Nadya woke up that morning with a bad feeling.
Ten years. A round number. A tin wedding anniversary—at least that’s what Wikipedia said.
Though who the hell came up with those names anyway? Tin. As if it were something fragile, easy to melt.
She lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking: I need to get up, start cooking. Igor’s parents are coming, friends too. And everything has to be ready.
“Igor,” she called. “Get up. Help me with something at least.”
He rolled over onto his other side.
“You always manage on your own.”
Nadya sighed. She got up. Walked barefoot to the kitchen—the cold floor, cold tiles under her heels, and somehow that sobered her up. Woke her up completely.
Nadya took a chicken out of the fridge, started washing it, cutting it up. Mechanically. Her hands did their job, and her thoughts did theirs.
When did it happen?
When did he stop noticing her tiredness?
When did she stop expecting surprises from him?
Maybe when Lizka was born? No, earlier.
“Mom, what’s going to happen today?” their daughter came out of her room, sleepy, her hair sticking up.
“Guests,” Nadya answered shortly. “Dad and I are celebrating ten years.”
“Cool! And are there going to be presents?”
Presents.
Nadya smirked.
“I don’t know, sunshine. Maybe.”
Though no. She did know. There wouldn’t be any presents. For the last few years Igor had only given her things she picked out herself and added to the cart on some website. And then he just paid. And that was called “your present, darling.”
Romance!
The day flew by in a haze. Nadya cooked, cleaned, set the table. Igor only helped by putting out the plates—and that was after her third time asking.
By evening the apartment filled with voices, laughter, the smell of perfume and wine. Everyone came. Igor’s parents—dressed to the nines, his mother in pearls, his father in a blazer. Friends—loud, cheerful, with bottles in their hands. Nadya’s girlfriends—Lena and Katya, both with their husbands.
Toasts. Speeches. Congratulations.
“To the young couple!”
“To love!”
“To ten years of happiness!”
Nadya smiled. Nodded.
And then, somewhere between the third and fourth toast, she suddenly couldn’t hold it anymore. Maybe the wine loosened her tongue. Maybe it had just been building up for too long.
“Igor,” she said loudly, so everyone could hear. “So where’s my present?”
She said it playfully. Almost jokingly. With a smile.
But in his eyes she saw irritation. Instant. Like a flash.
He put down his fork.
Looked at her.
And said:
“You haven’t earned a present!”
Nadya froze with her glass in hand. She stared at her husband. And he stared down at his plate—and in that look there was everything: tiredness, the usual irritation, some kind of everyday cruelty.
A second. Two. Five.
The guests glanced at each other. Someone coughed. Someone awkwardly reached for the salad.
And Nadya just sat there. Staring at her plate.
“Igor, are you serious?”—her friend Lena couldn’t hold back. “Like this, in front of everyone?”
He shrugged. Poured himself more wine.
“What’s the big deal? I just told the truth.”
Nadya slowly raised her head. Looked at him. And suddenly laughed. Quietly at first. Then louder.
“Nadya, what’s wrong with you?” her husband frowned.
“Oh, nothing,” she stood up with her glass in hand. “I just remembered something.”
Everyone froze.
“You know, guys,” Nadya began, and her voice sounded strange. Calm. Even cheerful. “I just thought… Igor is right!”
He looked at her, confused.
“It’s true—I didn’t earn a present!” she went on. “Because, well, what have I done, really? Raised our Lizka? Well, that’s just my duty. Washed, cooked, cleaned—yeah, that’s all nothing! Looked for his socks in the mornings—well, that’s love, isn’t it?”
Katya snorted into her napkin.
Igor turned red.
“Nadya, that’s enough.”
“No, wait!” She turned to the guests. “Let’s drink! To men! To those who remember about presents! To those who value their wives! To those who have enough”—she paused—“conscience not to humiliate a woman in front of guests!”
The silence was deafening.
And then…
“I’m with you!” yelled Seryozha, Igor’s friend. He got up with his glass. “Bravo, Nadyusha!”
“And me!” said Maksim, another friend.
“Yeah, Igor, that was too much,” muttered the groom’s father.
And off it went.
Seryoga moved first.
He stood up, swayed a little—the wine had done its job—and raised his glass.
“Nadyukha!” he shouted. “Oh, how I get you! To women! To those who put up with our male crap and still stay by our side!”
He clinked glasses with her. Drained his glass.
Katya, his wife, looked at him with such gratitude. As if he’d just saved the whole world.
“Seriozha, I’ll run down to the garage!” shouted Maksim, jumping up. “I’ve got flowers in the car! I bought them for Svetka, but… she’ll forgive me!”
And he bolted out.
Nadya stood there. She couldn’t believe what was happening. The men—the very same ones who half an hour ago were calmly chewing their salads—suddenly stirred, came alive, started talking.
Maksim came back with a bouquet. White roses. A bit crumpled, but still beautiful.
“Here, Nadya. You deserve them. Really.”
She took the flowers. Pressed them to her chest. And burst into tears.
She just stood in the middle of the room with the bouquet in her hands—and sobbed like a fool.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry!” Lena ran up to her. “What’s wrong with you? Come on, give them here, I’ll put them in a vase.”
But Nadya wouldn’t let go of the bouquet.
“Thank you, Max,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
Igor sat there. Silent. Pale. He looked at his wife—and had no idea what to do. Around her a bunch of men were crowding. Giving her attention. The very attention she’d been going to him for ten years to get—and never got.
Igor’s father stood up. Took a greeting card out of his bag.
“Nadyush, forgive my son,” he said quietly. “Here, at least take this. Happy anniversary.”
On the card there was a couple. Holding hands. Smiling. The caption: “Love lives ten years and longer.”
Nadya took the card. Read it. Smiled through her tears.
“Thank you, Mikhail Petrovich.”
And then the madness began.
Misha, Igor’s coworker, reached into his pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar.
“I bought it for myself,” he admitted. “But Nadezhda deserves it more!”
Olya, Misha’s wife, snorted:
“Oh, come on! You’ve got a whole box of them at home!”
“So what?!” Misha protested. “I want to give Nadya a present!”
Igor watched. And with every minute his face grew darker.
The men—his friends, coworkers, relatives—stood up one after another. Brought Nadya gifts. Ridiculous, silly, but so sincere.
Uncle Vitya unhooked a keychain from his keys—a little wooden bear.
“For good luck!” he said. “A priest blessed it for me in a monastery. Let it protect you!”
Even Lizka, their daughter, ran to her room and came back with a drawing.
“Mom, this is for you! I drew it today!”
In the drawing—Mom. Wearing a crown. With the caption: “The best.”
Nadya crouched down. Hugged her daughter. Pulled her close.
“Thank you, sunshine. Thank you.”
Igor jumped to his feet. Sharply. The chair crashed to the floor behind him.
Everyone fell silent.
“Enough!” he shouted. “Enough of this circus!”
Seryoga slowly stood up.
“Igor, what are you doing? You humiliated your wife in front of everyone. And now you’re yelling? Have you completely lost it?”
Maksim nodded:
“Yeah. Not cool, man.”
His mother—Igor’s mom—grabbed his sleeve.
“Igoryok, what are you doing! Calm down! People are watching!”
But Igor jerked his arm away.
“Leave me alone!”
And left. Out to the balcony. Slammed the door.
The guests exchanged looks. It became awkward.
And Nadya wiped away her tears. Looked at her “presents”: the bouquet, the card, the chocolate, the keychain, her daughter’s drawing.
She smiled.
“Girls, boys,” she said quietly. “Thank you. Really. I didn’t expect this, I never thought…”
Lena put an arm around her shoulders.
“Oh, come on. We all get it. And normal men—they get it too.”
“Exactly!” Seryoga chimed in.
The celebration went on. But the atmosphere had changed. People talked. Shared stories. The women told stories about their husbands—about mistakes, resentments, misunderstandings.
Katya confessed:
“Seryozha gave me the same perfume three years in a row. I kept hinting that I wanted a different one. He didn’t get it. Until I finally told him straight: enough, I don’t like that perfume!”
Olya laughed:
“And Misha forgot our first anniversary! Completely! Came home from work—I’d set the table, lit candles. He’s like: ‘Oh, is it some holiday?’ I almost whacked him with a frying pan!”
The men listened. Glanced at each other.
Uncle Vitya sighed:
“Yeah. We men can be such idiots sometimes. Our wives are saints for putting up with us.”
Igor sat there. Listening. And with every word he felt something tightening inside. Shame?
Or just the realization that he was an idiot?
By the end of the evening, when the last guests were leaving, he went up to Nadya. She was standing in the kitchen, washing dishes. So tired. Her shoulders slumped.
“Nadya.”
She didn’t turn around.
“I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. Really.”
Silence.
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean it, I mean, I didn’t think…” the words got tangled. “God, Nadya, I’m sorry!”
She turned off the water. Turned to him.
“You know, Igor. I’ve waited so many years for you to say that. Just to apologize. Without excuses. Without ‘well, you understand.’ And here we are—I finally heard it.”
He stepped closer.
“I’ll fix everything. I promise.”
“We’ll see,” she gave him a tired smile. “Go to bed. I’ll finish up and come.”
He nodded. Turned. Left.
And Nadya stayed standing there. Looking out the window. At the night city. At the lights. At her reflection in the glass.
She was tired.
Very.
But something important had happened today. Something that changed everything.
The morning began with the alarm ringing. Nadya stretched, opened her eyes—and on the pillow next to her, a box. A small, velvet box.
Igor was sitting on the edge of the bed. Looking at her.
“Open it.”
She took the box. Slowly. Opened it.
Inside—a pendant. Gold. Delicate. With an engraving: “To Nadya. With love. I.”
“I ordered it a month ago,” he said quietly. “I just wanted to surprise you. I was waiting for the right moment. And then yesterday I ruined everything. As always.”
Nadya looked at the pendant. Then at him.
“Igor.”
“Wait. Let me finish. I realized something. You’ve been by my side for ten years. You’re the best thing I have. And I forgot that. I got used to it. Decided I didn’t have to try anymore. That you weren’t going anywhere. But yesterday, when I saw how all those men… how they supported you. I felt so ashamed. I thought: I could actually lose you. And it would be my fault. Forgive me, Nadyush.”
She took the pendant in her hands. Ran her fingers over the engraving.
“You know… I never needed presents. I needed you. Real. Sincere.”
“I’ll be that man. I’ll do my best.”
She nodded.
“Okay. Let’s try.”
He hugged her. And in that moment Nadya thought: maybe ten years isn’t the end.
Maybe it’s the beginning of something new.
At least for her and Igor.
