Marina sank wearily onto the edge of a chair, absentmindedly rubbing her aching lower back. Outside the window, the October evening was slowly fading, painting the kitchen in warm shades of orange. The day had been particularly exhausting: little Dima woke up with a fever, older daughter Katya was preparing for a geometry test, and the apartment desperately needed a deep clean before her mother-in-law’s visit.
«Mom, I don’t get this theorem!» came a voice from the other room. «Can you help?»
Marina sighed heavily, casting a glance at the dirty dishes piled up in the sink. The Pythagorean theorem. Once, back when she worked at a design bureau, she could solve problems like that in her sleep. But now… now her world had shrunk to an endless loop of household chores.
«I’m coming, sweetheart!» she called out, pushing herself up.
Just then, the front door slammed, and familiar footsteps echoed in the hallway.
«I’m home!» Sergey’s voice rang out. «What’s for dinner?»
Marina froze, feeling a wave of irritation rise within her. Dinner. Of course. She was just sitting at home, after all.
«Did Dima sleep?» her husband asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway. «Oh, and the dishes aren’t even done?»
He casually tossed his briefcase onto a chair and stretched, happily loosening up after a long day at work.
«No, he didn’t sleep,» Marina replied quietly. «His fever’s at 38.5°C. I spent the whole day running between him and Katya — she’s studying for her test…»
«And you didn’t even make dinner?» Sergey raised an eyebrow. «You’re home all day, aren’t you? That’s your job…» he added with a mocking smile, sprawling out on the couch.
Marina felt a lump rising in her throat. Ten years. Ten years she had devoted to the family, leaving her career behind. Every day was an endless marathon between cooking, lessons, illnesses, laundry. And to him… she was just someone who «sits at home.»
«Katya, wait a minute with the theorem!» she called out in a trembling voice and quickly left the kitchen to hide her tears.
In the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror, Marina allowed herself, for the first time in a long while, to admit: this couldn’t go on any longer. Something had to change. And soon.
«Mom, I can’t do this anymore,» Marina clutched her phone to her ear, sitting on a bench in a park not far from home. She’d only managed to slip out after Dima fell asleep and Katya sat down to do her homework. «I feel like a robot that’s supposed to handle everything. And Sergey… he just doesn’t get it.»
Ludmila Petrovna was silent for a few seconds, and Marina could vividly picture her mother frowning, thinking it over.
«Do you remember when your father lost his job back in the nineties?» she suddenly asked.
«What does that have to do with anything?» Marina replied, adjusting her scarf as the evening air grew colder.
«It’s got everything to do with it,» her mother said. «Back then, I had to work two jobs. And you know what was the hardest part? Not even the exhaustion. It was that your father thought I was just showing off with how busy I was.»
«And what did you do?»
Her mother chuckled softly. «I broke my leg. By accident, of course. Spent a month in a cast. Your father had to do everything himself. After that… well, let’s just say he saw things differently. He started appreciating everything I did.»
Marina shook her head. «Mom, you’re not suggesting I…?»
«No, of course not!» Ludmila Petrovna cut her off. «But why don’t you and Sergey switch places? Just for a week. Let him try ‘just sitting at home.'»
Marina froze. That idea had never occurred to her before.
«Do you think he’d agree?»
«Don’t ask him,» her mother advised. «Tell him. Say you need to go help me — my back’s acting up. And he stays behind. No calling grandmas or nannies. He does everything himself.»
A plan began to form in Marina’s mind. Yes. This might work. It had to work.
«Marina,» her mother said seriously, «you have to understand: this isn’t about revenge. It’s about opening his eyes. Sometimes people just don’t see what’s happening right next to them. You have to help them see.»
When Marina got home, she found an idyllic scene: Sergey lounging in an armchair with a newspaper, the kids already asleep. In the kitchen — a mountain of dirty dishes; on the floor — green-smeared handprints from Dima (he must have scratched his chickenpox again); and a heap of laundry piling up in the bathroom.
«Sergey,» she said, perching on the armrest of his chair, «I need to go help Mom for a week. Her back’s out… Will you manage here without me?»
He didn’t even look up from the newspaper. «Of course I’ll manage. What’s so hard about it? You manage, don’t you?»
The first morning without Marina began at 6:30 a.m., with Dima urgently yelling, «Daddy, I need the bathroom!» Sergey pried his eyes open, groggy. A treacherous thought crossed his mind: What time does Marina even get up?
«Dad, what’s for breakfast?» Katya stood at the bedroom door, already dressed in her school uniform. «Mom usually makes pancakes…»
«Pancakes?» Sergey scratched his head. «How about sandwiches?»
«Again?» Katya grimaced. «We had sandwiches yesterday. And the day before too.»
She’s right, Sergey thought. Three days of nothing but sandwiches. Marina somehow always managed to cook something new, even when Dima was sick. Meanwhile, he was already out of ideas.
«Okay, okay, I’ll figure something out,» he mumbled, heading to the kitchen.
Scrambled eggs. That’s simple, right? Crack the eggs, add some salt… The first attempt ended in a charred mess; the second — bits of shell in the food.
«Dad, I’m gonna be late,» Katya said, tapping her fork impatiently on the table. «Geography’s first period, and I still haven’t finished my maps!»
“What maps?” Sergey froze, spatula in hand. “Why didn’t you finish them yesterday?”
“I was doing geometry! And Mom usually helps with the maps…”
At that moment, a stack of plates came crashing down — Dima had bumped into them while trying to grab juice from the fridge. Shards scattered all over the kitchen.
“Stop!” Sergey shouted. “Don’t move, you’ll cut yourself!”
“I just wanted juice…” the boy whimpered. “Mom always pours it for me…”
«Mom, Mom…» the words rang in Sergey’s head. «How does she manage all this?»
By nine in the morning, Katya had somehow rushed off to school (with unfinished maps and no second breakfast), Dima was sitting in front of the TV with a half-eaten fried egg, and the kitchen looked like a war zone: shards, spilled juice, a mountain of dirty dishes.
His phone chimed with a message. «How’s it going? Managing okay?» Marina wrote.
«All great! Had breakfast, Katya’s at school,» Sergey quickly typed back.
He looked around the kitchen and sighed heavily. He had to clean up the mess, cook lunch, do laundry, check Dima’s temperature, go to the pharmacy for a new thermometer (the old one broke yesterday), and tackle the disaster zone that was the kids’ room…
“Dad,” Dima called from the living room, “when’s Mom coming back?”
«Good question, kid,» thought Sergey, recalling his own words: «What’s so hard about it?»
And the day had only just begun.
By the evening of the third day, Sergey felt like he was losing his mind. He sat hunched over in the bathroom, trying to sort through a mountain of laundry, and seriously pondered — for the first time ever — why socks always go missing one by one.
“Dad!” Katya’s voice echoed from her room. “Have you seen my green Russian notebook? I have an essay due tomorrow!”
“Green notebook…” Sergey muttered, massaging his temples. “There are dozens here…”
“Check the desk!” he shouted back.
“Already did!” his daughter’s voice was filled with despair. “Mom always knows where everything is…”
Sergey sighed. Marina really did have a miraculous way of knowing the location of every single thing — every notebook, every sock, every toy. It had always seemed so natural, so effortless.
“Dad,” Dima peeked into the bathroom, clutching the doorframe, “what’s for dinner?”
Sergey glanced at the clock and felt a chill inside. Seven o’clock. And he hadn’t even started cooking.
“Maybe… we can order pizza?” he suggested hopefully.
“Again?” Dima wrinkled his nose. “We had pizza yesterday. And the day before that…”
Sergey nodded silently, remembering how he had once scolded Marina for not having dinner ready — and back then, she was juggling a sick child and Katya’s exams…
His phone vibrated in his pocket — it was Vitya, his longtime buddy.
“Sergey! How about a beer? Our team’s playing Zenit tonight!”
Before, Sergey would’ve agreed without a second thought. He’d just get up and leave, knowing everything at home was under control: the kids fed, homework done, laundry folded…
“Can’t, Vitya. Got stuff to do.”
“What stuff? It’s evening! You’re not even at work!”
“Exactly,” Sergey chuckled, staring at the mountain of laundry. “I’m home. Just home.”
After dinner (they ended up ordering pizza anyway), he sat with Katya at the kitchen table trying to help her with her Russian homework. The elusive green notebook was eventually found under the couch.
“Dad, why did Mom leave?” Katya suddenly looked up from her essay. “Is she mad at us?”
Sergey froze. His own words resurfaced in his memory: «You’re just sitting at home…» And yet this «sitting» was real work. No days off, no lunch breaks, no vacations…
“No, sweetheart,” he stroked her hair gently. “Sometimes you just need a little break. And… to understand a few things.”
That night, while loading yet another batch of laundry into the washing machine, Sergey texted Marina: “How do you manage all this every day?”
The reply came almost immediately: “What’s so hard about it? I’m just sitting at home…”
For the first time in days, Sergey smiled sincerely. He was starting to understand.
By the end of the week, Sergey couldn’t even remember when he last had a proper sleep. He sat at the kitchen table, absentmindedly stirring his cold coffee, trying to gather his thoughts. His head buzzed after another sleepless night — Dima had a fever again, and Sergey had checked the thermometer every hour.
Bills to pay were piled up on the table. A grocery list — untouched. Katya’s homework — unchecked. Dishes — stacked high in the sink. And that was just the beginning of today’s to-do list.
“Good morning, Dad!” Katya walked into the kitchen, and Sergey noticed she was wearing mismatched socks. “Are we having pancakes?”
“I…” he faltered, staring at the frying pan. His three attempts to make pancakes that week had all ended in disaster. “Maybe an omelet?”
“Okay,” Katya sighed — exactly the way Marina used to when things didn’t go as planned. “Oh, by the way, Mom called. She’s coming home tonight.”
Sergey almost dropped his cup. Marina was coming home. And he… what had he learned this week?
He realized he had never thought about how clean shirts magically appeared in the closet. He realized a homemaker’s to-do list was endless — cross one thing off, and three more pop up. He realized that “just sitting at home” was a full-time job, without breaks, bonuses, or praise.
When the front door slammed that evening, Sergey was simultaneously helping Katya with her English homework and trying to scrub marker stains off the carpet — courtesy of Dima.
“I’m home,” Marina’s familiar voice called out.
“MOM!” The kids ran into the hallway.
Sergey slowly stood up, still holding a damp cloth. Marina stood in the doorway, looking slimmer, rested, beautiful — and smiling with a hint of amusement.
“So, how did it go?” she asked, surveying the kitchen battlefield.
“Marina…” he took a step toward her but tripped over a bucket. “I’m sorry. I’ve been such an idiot.”
“Sorry for what?” she raised an eyebrow. “You were just sitting at home.”
“Please,” he finally reached her and hugged her tightly. “I get it now. Really. What you do every day — it’s heroic. And I…”
“And you learned to make omelets,” she laughed, nuzzling into his shoulder.
“That too,” Sergey chuckled. “Though the kids can’t stand them anymore. Or pizza.”
“I know. Katya called me every day with updates.”
“Traitor!” he said jokingly, then turned serious again. “Marina, let’s change things. I can help with homework in the evenings. Cook on weekends. Once I get the hang of it. And with cleaning too…”
“Don’t promise everything at once,” she shook her head. “Just… appreciate what others do. Even if it looks like they’re just sitting at home.”
A month passed. Sunday morning filled the kitchen with sunlight and the aroma of fresh coffee. Marina sat at the table scrolling through news on her tablet when she heard suspicious sizzling and muffled cursing from the kitchen.
“Dad, I think your pancakes are… um…” Dima’s worried voice called out.
“They’re just… creatively done!” Sergey replied.
Marina smiled without lifting her eyes. A lot had changed since that week. Sergey truly started helping — clumsily at first, sometimes making more mess than progress, but sincerely and with the desire to learn.
“Mom,” Katya sat down next to her, “can you help me with my history report? Dad tried yesterday, but he kinda has his own version of events.”
“Of course, honey. After breakfast.”
“If it happens,” Katya giggled, sniffing the burnt batter smell.
Sergey proudly entered with a plate of crooked, slightly burnt, but very edible pancakes.
“Breakfast is served!” he announced. “Marina, just… don’t compare them to yours, okay?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, getting up to grab the jam. “Everyone has their own special recipe.”
Over breakfast, Sergey suddenly said: “I’ve been thinking… maybe you should go back to work? Part-time, of course. You said you missed engineering.”
Marina froze with her cup halfway to her mouth. “But what about the house? The kids?”
“What about them?” Sergey shrugged. “I’m free on weekends now. I can help with homework, cooking… well, sort of,” he glanced at his pancakes. “And Dima’s starting school this September.”
“Cool!” Katya bounced excitedly. “Mom, say yes! You’ll be like Aunt Sveta — she works three days a week!”
Marina looked around at their familiar faces. Why not? She had already started doing a bit of remote project work — and it turned out she hadn’t lost her touch.
“You know,” Sergey moved closer, “I was talking to the guys at work. Turns out a lot of their wives went back to their careers. And the husbands… well, they started realizing home isn’t just a place to crash after work.”
“How do they feel about it?”
“Mixed reactions. Remember Vitya? He said it’d be easier to find a new wife than mop floors,” Sergey chuckled. “But I think… maybe this is what a real family is. Doing everything together. Sharing everything.”
Dima suddenly tugged at her sleeve: “Can you teach me to make pancakes too? Not burned like Dad’s!”
“Traitor!” Sergey laughed. “I really tried, you know!”
Marina smiled at them and thought — sometimes you just need to leave for a week for everything to fall into place. For “just sitting at home” to turn into “being home together.” And to learn to value not just someone else’s work — but your own right to happiness.
“Oh, by the way,” Sergey said while clearing the table, “Mom called yesterday. Her back’s acting up again…”
“Don’t even think about it!” Marina playfully wagged her finger at him. “One experiment was enough.”
“Actually, I was going to suggest we go visit her — and maybe she can teach me how to make decent pancakes too.”
Marina laughed. Her mom had been right — sometimes, all a person needs is a little help seeing the truth.
