— I’m sick of you. Of your fussing, your constant baby talk, that ever-smiling face. ‘Kostyenchka, your soup; Kostyenchka, your slippers; Kostyenchka, you must be tired,’” her husband mocked as he packed his things. “It’s disgusting! I’m wrapped in your care like in sticky cobwebs. The kids are grown; no one owes anyone anything.”
“Do you have someone?”
“And if I do, so what? I’ve been spinning like a louse on a comb for a year. Thought it was just a fling, but no! Yes, there’s someone—and what of it? I’m happy with her! She’s not clingy like you. Fire, not a woman! Oh, come on, don’t cry—I’m not claiming the apartment.”
“Kostya, how can you?”
She was truly terrified. She tried to keep a calm face, but her heart ached so much that tears ran down her cheeks. Was this really her adored husband saying these things?
“Ohhh,” the man howled, clutching his head, “what did I do to deserve this punishment? I’m getting a divorce!”
When the door slammed, the woman stared blankly out the window. The phrase hit her like a hammer to the head. Automatically, she tidied the room, gathering the scattered things. She picked up her phone, then set it aside.
She drank some valerian and tried to sleep. Her heart pounded; she sank into thick, frightening nightmares. In the morning she got up shattered and barely managed to get ready for work. It all felt like a bad dream. Any minute now she would wake up and Kostya would be beside her. Everything would be as usual—he had just been joking.
Agata had been married to her husband for more than 30 years. They lived like everyone else—or rather, she sincerely believed they lived better than anyone. She pushed her own desires into a far corner and dissolved herself completely in her husband and children. She thought her love and care would be appreciated.
No, after the wedding she had sometimes wanted to show some backbone, but whenever she so much as hinted that Kostya earned too little, didn’t do something, or didn’t help, her mother would instantly rush to her son-in-law’s defense:
“Why are you picking on your husband? He’s a man, so he’s the head of the family. It’s not a man’s job to wash dishes. Do you want him to leave you?”
“Mama, I’m tired. He doesn’t want to do anything at all.”
“And what did you do to make him want to? Smile sweetly, be quiet and modest, don’t demand anything, and he’ll do everything himself—no shouting or scandals. Or did you forget you have two children? Do you want to orphan them?”
For some reason, her mother’s strategy didn’t work. She forgave Kostya, adapted to him, comforted him, protected him. He became like a third child to her—spoiled and capricious. But there was no such care, attention, or love in her direction.
Even her mother-in-law, who had taken an instant dislike to her, eventually began to scold her. Over time, the spineless daughter-in-law even suited her, but sometimes, woman to woman, she felt sorry for her. Sighing, she would shake her head and chide:
“You spoil Kostya—oh, you spoil him. You can’t treat men like that. You can’t.”
“He gets tired, and it’s not hard for me.”
“He works the same as you. Only you’re up to your ears with the kids and housework, and what about him? Couch and beer? And you bring everything to him?”
“Raisa Stepanovna, I want to pamper him. And it’s not hard. Besides, to him I’m his sunshine, his beloved, his good girl.”
Her mother-in-law would just grimace. Let her dust him off if she likes—it’s her problem. Her son is fed, shod, looked after; the house is full to the brim. If she wants to be a slave—be my guest.
She bore her cross, sincerely believing that this was her woman’s lot. The children grew up and flew the nest. Her son went north for work and met his future wife there. One after another, they had three children.
Agata clutched her head—kids themselves, and already so many children! She begged them to come back, to be closer to her, but his wife was against it. Her own mother and relatives were there; it was easier for her. Her daughter, on the contrary, was against marriage and kids. She left to stay with a friend in Europe and settled there.
She had children and grandchildren, yet no one was nearby—only calls and video chats. For her, her husband had always been the main person in the family, but now he became the very center of the universe. Apparently she smothered him with love and care a little too much.
Now Agata had sunk into an endless nightmare. Her familiar life had collapsed, and there was nothing to replace it. She would come home in the evening and stare out the window without blinking. There was no one to cook for, wash for, tidy for. Her husband wouldn’t answer her calls, though she begged him to talk to her and at least explain something.
“Is she better than me? Don’t be silent!
Kostya, you have a doctor’s appointment on Wednesday at 7:00 p.m.—don’t forget.
Did you go to the doctor?
Kostya, don’t be silent, I’m begging you.”
She had to explain everything to the children, choosing her words carefully. Her son reacted coolly: you’re adults, sort it out yourselves. Her daughter, on the other hand, raged for a long time and was even ready to call her father.
“Mom, what he did is dishonorable. You danced attendance on him your whole life, and he left? And you?”
“What about me? I don’t know what he lacked. He lived like a king. Met with friends, rested when he wanted and with whom he wanted. I didn’t get jealous; I respected him.”
“Uh-huh. He was just bored with you. You should’ve smacked him over the head with a frying pan a couple of times when he didn’t come home at night—then there’d have been some passion. As it is, he climbed onto your back and dangled his legs.”
“How can you talk that way about your father? Don’t you dare. This is adult business.”
Her daughter drew a long breath.
“Mom, you can’t be such a doormat. You’ll see—he’ll crawl back soon. Where else will he find such a fool to bring him hot cheese pancakes in bed? Don’t you dare forgive him!”
Agata barely calmed her down. These were her problems; why drag the kids into it? And she didn’t think her husband would return. She wanted it desperately, but she no longer knew what she would do.
Time didn’t heal. She didn’t know where to put herself and refused to change anything in her life. She had no friends or hobbies—over so many years she had given up everything for the family. Bother the children? Get a cat? Pretend she was wildly into yoga? None of it felt right.
At night she howled into her pillow, rolled around the bed, and scratched her skin raw. She didn’t know what to do next. It felt like everything in her life had ended. Days passed, and the heartache kept gnawing at her. Every day bright pictures of her former happy life flashed before her eyes, while all the bad had been forgotten.
Unexpectedly, her daughter sent her a spa certificate. She turned it over for a minute, then called Angelina.
“Sweetheart, is this really for me?”
“Mommy, it’s a gift. Everything’s paid for, don’t worry. Go, take your mind off things.”
She remembered that salon visit for a long time. All her life she had sincerely believed she took care of herself: did gymnastics, homemade face and hair masks, even mastered manicures and pedicures. But this was something else.
They greeted her like a queen, wrapping her in attention and compliments. Massage, body wrap, peeling, masks, manicure, and pedicure. At first she was horrified, imagining how expensive it all was, and then she simply relaxed and started to enjoy it.
At home she got scared. She looked at herself in the mirror and understood that a woman like this couldn’t wear those clothes. Her soul demanded change. Without much thought, she gathered all her old, sturdy clothes into a bag, took them outside, left them by the dumpster, and hurried away before she could change her mind. An hour later the realization of what she’d done hit her.
“Well, Mom, you’ve done it now,” she whispered to herself. “One T-shirt and a pair of jeans. I’ll have to go buy everything tomorrow. What a blow to the budget.”
At those words, she paused. Her husband had left two months earlier, and she hadn’t really spent much of anything. She had never had enough money before—Kostya considered her a spendthrift. She thought so too. Especially after the kids moved out, the money certainly hadn’t increased.
Puzzled, she rushed to her notebook. For many years she had meticulously counted income and expenses and glued in all the receipts. So, expenses: car loan, all sorts of fishing gadgets, payments for something in a game, gas, car parts. She looked at it all, and the realization gradually dawned. That’s why she had money now. What had she needed?
“‘Why do you need a new dress? Your closet is bursting already,’” her husband would growl at her. Never mind that those dresses were twenty years old.
“‘Leather boots? Buy some at the market and wear those.’” And she did, then walked around feeling ashamed. When they tore, she glued them, afraid to bring up buying new ones.
“‘How much did you spend on a face cream? 80 rubles? Is it made of gold?’”
Back then she genuinely thought their relationship was normal. She didn’t notice that her husband could calmly spend 30,000 on spare parts, even though he was the only one who drove to work. She took the bus—because her beloved went in a different direction.
Now Agata methodically turned to herself. She bought several dresses, a couple of pantsuits, and went to a cosmetologist. Everyone at work noticed the changes. Compliments rained down, and once someone even hinted at a date. None of that interested Agata. She dreamed that her husband—who, for some reason, still hadn’t filed for divorce—would see her and be struck speechless. What would happen after, she didn’t plan. By now she wasn’t sure she’d greet him with open arms. She no longer wanted to get Kostya back and had started, little by little, to love herself.
One day, coming home from work, she saw the kitchen light on. Her own thoughts surprised her. Instead of joy, she felt only annoyance and anger. She had just begun to live—now she’d be dancing around him again. Opening the door, she stood there dumbfounded. Her grandchildren ran out to her one after another, her son popped out, and her daughter-in-law peeked from the kitchen:
“Mom, hi! Surprise! You said your vacation starts Monday and you’d be bored. So—enjoy your guests.”
She hugged the noisy grandkids, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Her son wanted to ask something more, then changed his mind. Almost at midnight, when the apartment quieted, the two of them sat out on the balcony.
“How are you? What about Dad?”
“I’m okay—better already. Dad… I don’t know. He keeps silent.”
“I talked to him—there’s no going back.”
Silence fell. She ruffled Danila’s hair and propped her head in her hand. Imagine that—he was worried.
“Why not? You won’t believe it—he left, and good riddance.”
“Mom, you say that like you don’t care. You’ve been together so many years. And if only you’d seen who he found. Some hysteric. You’ll see—he’ll crawl back soon.”
Her heart gave a treacherous jolt, but she pulled herself together. She thought a little and then answered:
“I was going to file for divorce and division of property on Monday. I’m not waiting for him to crawl back. We have one apartment—if he returns, I might weaken. God forbid I start new relationships with him around. You can’t start a new life while something old still holds you. Have you talked to Angelina? Do you know everything?”
Her son nodded. He knew her daughter had suggested that their mother move in with her for a year—to work, to change the scenery. And that her mother had arranged that she could have her old job back if she wanted. He thought it was some kind of risky venture and didn’t understand why such drastic changes. Meanwhile, his mother went on:
“We’ll split the apartment and the car, and I’ll leave. Yes, yes—no pity. I slaved over that car loan for years. A studio will be enough for me; I need no more. I’ll rent it out and go. He’ll have that euphoria for another six months, then he’ll crawl back.”
Her son raised his eyebrows in surprise. She sighed and continued:
“I already know all about his new babe. Three husbands she’s sent to the next world—she isn’t going to hop around him like a little goat. She’s got a character, oh yes—clearly what he thought he lacked. But soon he’ll want peace and quiet; he’s no boy. Vitya, his brother, called—said things are bad there. By the way, don’t forget to visit Grandma tomorrow. She’s hinting too that he’ll be back to me soon.”
She fell silent, gazed at the dozing city, and sighed. Her son kept quiet, not interrupting. It was the first time in their lives they had spoken so openly.
“Love or habit? I don’t know. But if he comes back, I could weaken. I’ll run, yes. But new impressions and acquaintances are waiting for me there. And women over fifty there aren’t considered ancient crones. It will be better this way.”
She arrived in court in full parade. Seeing her, Kostya nearly swallowed his tongue in surprise. But an even bigger shock awaited him next. His mousy wife demanded a division of property. When he heard this, he yelled so hard he almost tore his throat.
Everything happened just as Agata had planned. They divided everything; with that money she bought a decent little apartment. She moved to her daughter’s and unexpectedly found her happiness. Her new husband is the owner of a small hotel. There she found her calling: fussing over and looking after the guests, who are crazy about that kind of care. In time, her ex left his “new love,” but she was no longer afraid of meeting him. She had become a completely different person.
