Alexey stood in front of the door to his apartment, his keys trembling in his hand. Three days ago he had slammed this very door shut to teach Irina a lesson. Three days of proud absence at his ex’s dacha. Three days that were supposed to make his wife understand how deeply she had hurt him. And now he was standing here, breathless with anticipation of what her remorse would look like.
It had all started with an ordinary family dinner. More precisely, with the lack of one.
“You’re late again,” Irina said in that particular tone Alexey had learned to recognize over seven years of marriage—calm, but threaded with deep disappointment.
“Traffic,” he snapped, tossing his keys into the little bowl in the entryway.
“Alexey, you promised you’d be home by seven. It’s almost nine.”
He walked into the kitchen, where a single covered plate stood on the table. The food had long gone cold. Irina sat nearby, scrolling through something on her phone.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said irritably. “Why are you starting?”
“Why am I starting?” Irina looked up. “This is the third evening in a row I’ve been waiting for you with dinner. We agreed we’d have dinner together at least three times a week. This was the last chance this week.”
With a sigh, Alexey sat down and lifted the lid off the plate.
“Like I was out partying instead of working my ass off.”
“It’s not about that, and you know it,” Irina said, setting her phone aside. “We had an agreement. It matters to me. I cooked, I waited. Like last time. And the time before that.”
“My project is on fire, you know that!” Alexey raised his voice. “What was I supposed to do—stand up and leave in the middle of a meeting? Tell Mikhalych my wife is baking pies and I need to run home?”
Irina straightened in her chair.
“First of all, I’m not baking pies—I’m making a normal dinner for my family. Second, you could have at least called and warned me. Third, your Mikhalych knows perfectly well the workday ends at six.”
“Don’t start,” Alexey sighed, poking at the cold potatoes.
“What do you mean, ‘don’t start’? I’m not allowed to say I’m unhappy?”
“You are,” he said, dropping his fork onto the plate. “You have the right. But you know what? I’m tired of these complaints. I’m tired of coming home and, instead of resting, getting another dose of dissatisfaction. I work from morning till night so we can afford this apartment, your new fur coat, a vacation in Turkey!”
“What does the fur coat have to do with it?” Irina shook her head. “I didn’t ask for a fur coat. I asked you to be home at seven three times a week. Is that so hard?”
“It is when you’ve got a tyrant of a boss and deadlines burning!” Alexey jumped up. “Why can’t you understand? Why do I get nothing but reproaches instead of support?”
Irina stared at him in silence for a few seconds.
“You know what?” she said at last. “I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of being in second place after your job. Maybe you should marry your Mikhalych, if he matters more to you than your family.”
That was the last straw.
“Fine!” Alexey threw his napkin onto the table. “If I’m such a terrible husband, maybe you should go find another one—someone who’ll sit at home and cling to your skirt?”
“I didn’t say that,” Irina replied quietly.
“But you thought it!” Alexey couldn’t stop now. Everything that had built up over weeks of stress burst out. “You know what? I’m leaving. I’ll stay a few days at Sveta’s dacha—at least she appreciated my time and my effort!”
Irina went pale. Sveta was his ex-girlfriend; they had split shortly before he met Irina. They kept in touch as friends—always a source of tension between him and his wife.
“Are you serious right now?” Her voice was strangely calm.
“Absolutely.” Alexey went into the bedroom and started tossing things into a gym bag. “I’ll stay there a few days. Think. And maybe you should think, too, about what matters more to you—my presence at dinner, or everything else I give this family.”
Irina stood in the bedroom doorway with her arms folded.
“If you go to your ex now, you’ll regret it,” she said quietly.
“Is that a threat?” Alexey smirked, zipping the bag.
“It’s a fact.” Irina turned and walked out.
Alexey brushed past her, grabbed his keys, and slammed the door so hard the walls trembled.
Sveta met him with surprise, but without many questions, she offered to let him stay at the dacha as long as he needed. It was a small house in a gardening co-op about an hour from the city—a place Alexey used to go years ago, before marriage.
“Family problems?” she asked, as they drank tea on the veranda.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Alexey waved her off.
“As you wish.” Sveta shrugged. “Make yourself at home. I’m only here on weekends anyway, so I won’t bother you. You know where the keys are, there’s food in the fridge. If you need anything—call.”
She left for the city the next morning, leaving Alexey alone with his thoughts. He was sure Irina would call by evening—apologize, beg him to come back. But the phone stayed silent.
By the end of the first day he grew nervous and texted: “Everything okay?”
An hour later the reply came: “Yes. You?”
Short. Cold. No просьба to return, no apologies. Alexey got even angrier. Fine—if she thought he’d be the first to give in, she was wrong.
The second day passed in a strange quiet. Alexey tried to work remotely, but his thoughts kept circling back to Irina. What was she doing? What was she thinking? Why wasn’t she calling?
That evening he couldn’t take it and called first.
“Hi,” he said, trying to sound casual.
“Hi,” Irina answered. In the background he could hear laughter and music.
“Where are you?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.
“At home,” she said. “Masha and Katya are over. A girls’ night. We’ve been meaning to do it for ages, but it never worked out.”
Alexey felt a stab of irritation. He was suffering out here—and she was throwing parties?
“Ah, I see,” he said dryly. “I won’t bother you.”
“You’re not bothering me,” she said calmly. “Did something happen?”
“No, I just… wanted to check that everything’s okay.”
“Everything’s great, thanks for the concern.” Her voice held neither warmth nor coldness—just ordinary politeness, like with a stranger. “How are you there? Is Sveta pestering you with questions?”
“Sveta isn’t here—she’s in the city,” Alexey said for some reason. “I’m alone at the dacha.”
“Oh, I see,” Irina echoed his tone exactly. “Well, enjoy your rest then. Bye.”
And she hung up before he could add anything.
The third day was the hardest. Alexey paced around the dacha like a caged animal. He checked his phone every five minutes. He typed messages to Irina, deleted them, typed again. What was going on? Why wasn’t she begging him to return? Did she really not care?
By evening he couldn’t stand it and texted: “Coming back tomorrow morning.”
The reply was brutally simple: “Okay.”
That was it. No emotion, no questions. Just “okay,” as if he’d said he’d pick up milk on the way.
In that moment Alexey realized his plan hadn’t gone the way he’d expected. And that was exactly why, standing now in front of his own door, he felt a strange mix of anxiety and irritation.
He opened the door and walked in. The apartment smelled of fresh baking and Irina’s perfume. From the kitchen came sounds—someone moving dishes, chopping something.
“I’m home,” Alexey called, stepping into the entryway.
No answer.
He walked into the kitchen and froze in the doorway. Irina stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot. She was wearing a new dress he’d never seen before—dark blue, elegant, flattering her figure. Her hair was done, light makeup, and that perfume… She looked like she was getting ready for a date, not greeting a husband who’d returned after a fight.
“Hi,” she said, giving him a quick glance. “Hungry?”
Alexey nodded, thrown off. This wasn’t what he’d expected. Where were the tears? The relief? The apologies?
“What are you cooking?” he asked, setting his bag down on the floor.
“Stew,” she replied. “It’ll be ready in half an hour. You can take a shower while you’re at it.”
He stood there, not knowing what to say. This calm, collected woman didn’t resemble the one he had expected to see.
“Ira, we need to talk,” he finally said.
“Of course.” She nodded without looking up from cooking. “We’ll talk over dinner. Go on, freshen up. You look tired.”
Alexey obediently headed to the bathroom, feeling strangely disoriented. What was happening? Why was she so calm? And why did she look so good?
After showering and changing, he returned to the kitchen. Irina had already set the table—nice dishes they usually brought out only for guests, candles, wine glasses.
“Are we celebrating?” he asked, sitting down.
“No.” She smiled, pouring wine. “Just in a good mood.”
Irritation rose in Alexey. He’d spent three days at the dacha suffering, waiting for her call, her apologies—while she was here arranging… what? A celebration of his return? Or showing how great she’d been without him?
“I see you didn’t miss me much,” he couldn’t help saying.
“Why not?” she sat down opposite him. “The first evening was hard. And then… it got easier.”
Something in her tone put him on alert.
“What do you mean, ‘easier’?”
Irina took a sip of wine and met his eyes.
“You know, Lyosha, I’ve thought a lot these days. About us. About our relationship. About what’s been happening between us these past months.”
Here it was. Now she’d apologize, he thought. Now she’d admit she was wrong, that she’d realized how important his work and effort were.
“So what did you conclude?” he asked, preparing for his long-awaited moment of triumph.
“I realized we put too much weight on little things,” she said calmly. “And that life is too short to spend it on resentment and waiting.”
Alexey frowned. That wasn’t quite what he’d expected.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean”—Irina served herself stew—“when you left, at first I was very upset. Then I got angry. And then I decided it was a good chance to think about myself.”
“About yourself?” he repeated.
“Yes. You know, for so many years I’ve built my life around our relationship, our plans, your work… But what have I done for myself? What did I want, personally?”
She spoke calmly, without accusation—which somehow irritated him even more.
“And what do you want?” he asked with a hint of sarcasm.
“A lot,” she smiled. “For example, I signed up for photography classes. I’ve wanted to for a long time but kept putting it off. I started going to yoga in the evenings. And, you know, I met up with friends I hadn’t seen in ages.”
“I noticed,” Alexey muttered, remembering yesterday’s call and the party noise in the background. “All that in three days?”
“It’s amazing how much you can do when you don’t have to sit at home waiting for someone to show up for dinner,” she said without the slightest reproach, simply stating a fact.
A knot of тревога tightened in Alexey. Something was off. He’d expected tears, accusations, maybe coldness… but not this calm, almost detached composure.
“Did you meet anyone else besides your friends?” The question escaped before he could stop himself.
Irina looked up, surprised.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it literally. In these three days. Did you meet someone?” He heard how ridiculous it sounded, but couldn’t stop.
Irina slowly set her fork down.
“Are you serious right now? You left to your ex for three days, and now you’re asking whether I cheated on you in that time?”
“I didn’t leave to my ex! I mean, yes, to my ex, but not to her… I—” he tangled himself up. “Sveta wasn’t even there!”
“And if she had been?” Irina asked quietly.
“What?”
“If Sveta had been there, what would have changed? You said you were going to her on purpose. You wanted to hurt me as much as possible, didn’t you?”
Alexey stayed silent. She was right. Mentioning Sveta had been calculated to cause pain.
“I didn’t cheat on you, Alexey,” Irina said after a pause. “Not in these three days, not in all seven years of our marriage. And you know why? Not because there wasn’t opportunity. But because I respect what we have. Even when you demonstratively slam the door and go live at your ex’s to ‘teach me a lesson.’”
Her words hit harder than he expected.
“I wasn’t trying to teach you…”
“No?” She raised an eyebrow. “Then what was it? ‘Maybe you should think about what matters more to you’? Isn’t that a lesson?”
Alexey said nothing. She was right—and that only made it worse.
“I really did think,” she continued. “And I understood something important. I love you, Lyosha. I truly do. But I don’t want to be a woman who sits at home and waits until her husband deigns to appear. I want to build my life—with you, but not around you. Do you understand the difference?”
He understood, but wasn’t sure he liked it.
“So what now?” he asked. “You won’t cook dinners anymore?”
Irina laughed.
“My God, Lyosha, are you serious? I’m telling you about fundamental changes in our relationship, and you’re worried about dinners?”
She shook her head, but there was no anger in her eyes—more like mild disappointment.
“I’ll cook when I want to cook. Sometimes for both of us, sometimes just for myself. And sometimes we’ll cook together or order food—like normal modern people. The main thing is we’ll agree, not wait and resent.”
“You’ve changed,” Alexey said, watching his wife with growing unease. This new, confident Irina both attracted and frightened him.
“Yes,” she nodded. “In three days. Imagine what would happen if you left for a week.”
She smiled, and in that smile was something he’d never seen before—light irony, confidence, maybe even a challenge.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked directly.
Irina thought for a moment.
“You know, no. At first I was, of course. But then I realized your leaving was possibly the best thing that’s happened to us in a long time.”
“In what sense?” A pang of jealousy flared. “You were happy without me?”
“It was different,” she answered. “I was able to look at our life from the outside. And I realized I don’t want to go back to what it was. I want to move forward. With you, if you’re ready. Or…” She paused.
“Or?” he echoed, his heart skipping a beat.
“Or on my own,” she said simply. “I’m not afraid of that anymore, Lyosha.”
There was no threat or ultimatum in her voice—just calm fact. And that was what made it so frightening.
“You… you want a divorce?” he asked, his mouth dry.
“No.” She shook her head. “I want a relationship. A real, adult relationship where both partners respect each other. Where there aren’t childish games of ‘teaching a lesson’ and ‘punishing.’ Where we talk when something hurts us, instead of slamming doors.”
Alexey looked at his wife and realized with surprise that he was seeing her as if for the first time. When had she become so… wise? So calmly confident? And why hadn’t he noticed earlier?
“I missed you,” he said suddenly—and it was the truth. “All three days. I missed you terribly.”
Something flickered in her eyes—softness, warmth.
“I missed you too,” she admitted. “Especially the first night. It was strange falling asleep alone.”
“But you didn’t call,” it came out like an accusation, though he hadn’t meant it that way.
“No,” she agreed. “Because it was your choice to leave. And it had to be your choice to come back. Without my begging and tears.”
Alexey lowered his head. She was right. As always.
“I behaved like an idiot,” he said. “Forgive me.”
“I forgive you.” She smiled. “But Lyosha, I’m serious. I don’t want to go back to the old way. I want both of us to change. To become better. Together.”
“What do you propose?” he asked, feeling a strange mix of anxiety and hope.
“To start, let’s be honest with each other,” she said. “I’ll tell you when something bothers me—plainly, without hints. And you do the same. And let’s stop taking each other for granted.”
“What does that mean?” he didn’t understand.
“Well, for example,” she thought, “when you’re late at work, I automatically assume you don’t care that I’m waiting. And when I remind you of our agreement, you automatically hear it as a complaint. We stopped seeing each other as people with feelings and reasons.”
Alexey mulled it over. There was truth in it—truth he hadn’t wanted to admit. He really had started taking her care for granted, her waiting as obligation.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “And you’re right. I… I’ll try to change.”
“I know.” She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “Because I know who you really are. Otherwise I wouldn’t have married you.”
Her touch was warm, familiar. But something had changed. Before, that gesture had felt pleading, soothing. Now it was equal—steady, supportive.
“So we’re okay?” he asked, still not fully sure.
“We’re in progress,” she replied with a faint smile. “We’ll always be in progress, Lyosha. A relationship isn’t a final result—it’s constant movement. And right now, I think we’re moving in the right direction.”
She got up and began clearing the table. Alexey watched her—beautiful, composed, confident—the woman he thought he knew by heart, yet now he was discovering anew.
“Do you have plans tonight?” he asked, helping with the plates.
“Actually, yes,” she said, and his heart sank. “I have a photography lesson at seven. But it ends at nine. Afterward we can go to that new bar on Sadovaya, if you want. I’ve heard they make great cocktails.”
Alexey froze with a plate in his hand.
“You… want to go to a bar? On a weekday?”
“Why not?” she raised an eyebrow. “Tomorrow’s a workday, sure, but one cocktail won’t hurt anyone. Besides”—she winked—“I missed you. I want to make up for lost time.”
And in that moment, looking at his wife—new, changed, yet still so dear—Alexey understood his plan to “teach her a lesson” had turned out completely differently than he’d expected. But maybe it was exactly how they both needed it to be.
“I’ll wait for you by the studio at nine,” he said, feeling a rush of excitement—almost like the beginning of their relationship. “And Ira… thank you.”
“For what?” she asked, surprised.
“For not leaving me when I behaved like an idiot,” he said honestly. “For giving us a chance to become better.”
Irina smiled, and in that smile was everything he’d once loved in her—and something new he still had to discover.
“You’re welcome,” she said, and rose onto her toes to kiss his cheek. “Now I need to get ready. I don’t want to be late for class.”
She left the kitchen, and Alexey remained standing there, stunned, watching her go. His plan to teach his wife a lesson had ended with her teaching him one instead—maybe the most important lesson of his life.
Three months later, Alexey sat in the kitchen working on a project on his laptop. The clock read half past six—he’d come home early on purpose to finish work here.
“I’m home!” Irina’s voice rang from the entryway.
“In the kitchen!” he called back, closing the laptop.
Irina came in carrying a big folder of photos and a grocery bag.
“Hi,” she said, leaning down to kiss him. “Already home? Did Mikhalych let you off early?”
“I left on my own,” Alexey smirked. “Said I had an important meeting.”
“And with who?” she asked, unpacking groceries.
“With the prettiest girl in the city.” He winked. “It’s our anniversary today.”
“Seven years and three months?” Irina laughed. “That’s not an anniversary.”
“Three months of a new life,” he explained, pulling out a bouquet he’d been hiding under the table since morning. “I’d say that’s a pretty good reason.”
Irina froze with a carton of milk in her hand.
“Lyosha…” She blinked, and to his surprise he saw her eyes glisten. “You remember.”
“Of course I remember.” He handed her the flowers. “That was the day I almost lost the most precious thing I have.”
Irina took the bouquet carefully, as if it might crumble at a touch.
“You know, I think about that day a lot too,” she said softly. “How scared I was when you left. And how I decided I’d never be that afraid again.”
“I’m glad you chose to change,” Alexey said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “And that you made me change too.”
“We both changed,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “And we keep changing. Together.”
He hugged her tighter, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume—the same one she wore the day he came back.
“I can take a shower and cook something for dinner,” he offered. “Or we can order delivery and watch that show you wanted.”
“And your project?” she asked, nodding at the laptop.
“It can wait till tomorrow,” Alexey said firmly. “Today is our anniversary, remember?”
Irina smiled—that same smile that three months ago had turned his world upside down. The smile of a woman who knows her worth and isn’t afraid of the future.
“I remember,” she said, kissing him. “And you know what? I’m glad you decided to ‘teach me a lesson’ back then.”
“Why?”
“Because it became the best lesson for both of us.”
And Alexey couldn’t disagree. Sometimes the most important lessons come to us in ways we never planned. And sometimes that’s for the best
