Katya seemed to have opened her eyes. Everything suddenly and unexpectedly fell into place, as it only happens in moments of revelation. Now she knew exactly how she would spend this day. The decision was made firmly, definitively, irrevocably. Nothing else mattered to her anymore — neither her husband’s resentment, nor the children’s confusion, nor her mother-in-law’s judgment.
In this family, everyone explained Katya’s good income in their own way. Her mother-in-law, Lyudmila Petrovna, never missed a chance to hint that Katya must have had some connections. “Oh, what times we live in,” she sighed at every opportunity, adjusting her old-fashioned gold-rimmed glasses. “Surely her parents helped, got her in through their connections.” Her lips twisted into some strange smirk, as if she knew some special secret unavailable to ordinary mortals.
“You graduated from Moscow State University,” Andrey would say when her job was mentioned. “All doors are open for their graduates.” He said this with a certain pride, but there was always a slight note of envy in his voice, as if graduates from a good university didn’t have to do anything else to succeed.
The children — ten-year-old Misha and eight-year-old Alina — were absolutely sure that their mom had been kissed by a good fairy when she was little, and now everything just unbelievably lucked out for her. “Mom, tell us more about that fairy!” they would ask before bedtime, and Katya, smiling, would invent new stories about the magical being who gave her the amazing ability to turn dreams into reality.
Despite being very busy at work — after all, being the head of a department in a large company was no walk in the park — Katya loved organizing family celebrations. It was her little weakness, her way to show love and care. She literally dissolved in the preparation process, finding special pleasure in every detail.
Imagine: a huge table covered with each family member’s favorite dishes; balloons perfectly matched to the garlands decorating the room; gifts wrapped in paper featuring favorite characters or flowers for the recipient. All this created an atmosphere of true magic, where every little thing spoke of attention and love.
Her talent as a leader showed not only at work. At home, she also acted like a professional organizer, anticipating possible problems and finding solutions long before they arose. She knew her mother-in-law couldn’t stand surprises, so she always informed her in advance about the festive dinner menu. She understood that her husband preferred quiet family evenings over noisy parties, and the children dreamed of costumes of their favorite heroes.
She was especially good at gifts. They were never random or formal. Months before the celebration, she would start gathering information like an experienced tracker, searching for the slightest hints about the loved ones’ wishes. For her husband, it might be a long-awaited gadget he dreamed about while watching reviews online late at night. For her mother-in-law — a crafting kit from a famous master, which she had casually mentioned over a cup of tea.
With the children, it was the easiest — just checking the video history on their tablet. But even there Katya showed special thoughtfulness, choosing not just popular toys, but those truly matching the kids’ interests.
And, of course, she never spared money on gifts. What mattered most to her was seeing the shining eyes of her loved ones, their sincere joy. Although sometimes this generosity backfired on her — the family got used to her gifts being the best, and the rest of the celebration’s “culprits” hardly paid attention. So no one really bothered trying anymore.
“Katya, you’re such a good girl,” her mother-in-law often said when receiving yet another present. “You have such a talent for picking gifts! But aren’t you spending too much?” she added with a meaningful smile, as if hinting at something.
At the office, her colleagues had long known that if there was a corporate event to organize or someone to congratulate, the best person to turn to was Katya. She knew how to create a special atmosphere, find an approach to everyone, take all wishes and preferences into account. Her events were always a hit, and her gifts caused genuine admiration.
Yet sometimes she caught herself thinking that her selflessness and ability to bring joy had become taken for granted. Especially in the family, where her efforts to organize celebrations had become something expected. Sometimes she noticed her husband and mother-in-law exchanging knowing looks when she started sharing plans for the next event.
“Well, Katya went all out again,” Andrey would say when she showed him the list of prepared surprises for the kids. “You know, they’d be happy with just a simple cake.”
These words hurt her, though on the outside Katya remained calm. After all, it wasn’t about the cost of the gifts or the scale of the celebration, but about the special attention she put into every action. Sometimes it seemed to her that her efforts went unnoticed, dissolving into everyday routine.
But what hurt her most was how her own birthday was treated. If before she took it with a smile, blaming the busyness of loved ones, now she began to notice a pattern. Her holiday was always pushed to the background, overshadowed by other events or the simple lack of time of the family.
“Katya, you understand, it’s such a tense period now,” her husband would excuse himself when she asked about plans for her birthday. “Maybe we’ll just celebrate quietly at home, as a family?”
And she looked at him thinking about how much energy and time she had spent organizing his last birthday. How she tried to please everyone, sought compromises between the wishes of different family members, strove to make everything perfect.
At such moments, she was overwhelmed by a strange feeling: as if she lived in some enchanted circle where her efforts were useless, and her own desires and needs remained somewhere on the sidelines of the attention of those close to her.
Katya continued to play her role of the perfect hostess, caring wife, and loving mother. She still prepared celebrations, chose gifts, created an atmosphere of comfort and joy at home. But now there was some inner detachment in her actions, as if she was watching herself from the outside.
Sometimes, lying awake at night, she imagined how wonderful it would be just to leave. Not anywhere in particular, but simply to walk away from it all: from misunderstanding, from silly excuses, from awkwardness. But in the morning, she would get up again, prepare breakfast, smile at the children, and plan the next family celebration.
Katya’s birthday was approaching. She didn’t expect anything special — as always. But deep down, a hope was kindling that this year would be different. Maybe someone close would finally notice her fatigue, her efforts, her striving always to be the one who cares for everyone? However, this spark was extinguished sharply and finally when she accidentally stumbled upon a poorly hidden gift bag on the shelf in the closet with her husband’s shirts.
Inside lay a housekeeping book — worn, with yellowed edges and remnants of several price tags stuck one on top of another, as if the book had long been gathering dust on a “Sale” shelf. Katya took it out, turned it over in her hands, and felt a wave of bitter resentment rising inside her. It was a housekeeping manual, first published apparently ages ago. Did they really see her as someone who couldn’t cook soup or iron clothes properly? Were all her efforts in the kitchen and to make the house cozy worth only such a “compliment”? She clenched her teeth, feeling her cheeks burn.
Katya stood by the closet for a long time, clutching the book. Her thoughts darted between anger, disappointment, and bewilderment. It was as if she was watching herself from the outside: here was a woman who had cared for others all her life, and now held in her hands a symbol of her own worthlessness. A symbol that no one even tried to understand what she wanted. All this time, she had been just a function — the one who cooks, organizes, gives. And now, apparently, they decided to… teach her something new?
She carefully put the book back in the bag and closed the closet. Katya knew she had to talk to Andrey. But how to start this conversation? How to explain something she herself didn’t fully understand?
In the evening, when her husband came home from work, she gathered all her strength and decided to speak out. She sat opposite him at the table, placed the book in front of her, and looked him straight in the eyes.
“Why do I always get such formal gifts?” she began, trying to keep calm though her voice betrayed a tremor. “Things you want to throw away right after receiving?”
Andrey put down his phone and looked at her surprised.
“What are you talking about? Well, the book… They used to say a book is the best gift. Remember? We’re not millionaires to spend on all sorts of nonsense!”
“It’s not about money!” Her voice grew louder, emotions starting to break through. “It’s that no one even tries to understand what I would like. Why do you never ask me what I love? What matters to me?”
Andrey shrugged and looked away.
“Well, you know… gifts are kind of a formality. And if the budget doesn’t allow, why bother asking? Especially since you earn well yourself! You can buy whatever you want. Compared to your means, our gifts still seem like small change.”
Katya felt something inside snap. She slowly stood up from the chair and looked at her husband.
“So that’s how it is? You all think I should do everything myself? Invent holidays, choose gifts, prepare treats? And now it turns out I should buy my own birthday gifts? And you just get to watch from the sidelines?”
Andrey didn’t answer. He just sighed tiredly and picked up his smartphone again. It seemed he didn’t even realize how serious this conversation was. For him, it was just another household quarrel that could be brushed aside with silence or a banal “Don’t start.”
Katya returned to her room and sat on the bed. Her thoughts were tangled. Suddenly she clearly realized that everyone really was used to her doing everything herself. Always. Without exception. She was the perfect hostess who would prepare treats, organize celebrations, and pick gifts for everyone. But had anyone ever thought that she wanted to feel cared for too? That she wanted to feel special at least once a year?
She remembered her birthdays in recent years: modest family dinners, banal congratulations, perfunctory gifts. Each time she pretended to be happy, smiled, thanked. The very thought of tomorrow’s same old scenario made her sick: weak attempts to create a festive atmosphere, formal hugs, and phrases like “Well, you can do everything yourself anyway!”
Katya went to the closet and took out a suitcase. She began packing: a light dress, swimsuit, sunglasses. Then she sat at the table and wrote a note. Short and clear.
On the morning of Katya’s birthday, her husband found the note on the kitchen table. “Celebrate my birthday without me! I’m leaving,” the note said.
And Katya was already standing by the ticket office with her suitcase. She looked at the flight schedule and asked the girl behind the counter: “Where can I fly right now without a visa?”
The girl smiled and offered several options. Katya chose the most exotic destination she could afford. For the first time in a long time, she felt free. Free from obligations, from others’ expectations, from the need to be the one who always knows everything and can do everything.
A few hours later she sat on the plane, her forehead pressed to the window. Clouds slowly floated beneath the wing, and below stretched the endless blue sea. Katya closed her eyes and imagined standing on the shore, feeling the cool waves on her feet. Ahead awaited only three days of rest, but it was enough.
The plane began to descend, and Katya thought that on this birthday she had chosen herself. And at that moment, it seemed to her that somewhere up there, high in the sky, the real fairy smiled at her. But now that fairy was no longer imaginary. That fairy was herself.
Landing, Katya left the airport and breathed in the warm sea air. Her phone rang — it was Andrey. She looked at the screen, then pressed “Decline.” Now she didn’t want to talk to anyone. She only wanted one thing: to enjoy the moment that belonged only to her.
