I stared at my phone for a long time. Alexey was calling for the third time that evening, but I didn’t pick up. The time on the screen read half past ten. Before, at that hour, I’d already be washing the dinner dishes, wiping down the table, hanging up the laundry. Now I was sitting on the couch with a cup of tea gone cold, thinking about how everything had changed in the space of just three weeks.
And it all started that same evening.
I came running home from work around eight, quickly tossed my bag onto a chair, and pulled the cutlets out of the fridge—the ones I’d cooked that morning. Alexey walked into the kitchen just as I set a frying pan on the stove.
“So where’s dinner, Ira?” he said calmly, but I immediately heard the tension in his voice.
“I’m heating it up. Five minutes and it’ll be ready.”
He went over to the table and ran a finger across the countertop.
“Dust. Dust everywhere again. Do you even clean at all?”
I didn’t answer. I turned the cutlets over. My hands were shaking—whether from exhaustion or hurt, I didn’t know.
“I’m tired, Lyosha. I work now.”
“That’s not your job—to work!” he raised his voice, and I flinched. “Why do you need that job if the house is dirty, dinner isn’t ready, and I’m sitting here like an idiot waiting?”
God, how much longer could this go on? I’d explained it a hundred times—we didn’t have enough money. Or did he think a manicure once every three months was normal?
“We need money,” I said quietly. “Your salary isn’t even enough for decent groceries.”
“Then you need to be more economical! Other wives manage, but you…”
He fell silent and turned to the window. I switched off the stove, put a plate in front of him, then sat down across from him, feeling everything inside me tighten into a hard knot.
“Listen,” Alexey looked at me. “Let’s live separately for a while. I need time to rethink everything.”
“What?” I didn’t understand right away.
“We’ll take a break from each other. A friend suggested it—said it worked for him and his wife, things got better later. I’ll move in with Mom for a while, and you can think about how you want to live дальше.”
He stood up without even touching the food and left the kitchen. I stayed sitting there, staring at the plate of cutlets. There was a lump in my throat; it was hard to breathe.
He’s leaving. Just like that—he’s simply taking and leaving.
An hour later, Alexey packed a bag and left. The apartment was mine—it had come from my grandmother—so he was the one who had to go. I walked him to the door, tried to say something, but he only waved a hand.
“We’ll talk.”
The door slammed shut. I stood in the hallway and listened to the silence. Our apartment hadn’t been this quiet in a long time. No snoring from the bedroom, no grumbling, no reproaches.
For the first two days I cried. I couldn’t stop—crying at work in the bathroom, crying at home in the kitchen, crying before sleep. What would I do alone? How would I cope? I called my mother; she came over and stroked my head like I was little.
“Sweetheart, maybe it’s for the best,” she said softly, wiping my tears. “Look at you. You’ve worked yourself into the ground.”
She pulled some money from her bag and pressed it into my hand.
“For getting your hair colored. Don’t skimp on yourself, Ira.”
I looked at the bills and felt something stir inside me. Anger? Resentment? I didn’t know. But I suddenly thought: she was right—when was the last time I’d thought about myself?
On the third day Tanya called. My friend from school. Her voice was bright, almost cheerful.
“Ira, stop moping! Get dressed—an hour from now I’m expecting you. We’re going dancing!”
“Dancing, Tanya? I’m not in the mood.”
“That’s exactly why you need to go! I’m not letting you turn into a vegetable. Get dressed and come out!”
I tried to refuse, but all I managed were weak excuses. Tanya didn’t listen.
“Done. I’m waiting!”
I looked at myself in the mirror. Messy hair, an old house sweater, a face swollen from tears. God—what do I look like?
I pulled on jeans, found a light blouse in the closet. Put on some makeup—my hands shook, mascara smeared. I wiped it off and tried again. It came out… more or less.
The dance studio was in the next district, in the basement of an old building. Tanya dragged me by the hand while I resisted.
“Tanya, I can’t dance.”
“You’ll learn there—don’t worry!”
The room was small, with huge mirrors along the walls. It smelled of sweat and cheap air freshener. The floors squeaked underfoot. There were about fifteen women—different ages, all cheerful, chatting with each other.
They turned on music. The instructor showed the moves; everyone copied her. I stood in the corner feeling like I was made of wood. My body wouldn’t obey, my feet got tangled. What am I doing here? Why?
I looked at myself in the mirror—and suddenly I saw it. Not a tired housewife. Not a beaten-down wife. Just a woman trying to move to music. And on my face was a smile. Uncertain, embarrassed—but a smile.
“There!” Tanya bounced up to me. “Look at you, красавица!”
I laughed. For the first time in days—I laughed for real. And I felt something loosen inside me, as if the tight rope that had been binding me for all those years had finally slackened a little.
I feel good. For the first time, I just feel good.
The next day Alexey called. I was at work and answered.
“How are you?” His voice was dry, businesslike.
“Fine.”
“The utility bill came—send me half.”
“Okay.”
A pause. I could hear him breathing into the phone.
“You cleaned up at least?”
There it was. Starting again.
“Alexey, what difference does it make to you?”
“What do you mean what difference? It’s our apartment.”
“My apartment,” I said, more firmly than I meant to.
He exhaled раздражённо.
“That’s exactly the problem, Ira. You’ve completely gotten out of hand.”
I hung up. Just like that—I pressed the red button and put the phone down on the desk. My hands weren’t shaking. Inside, it was calm.
I’m not going to оправдываться anymore. I won’t.
At home it was quiet. I made coffee and sat by the window. In a vase on the table there was a hyacinth—completely dried out; I kept forgetting to throw it away. This time I got up, tossed the dead flower, poured fresh water into the vase. Tomorrow I’d buy new flowers.
Tanya called every day—inviting me for walks, to the movies, to dance class. I started going—at first forcing myself, then with genuine interest. At work they noticed I’d become more active. My boss called me in.
“Irina, we’re thinking of promoting you. The salary will be higher, but there will be more responsibility. Are you interested?”
I nodded, not believing my ears.
“Yes.”
I’ll manage. I can do it.
Two weeks later Tanya and I bought cheap seaside vouchers—just a week. I hesitated for a long time: was it okay to spend money on myself? But then I thought—why not?
The sea was warm, the wind salty. We lay on the beach, ate ice cream, talked until night. Tanya took photos of me on her phone.
“Look at you! You’re glowing!”
I took the phone and looked at the picture. A tanned face, tousled hair, a wide smile. Is that really me?
“You’re like a TV heroine after a divorce,” Tanya laughed. “Found yourself!”
“I really did,” I said quietly.
When I got back home, Alexey called again. This time he went straight to the point.
“Let’s meet. Talk.”
“About what?”
“What do you mean about what? About us. We need to decide what we’re doing next.”
I agreed. We set a meeting at the café “Dumplings and Coffee”—our old place where we used to go often.
I came first. Ordered coffee and sat by the window. The bell above the door jingled—Alexey came in. He looked tired, drawn. He sat down across from me and nodded to the waitress.
“Dumplings for me, please.”
We were silent for a minute. I sipped my coffee in small gulps and looked out the window. He turned his phone over in his hands.
“Listen, Ira… it’s impossible at my mom’s. She meddles in everything I do, nags me morning to night. I’m exhausted.”
And I wasn’t exhausted when you nagged me?
“I’m sorry,” I said evenly.
“So what? Have you come to your senses? Will you quit that job? We’ll go back to a normal life?”
I looked at him. At his уверенное face, his привычная posture—leaning back in the chair, arms crossed. He didn’t even doubt I’d agree.
“Alexey, I don’t want to come back.”
He frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“I realized we’re better off divorcing. We don’t suit each other.”
“What?!” He straightened up. “Are you serious?!”
“Completely.”
His face turned red.
“You’ve changed, Ira. I don’t recognize you.”
“And I’ve recognized myself for the first time,” I said calmly.
He stood up abruptly, almost knocking the chair over.
“Fine—have it your way! You’ll regret this!”
He turned and walked out. The bell above the door jingled. The waitress came up to me.
“That’ll be five hundred thirty rubles.”
I silently took out the money. He didn’t even pay for his order. As always.
At home I pulled an old suitcase from the closet. I packed Alexey’s things—shirts, jeans, razor, books. Neatly arranged everything, closed the suitcase, carried it into the hallway.
Let him take it whenever he wants.
I went back to the kitchen. Yesterday I’d bought fresh flowers—chrysanthemums, yellow and white. I put them in the vase and poured water. The kettle was coming to a boil—I brewed my favorite tea, the one Alexey couldn’t stand. He said it smelled like grass.
I sat by the window with my cup. Opened the window—fresh air rushed in, smelling of rain and fallen leaves. It was early October; the trees were turning yellow.
I’m free. For the first time in so many years, I can do what I want.
My phone vibrated. A message from Tanya: “So? How did it go?”
I typed back: “I’m getting a divorce. And I feel amazing.”
Almost instantly, a reply came: “Then we have to celebrate! Tomorrow evening!”
I smiled. Finished my tea, washed the cup. Looked around the apartment—my apartment, my things, my life. No one will grumble about dust. No one will demand dinner on time. No one will tell me I have to stay at home.
I’m going to live for myself. Finally.
The next morning I woke up to sunlight. I got up, stretched. Made coffee, took yogurt from the fridge. Turned on music—loud, the way I never could before because it “bothered” Alexey.
The phone rang. Alexey.
“I’ll come get my things tonight.”
“Okay. The suitcase is in the hallway.”
“Ira… maybe you’ll still think it over?”
“No, Lyosha. I’ve already decided everything.”
He was quiet.
“Well… do what you want.”
He hung up.
I turned on the shower, undressed. Looked at myself in the mirror. An ordinary woman of forty-two. Not young, not old. A little plump, hair streaked with gray. But in my eyes—there was a sparkle. A living, real sparkle.
I like the woman in the mirror.
After my shower I put on jeans and a new blouse I’d bought last week. Bright blue. Alexey used to say blue didn’t suit me. I like it.
I got ready for work. By the door I saw the suitcase with my husband’s things. Soon he’d take it, and that would be that. This chapter would be closed.
Outside it was a warm autumn day. Leaves rustled under my feet. I walked to the bus stop thinking that tonight I’d meet Tanya. Then on Saturday—dance class again. Next month I want to sign up for some online courses for extra income—I’ve dreamed of it for ages.
I have so many plans. And all of them are for me.
At work my boss praised me for a project. My coworkers invited me to lunch. I agreed—before, I always refused, rushing home to cook dinner.
Now I don’t have to rush anywhere.
That evening, when I came home, the suitcase in the hallway was gone. Alexey had picked up his things while I was out. Probably on purpose, so we wouldn’t meet.
And good. It’s easier that way.
I took off my shoes and went into the kitchen. Put the kettle on. Walked to the window—the chrysanthemums stood in the vase, fresh and bright. Outside, it was slowly getting dark; lights were coming on in the neighboring buildings.
My phone vibrated. Tanya: “Come out already—I’m waiting by the entrance!”
I grabbed my jacket and bag. Glanced at the mirror in the hallway—fixed my hair, put on lipstick. Not bad. Perfectly decent.
I ran outside. Tanya stood by the car, waving.
“Finally! Let’s go celebrate your freedom!”
I got into the car and shut the door.
“Let’s go.”
Tanya turned on music, and the car pulled away. I watched the houses, trees, people slide past the window. Inside, it was warm and calm.
I’ll manage. I already am. And I feel good—so good, like I haven’t felt in a long time.
