. No need to upset an old woman with your necklines. You’re not going there to shake your ass around. You’re going there to help. Understood?”
Darya said nothing. She looked at him and watched the mask fall away. Beneath the image of the caring husband, this was what had always been hiding there: a petty domestic tyrant, a mama’s boy for whom a wife was nothing more than a useful household function. Until now, there had simply never been a situation that forced it into the open so clearly. But now that he had to choose between his mother’s comfort and his wife’s feelings, he had not merely chosen his mother. He had chosen to crush his wife so he would not have to feel guilty.
“You see me as a servant,” she said at last. It was not a question.
“I see you as a wife,” Maxim shot back, straightening up. “And a wife is supposed to share her husband’s priorities. My priority right now is my mother’s health. If you call that being a servant, then you’ve got something wrong in your head. And enough with sitting on the floor. Get up and start packing Mom’s things. I’m bringing her bags in now. I want everything arranged neatly. And clear out half the suitcase too. I forgot — she’s bringing her blood pressure monitor and inhaler, and they take up space.”
He turned and headed toward the door, stepping over the scattered lingerie as if it were trash.
“You have one hour, Darya. If that suitcase isn’t ready for Mom’s things by the time I get back, I’ll throw the rest of your clothes out the window. Straight onto the street. Got it?”
The door slammed so hard the windowpanes rattled. Darya remained sitting on the floor amid the ruins of her wardrobe and her marriage. In the silence of the apartment, all that could be heard was the ticking of the wall clock, counting down the minutes to the inevitable end. But she felt no fear. Only understanding: the point of no return had already been crossed. Now there was only one thing left — to play this performance through to the finale that Maxim had so confidently directed for himself, without having the slightest idea how it would end for him.
The sound of a key turning in the lock rang out like the crack of a starting pistol. Darya did not even flinch. She was still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the wrecked room where her lace lingerie lay mixed with dust like fallen petals in грязь.
Maxim backed into the bedroom, dragging behind him two huge swollen bags — the old plaid kind shuttle traders used in the nineties. A thick smell of Corvalol, old wool, and something sour and elderly rolled off them. It instantly filled the room, pushing out the last traces of Darya’s perfume.
“Well?” Maxim dropped the bags in the middle of the room, right on top of her silk robe. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “I don’t get it. Why is the suitcase empty? I told you to clear space. Or do you suddenly not understand Russian?”
He scanned the room, and his expression darkened. Darya had not moved an inch. She stared at him with dry, inflamed eyes. There was no love left in them, no hurt either — only a cold, almost clinical curiosity.
“I’m waiting,” she said quietly. “You weren’t finished. You mentioned the massages. What else is on my list of duties? Give me the full version, please. I’d like to understand the workload.”
Maxim snorted as he undid the top button of his shirt. He was overheated, agitated, and her calm tone unsettled him. He had expected hysteria, tears, pleading — not this businesslike voice.
“Are you mocking me?” he said, stepping closer and looming over her. “What list? It’s called basic human decency. But if you’re too stupid to get it, I’ll explain. Listen carefully — no need to write it down, you’ll remember.”
He began folding down his fingers one by one, and with each finger Darya felt something coil tighter inside her.
“First. Schedule. Mom gets up at six in the morning. She needs a shaded sunbed. The sun is bad for her, but sea breeze is good. You’ll get up at five-thirty, go down to the beach, and claim a spot under an umbrella. Not on the sand — on the wooden decking, so it’s easier for her to walk. And you’ll sit there guarding it until we come down after breakfast.”
“So I get up before dawn and work as a sunbed security guard?” Darya asked without expression.
“You’re taking care of the family!” Maxim snapped. “Second. Food. Mom’s on a strict diet. No buffet with your favorite spicy salads. You’ll walk with her along the food line, carry her plate, and make sure it contains only steamed or boiled food. If there’s nothing suitable, you go talk to the chef and arrange for unsalted turkey to be cooked for her. I’m not doing that. I need to eat properly — I’m a man.”
He nudged one of the plaid bags with his foot, as if testing its weight.
“Third. Swimming. Mom doesn’t swim well, she’s afraid of deep water. You’ll go into the water with her. Hold her hand. If there are waves, stand beside her and make sure she doesn’t get knocked over. I swim far out. I’m not splashing around at the shore in the kiddie zone. That’s your job.”
Darya pictured it perfectly: herself in a closed swimsuit — because anything revealing would upset his mother — standing waist-deep in the water holding Tamara Ivanovna’s hand while Maxim enjoyed his long carefree swim.
“Fourth, and most important,” Maxim said, lowering his voice until it carried a metallic edge of threat. “In the room. Mom gets up during the night a lot to use the bathroom. Her bladder is weak. We are not turning off the bathroom light. The door stays half open. The light will spill into the room. If it bothers you, wear an eye mask. And God help you if you sigh or click your tongue while she shuffles past the bed in her slippers. If she wakes you up, turn over and go back to sleep. Understood?”
“And if she snores?” Darya asked. “She does snore, Maxim. Loudly.”
“You’ll deal with it!” His face twisted with anger. “Use earplugs! You’re a young, healthy mare, and all you care about is sleeping. Meanwhile, an old person is suffering. Your job is to make sure she’s comfortable. You need to make her feel like a queen. If she needs ointment rubbed into her lower back, you’ll rub it in. If she needs her blood pressure checked, you’ll check it. I don’t want to hear a single ‘I don’t want to’ or ‘I’m tired.’ We’re taking her there to recover, not to listen to your whining.”
Darya slowly shifted her gaze toward the plaid bags. The edge of a worn bathrobe was sticking out of one of them. This was the reality he was offering her. No — not offering. Imposing by force, breaking her will, her wishes, her identity over his knee.
“You know what’s most interesting, Maxim?” she said, finally rising from the bed. Her legs shook, but she stood straight. “You never once said ‘we.’ Every sentence was ‘you.’ You’ll carry, you’ll watch, you’ll rub her back. So what exactly will you be doing?”
“As for me,” Maxim said with a grin, swollen with impunity and power, “I’ll be relaxing. I paid for this circus. I brought you to the sea. My job ended the second I ran my card through the terminal. After that, it’s your shift. It’s a perfectly normal division of labor. The man brings in the resources, the woman provides comfort and care. That’s how our ancestors lived, and that’s how you’ll live too. Or did you think the marriage certificate only gave you the right to spend my money? No, darling. It comes with duties. And now it’s time to pay up.”
He walked to the dresser, picked up a bottle of her expensive perfume, turned it in his hand with open contempt, and set it back down with a loud thud.
“And by the way, get rid of this stink. Mom’s allergic to strong smells. The room should smell fresh, not like a brothel. Enough talking. Time’s ticking.” He nodded toward the open suitcase. “Pack Mom’s things. Carefully. Sweaters at the bottom, medicine on top so it’s easy to reach. And don’t you dare wrinkle anything.”
Maxim turned and went into the kitchen, tossing over his shoulder, “I’m getting some water. When I come back in ten minutes, that suitcase better be ready. Otherwise I really will throw your things out the window, and you’ll go in whatever you’re standing in.”
Darya stayed alone in the room. The silence rang in her ears, but now it was no longer emptiness. It was clarity. Sharp and crystalline, like a surgeon’s scalpel. She looked at the plaid bags, at her trampled clothes, at the lotion stain on the wall. In her mind, the puzzle finally clicked into place. No more questions of why or how. There was only one answer left to all this madness.
She walked over to the bedside table where her phone and passport lay. She picked them up. Her fingers closed around the cold plastic of the phone and the smooth cover of the passport. Maxim was certain he had trapped her, certain she had nowhere to go, certain that financial dependence and fear of scandal would force her into obedience. He had thought of everything except one thing: he had forgotten that even the most patient victim has a limit, a point beyond which fear disappears and gives way to pure, destructive rage.
She did not touch the plaid bags. She did not even look at the suitcase. Darya drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the stale smell of чужая old age and чужая arrogance, and walked not toward the wardrobe, but to Maxim’s desk, where his laptop lay. He always left it on.
Darya’s fingers moved over the keyboard with the same unnerving ease a pianist might use to play a funeral march. The laptop screen glowed with a cold bluish light, reflected in her dry eyes. One click. Then another. The hotel booking website. The button marked “Cancel reservation.” A pop-up warning in red letters: “Cancellation on the day of arrival incurs a 100% penalty. The amount is non-refundable.”
The cursor paused for only a split second. Darya remembered how Maxim had thrown her lingerie across the room, how calmly he had listed her duties as a caregiver, how intoxicated he had been by his own power. She clicked “Confirm.” An email arrived instantly: “Your reservation has been cancelled.” Two hundred thousand rubles vanished into digital nothingness. But that was not enough.
Darya opened the banking app. The password was saved in the browser — Maxim had been far too arrogant to bother hiding anything from his “stupid wife.” There was another hundred and fifty thousand left in their shared account, their emergency travel cushion. She entered the number of her own card — the one Maxim never monitored — and transferred every last ruble with the note: “For new rags.”
“What are you doing in there?” Maxim’s voice suddenly sounded right behind her, making her flinch — not from fear, but from disgust. “I go get some water and the suitcase is still empty. You’re pushing it, Dasha. I’m really about to start throwing your stuff out the window.”
He stood in the doorway with a glass of water in his hand, his face full of irritation. He was sure she had finally broken, sure that now, crushed and humiliated, she would start neatly folding his mother’s giant underpants into the suitcase.
“Don’t bother,” Darya said, slowly turning toward him in the chair with an icy smile. “I already made room for you. And not just in the suitcase.”
“What?” Maxim frowned, setting the glass on the shelf. “What nonsense are you muttering? Get up and pack the bags! My mother is already in a taxi, she’ll be here in twenty minutes. I want everything ready before she arrives!”
“Your mother isn’t flying anywhere, Maxim. Neither are you. Well, you can fly if you want — you’ve got the tickets. But you won’t have anywhere to stay.”
Maxim froze. His eyes narrowed as he tried to understand.
“What do you mean nowhere? We paid for a suite. Are you out of your mind?”
“Not anymore,” Darya said, nodding toward the laptop screen. “I just canceled the reservation. Since the cancellation was made less than twenty-four hours before check-in, the hotel kept the full amount. The money is gone. The room is gone.”
Maxim turned pale. He lunged toward the desk, shoving the chair aside, and stared wildly at the cancellation confirmation on the screen. His eyes raced across the lines. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish dragged onto shore.
“You… what did you do, you bitch?!” he roared, spinning back toward her. His face flooded with blood, the veins in his neck bulging. “That was two hundred thousand! Do you understand what you’ve done? That money is gone!”
“I understand perfectly,” Darya replied calmly, getting to her feet. “You wanted to save money, didn’t you? You wanted to cram the three of us into one room so you wouldn’t have to pay extra? I solved the problem in a more radical way. Now there’s nothing left to pay for at all.”
“I’ll kill you,” he whispered, clenching his fists. “I’ll call them right now, I’ll get it restored—”
“You won’t. The room’s already back on the market, and it’s high season. And you don’t have money for a new one. Oh, and by the way,” she said, pulling out her phone and showing him the transfer notification, “I took the rest of the money off the account too. Consider it compensation for emotional damages and for the makeup you destroyed. Remember what you said? ‘I pay, so I decide.’ Well, now I’m the one paying. And I decided you’re broke.”
Maxim stood there, stunned by the scale of the disaster. His plan, his vacation, his money — everything had collapsed in a single minute. He looked at his wife and saw an enemy, one he had created himself through years of contempt.
“Give the money back,” he hissed, taking a step toward her. “Transfer it back right now. Or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what?” Darya stepped toward him too, staring straight into his eyes. There was no fear left in her, only pure, concentrated hatred. “Hit me? Go ahead. But remember that this apartment is in my father’s name. One phone call, and you’ll be out of here with more than your bags — you’ll leave with your whole life in ruins. Did you forget who helped you get your job? My father. Do you want to lose not just your vacation, but your career too?”
That was a low blow, but it was the one thing that finally snapped Maxim back to reality. He knew she was not bluffing. His arrogance fell away like a dead husk. All that remained was the ugly rage of a cornered animal.
“You’re insane,” he breathed. “You’re a psycho. My mother is an old, sick woman… we’re already in a taxi… Where am I supposed to take her now? To the airport? To sleep on the beach like a bum?”
“That’s your problem, provider,” Darya shot back. “You’re the man, aren’t you? Figure it out. You love making decisions all by yourself. So make one. Rent a bunk in a hostel. Pitch a tent. I don’t care.”
She walked over to the plaid bags still reeking of Corvalol and old age. She grabbed one by the handles. It was heavy, but her rage gave her strength. She dragged it across the bedroom floor and into the hallway.
“What are you doing?” Maxim ran after her, but stopped, no longer sure what mattered more — checking the accounts on his phone or grabbing the luggage.
“Clearing the territory,” Darya said, yanking the front door open. “You told me, ‘If you don’t like it, stay home.’ I love that idea. I’m staying home. You’re the one leaving. Along with your mother, her blood pressure, her bags, and your ruined vacation.”
With all her strength, she shoved the first bag out onto the landing. It toppled over the threshold and crashed onto its side.
“Out!” she shouted so loudly the neighbors probably jumped behind their doors. “Take your junk and get lost!”
Maxim stared at her, his face a mix of hatred and helplessness. He understood he had lost. Not because she had more rights, but because she had proved capable of a cruelty he had never expected from her. Without a word, he grabbed his backpack, lifted his mother’s second bag, and stepped out into the hallway, throwing one last poison-filled look at Darya.
“You’ll regret this,” he said by the elevator. “You’ll come crawling back when the money runs out. Who do you think will want you, you hysterical freak?”
“Certainly not you,” Darya said, and slammed the heavy metal door shut.
The sound of the lock clicking into place was like the final chord in a symphony of destruction. Darya leaned back against the door, feeling the cold metal cool her overheated skin. The apartment was silent. Perfectly silent. No muttering, no orders, no smell of medication.
She walked back into the bedroom. Her clothes still lay on the floor — crumpled, dirty, trampled. The lotion stain still spread across the wall. The hotel room was gone. The marriage was over. Her husband hated her now, probably forever.
Darya walked up to her suitcase, kicked it shut, and sat down on top of it. Then she took out her phone, opened a travel app, and typed into the search bar: “Maldives. Adults-only hotel. One guest.”
“So it was her blood pressure, was it…” she murmured into the quiet apartment, and for the first time that evening, she smiled. It was not a gentle smile. It was sharp, predatory, almost vicious.
“Well then. Sea air is good for everyone. Especially for people who know how to stand up for themselves.”
