Eva fell asleep in Svetlana’s arms during exactly the third lullaby—the one about a cloud that had lost its rain. Her tiny hand relaxed and released Svetlana’s finger, and the room became so quiet that she could hear the neighbor moving a chair behind the wall.
Svetlana was almost afraid to breathe.
It was the best morning she had had in the past six months.
Polina came back two hours later with half her face still numb and happiness shining in her eyes.
“Alive?” Svetlana whispered.
“Only halfway. The right half of me is still back in the dentist’s chair.” Polina twisted her mouth into a funny grimace. “Thank you. Do you even realize that you’re my lifesaver?”
“I do. Put it in writing and have it notarized. I’ll show it to people.”
They laughed silently like conspirators, careful not to wake Eva.
 
Polina put a plate of cookies on the table, sat down across from Svetlana, and suddenly stopped smiling. Her fingers began rolling a crumb back and forth across the tablecloth.
“Svet… I have to tell you something. And you’re probably going to hate me for it.”
“Interesting opening. Go on. I’ve already bought a ticket.”
“Everyone got together at our place on Sunday. You know, for Eva’s forty-day gathering. You didn’t come because you had a headache.”
“I remember. I was personally present for that headache.”
Polina inhaled as though she were about to dive underwater.
“Our mother said in front of everyone, ‘Poor Yegor. He got unlucky. Svetlana is a bad wife.’ Just like that. Out loud. In front of Aunt Valya and everybody else.”
Svetlana felt the smile slide off her face, but she kept her voice steady.
“And Yegor?”
“Yegor was sitting right beside her. He nodded and said, ‘Yeah. That’s true.’”
The key turning in the lock sounded far too loud.
Yegor was home. His jacket hung from the hook, and his shoes sat in the middle of the hallway like two monuments to the master of the house.
“Oh, you’re back!” he called from the other room. “How’s the little one? And Polina? Did she get her tooth fixed?”
“Eva slept. Polina came back with only half a face.” Svetlana took off her shoes and carefully lined his up against the wall. “Yegor, I have one question for you. A short one.”
“Go ahead.”
“Is it true that your mother told the entire family I’m a bad wife, and you sat beside her and agreed?”
The silence in the apartment suddenly became thick.
Yegor appeared in the doorway looking like a man who had walked into a room and forgotten why he was there.
“Polina told you, didn’t she?” he breathed. “That woman really can’t keep her mouth shut.”
 
“I’m not interested in Polina. I’m interested in your nod.”
“Svet, you misunderstood everything! She took it out of context! We were talking about something completely different!”
“Wonderful. Tell me the context. I adore context. It’s like sauce—it can turn anything questionable into a proper dish.”
Yegor shrugged, paced across the room, and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Well… we were talking about how women today aren’t what they used to be. How before, women somehow… kept a home properly. And Mom said you still had room for improvement.”
“She said, ‘Svetlana is a bad wife.’ Word for word. In front of Aunt Valya.”
“Well, maybe she did!” His voice jumped higher. “So what? She meant you could be better!”
“So you agree with her.” Svetlana nodded slowly to herself. “Say it plainly, Yegor. Just once. In your grown-man voice.”
“Yes! You could be a better wife! Happy now?”
Svetlana didn’t ask what exactly made her such a bad wife.
Neither of them was perfect. They both knew each other’s flaws well enough. The difference was that Svetlana had never dragged his shortcomings into public discussion.
“Thank you for being honest,” she said calmly. “Now let’s establish the scale of the disaster.”
She took out her phone and called Aunt Valya right in front of him.
“Valentina Sergeyevna, hello! It’s Sveta. No, no, everything’s fine. I just have one question, and I need an honest answer. Am I a bad wife?”
The phone practically choked.
Yegor stepped forward, waving his hands wildly, but Svetlana put the call on speaker.
“Sveta, what are you talking about?!” Aunt Valya’s warm, deep voice thundered through the room. “You’re a treasure! Who said something so stupid?”
“There are certain individuals here who have doubts.”
“Then your individual is an idiot!” Aunt Valya snapped. “Tell him I said exactly that.”
“I will. Word for word, including the tone.”
 
Svetlana ended the call.
Yegor stood there red-faced.
“You did that on purpose! Stop being hysterical!”
“Yegor.” She tilted her head. “Look at the two of us and tell me honestly—which one of us is hysterical? I’m standing here, breathing, even smiling. You’ve changed color three times already.”
Her phone rang again.
It was her friend Ksenia calling with news about a broken bicycle and their weekend plans.
“Ksyusha, hi! No, I’m home. Standing next to my bad husband.” Svetlana spoke sweetly without taking her eyes off Yegor. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m used to it. A bad husband isn’t a death sentence. It’s more of a lifestyle. Yeah. Kiss you.”
Yegor waited until she hung up, then exploded.
“You’re doing this deliberately! Do you understand how that sounds?”
“Oh? How does it sound?” Svetlana widened her eyes. “Tell me. I’ll write it down, because yesterday you were apparently convinced that comments like that never travel anywhere.”
“Stop pretending you don’t understand!”
“Fine. Then I won’t. Here’s another question. Simple as two plus two. If I’m such a terrible wife, why do you live with me? Out of charity? Athletic curiosity?”
He didn’t answer.
Yegor never answered direct questions. He preferred questions that were easier for him.
Svetlana opened the family group chat belonging to his relatives.
Twenty-three members. Photos of Eva. Birthday wishes. Recipes. Cat GIFs.
She selected “Poll,” checked the anonymous option, and typed:
“Good evening, everyone! A tiny survey, just one click. Is Svetlana a bad wife?
Options:
‘Yes, she’s a bad wife.’
‘No, she’s a good wife.’
Thank you for your honesty!”
“Have you lost your mind?!” Yegor lunged toward her. “Delete that immediately!”
“I can’t. The public has a right to express its opinion. Your mother already did.”
Within a minute, the first votes appeared.
One.
Three.
Five.
All of them: “Good wife.”
Then Svetlana’s phone began vibrating.
Tamara Lvovna.
“Svetlana! What kind of circus are you putting on in the family chat?!”
“Hello. This isn’t a circus. It’s sociology. You publicly announced that I was a bad wife. Your son agreed with you. Naturally, I became curious. What if you’re right? If you are, then there’s really no reason for your son to continue living with me.”
“Delete it immediately!”
“Five people have already voted. So far, they all say I’m a good wife. Join us, Tamara Lvovna. Vote honestly. Choose ‘bad.’ Your vote is especially important. You founded the movement.”
The line went dead.
Ten seconds later, Yegor’s phone rang.
 
“That’s your mother,” Svetlana said. “You’re about to receive instructions. Take notes.”
Yegor disappeared into the other room and spent fifteen minutes talking in a low voice.
While he did, Svetlana made herself dinner.
One serving.
One plate.
One fork.
When he came back and saw the table, he nearly choked.
“What about me?!”
“Yegor, you personally endorsed the claim. A bad wife has to live up to her reputation. Otherwise I’d be misleading people, and that would be dishonest.”
“Are you even normal?!”
“I’m consistent. It’s a rare quality. It should be protected.”
His phone rang again.
He stepped into the hallway, but the apartment walls seemed to have been built out of politeness rather than concrete.
“She’s completely lost it!.. No, seriously, she’s gone crazy!.. Her ego got bruised, so now she’s taking revenge on everyone…”
Svetlana ate and counted.
Not insults.
Minutes.
By half past ten, the first “bad wife” vote appeared.
Then a second.
Then four more almost at once.
Yegor sat on the sofa refreshing the poll with an unhealthy level of enthusiasm.
Svetlana noticed him discreetly tap “Yes, she’s a bad wife” before quickly lowering his phone.
“There!” he announced triumphantly, turning the screen toward her. “See? I’m not the only one who thinks so! Thirty-eight percent!”
“Yegor.” Svetlana dried her hands on a towel. “Tell me something. Why do you care what other people think of your wife?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“For example, I couldn’t care less what kind of husband your mother has. Bad, good, mediocre—I don’t live with him. I don’t wash his cups, iron his shirts, or listen to him snore. But you live with me. And somehow you’ve decided to join the audience and cast your vote.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my family!”
 
“Why not?” Svetlana sat across from him. “I have every right to say your mother is a bad mother. A good mother doesn’t turn her son against his wife in front of relatives. A good mother doesn’t collect votes like she’s harvesting potatoes.”
Yegor shot to his feet.
“Shut up! You know nothing about her!”
“Right.” Svetlana nodded. “So the whole family is allowed to discuss me, but mentioning your mother is sacrilege. Excellent constitution you people have. Double standards, third floor, elevator broken.”
The numbers kept rising.
Forty-four.
Fifty-one.
Fifty-three percent.
Yegor stared at the screen, and a kind of satisfaction appeared on his face—the kind people normally try to hide even from themselves.
Svetlana silently looked at the percentage, washed her plate, dried it, put it into the cupboard, picked up a towel, and went into the bathroom.
Fifty-seven percent.
Standing beneath the water, she didn’t think about crying.
She wondered instead who exactly she had offended in this family.
Or had Tamara Lvovna simply called everyone and asked them to “put that arrogant woman in her place”?
Svetlana went to bed first.
Yegor came in at one in the morning and lay on the very edge of the mattress with his back turned to her, like a man who had won an argument and somehow didn’t feel happy about it.
The doorbell rang at 8:15 the next morning.
Yegor opened it.
 
His mother stood there in her coat, holding her phone in front of her like a search warrant.
“Well?!” Tamara Lvovna marched into the room and shoved the screen under Svetlana’s nose. “Seventy-four percent! Seventy-four! That means I was right! I didn’t invent anything!”
Svetlana was sitting at the table.
In front of her was one plate.
Omelet, tomatoes, a slice of bread.
One plate.
Yegor looked from his mother to his wife and waited.
“I can’t argue with statistics,” Svetlana said. “The people have spoken. Democracy can be cruel, but it’s honest. Apparently I really am a bad wife.”
“There!” her mother-in-law exclaimed triumphantly.
“And because I love your son…” Svetlana paused and corrected herself calmly. “Or rather, because I loved him. Respected him. Valued him. Never said a bad word about him to anyone. Anyway, I refuse to ruin his life by forcing him to stay with a disaster like me.”
“What are you talking about?” Yegor asked warily.
“Your happiness. You’re going back to the place where you’re adored, fed, understood, and appreciated—to your mother. The apartment belongs to me. I owned it before we got married, and you know that. I want you out by noon.”
The room became absolutely silent.
Tamara Lvovna opened her mouth, then apparently failed to find any words inside it.
Yegor blinked three times.
“You… You’re joking.”
“I never make the same joke twice.”
Svetlana picked up her phone and dialed a number.
“Hello. I need the lock cylinder replaced urgently. Today, around two o’clock. Yes. Let me give you the address.”
“She’s lost her mind!” her mother-in-law screamed. “Yegor, do something! This is insanity! Over some stupid poll!”
“You made your choice, Tamara Lvovna,” Svetlana replied without looking up. “And your son made his. I’m merely carrying out the will of the people. No need to thank me.”
 
She made a second call.
“Hello! I need a van and one mover for a local move. Could you be here around one? Perfect. There isn’t much. Just a couple of bags.”
“Svet, stop!” Yegor grabbed her arm. “Enough of this circus! We’re adults!”
“Adults vote against their wives in family group chats, apparently.” She pulled her arm free. “Excuse me. I have one more call to make.”
She found Dasha in her contacts.
A mutual acquaintance who, about a year and a half earlier after several glasses of champagne, had admitted that she found Yegor “kind of attractive.”
“Dasha, hi! I have news. Yegor was officially fired from the position of husband this morning. The candidate is now available. His résumé shows limited experience in loyalty. You can apply for the position of lover, but please note that all personnel decisions require approval from his mother.”
“Stop it!” Tamara Lvovna shrieked. “You’re humiliating us in front of everyone!”
“The world is a big place. There’s enough humiliation to go around.”
Svetlana opened the family chat again and wrote:
“Dear everyone, thank you so much to everyone who voted! 🙏
A quick explanation for the poll.
On Sunday, Tamara Lvovna publicly announced that I was a bad wife. My husband, Yegor, agreed with her in front of everyone.
I decided that the family’s opinion deserved to be heard.
Final result: 73% say I’m a bad wife.
Conclusion accepted.
Effective immediately, I resign from my position as wife according to the results of the democratic vote.
Wishing everyone health and happiness! ❤️”
The group chat exploded.
Messages poured in faster than anyone could read them.
Tamara Lvovna’s phone started ringing almost immediately, followed by Yegor’s.
While the two of them hurried around the apartment clutching their phones and repeating, “No, no, you don’t understand… we didn’t mean it like that… she did all this herself…,” Svetlana went to the storage closet and pulled out heavy-duty construction bags.
Thick black ones.
 
Two hundred liters each.
She packed his things without sorting anything.
A bad wife wasn’t obligated to organize clothing by color.
“Only two bags,” she remarked aloud. “Thirteen years together, and you fit into two bags. You’re surprisingly compact, Yegor.”
She dragged the first bag toward the front door.
Tamara Lvovna rushed forward to stop her.
“I wouldn’t,” Svetlana warned. “Remember, I’m a bad wife. I might punch you. Seventy-three percent of the family has officially authorized my terrible behavior.”
Her mother-in-law jumped back toward the wall.
The first bag was already sitting in the hallway outside the apartment.
Yegor rushed after it barefoot, hair disheveled, and blocked the doorway.
“Svet, come on! What are you doing? We were joking! You misunderstood! Mom just blurted something out. I didn’t want to argue with her in front of everyone!”
The slap cracked loudly across the hallway.
Yegor stumbled backward into the wall, slid down to the floor, and stared up at her with one hand pressed to his cheek.
“I’m a bad wife, Yegor,” Svetlana reminded him. “If you try to force your way back inside, I might hit you with something heavier.”
She threw his jacket into the hallway.
Then his shoes.
Then his umbrella and gym bag.
“I loved you exactly as you were. With all your flaws—and trust me, you have plenty. But I never once told another person you were a bad husband. Do you know why?”
“Svet…”
“Because you were my choice. And when you choose someone, you don’t throw them to the crowd to be judged.”
She dragged the second bag toward the door.
“You chose differently. You didn’t come to me. You didn’t talk to me. You didn’t tell me what bothered you. You just sat there and nodded along with them.”
Her voice finally tightened.
“It hurts, Yegor. It hurts more than you understand. But I will not live with a traitor who couldn’t find his voice for one honest conversation with his own wife.”
 
“Svet…”
“I’ll file for divorce tonight. I have things to do right now. Don’t come back. Don’t beg. Don’t waste money on flowers. I’m allergic to hypocrisy.”
She paused.
“Oh, and Dasha is willing to consider you. If not as a husband or lover, maybe as a pet. It might suit you. They feed you, pet you, and don’t let you vote.”
The door closed.
Tamara Lvovna stood on the landing gripping the railing.
She hadn’t expected her son to repeat her words.
She hadn’t expected Svetlana to find out.
She hadn’t expected the relatives she herself had called the night before—her nephews, her sister, her sister’s husband and children, all of whom she had urged to “put that arrogant woman in her place”—to become the very weights dragging the situation down around her.
She could have admitted what she had done.
She could have come over that morning and said:
“Sveta, forgive me. I went too far.”
Instead, she had pushed the phone into her daughter-in-law’s face and repeated the verdict.
Yegor’s phone rang.
Dasha.
“Yegor, hi. Listen, I’m sorry, but that thing I said back then was a joke. I don’t want you. Seriously. Good luck.”
Then Polina messaged him.
One word.
“Idiot.”
His mother stood silently for a moment, adjusted the collar of her coat, and started down the stairs without looking back at her son.
She had cooked up this whole mess and had absolutely no idea how to clean it up.
Yegor remained standing on the landing between two enormous black bags.
There was the door.
Behind it was warmth.
Light.
The shelf with his books.
The bed he had slept in only the night before.
His phone rang again.
The moving company said they could arrive earlier because a van had become available.
Yegor looked at the closed door and said hoarsely:
“Come over. I’ll be waiting.”
Meanwhile, Svetlana sat on the floor inside the hallway, staring at her phone.
The poll allowed people to change their votes, and apparently some family members had started reconsidering.
“Good wife” had climbed back up to thirty-five percent.
She didn’t care anymore.
That was how their love ended—
to the applause of his mother and the nod of her son.
The wife had been declared unworthy.
