Isolde stood at the kitchen stove, mechanically stirring a vegetable stew. How many times had she repeated these motions over the past few years? Thousands? Tens of thousands? In the next room, Pavel was watching yet another TV series, occasionally chuckling at the main character’s jokes. She could hear him flipping channels, stopping now on a sports match, now on the news.
“Isolde, bring me coffee!” he shouted without taking his eyes off the screen.
In silence, she poured coffee into his favorite blue mug—the very one she’d given him on their wedding anniversary seven years ago. Back then he’d kissed her hands and said she was the best wife in the world. Now he didn’t even lift his head when she set the mug on the coffee table.
“This is kind of cold,” Pavel muttered after a sip. “And not enough sugar.”
Isolde went back to the kitchen. In the mirror opposite the stove, a woman with a tired face, dull hair pulled into a ponytail, and an extinguished gaze stared back at her. When had she turned into a shadow? A ghost in her own home?
A phone call interrupted her thoughts. Her friend Marina’s name lit up on the screen.
“Hi, sunshine! How are you?” Marina’s upbeat voice clashed with the apartment’s silence.
“Fine,” Isolde replied automatically.
“Listen, the girls and I are going to that new café on Saturday. Want to come with us?”
“I… don’t know. I need to ask Pasha.”
“Ask?” Marina sounded genuinely surprised. “Isolde, you’re not in prison. Just say you’re going, that’s all.”
After the call, Isolde stared at her phone for a long time. When was the last time she’d gone anywhere without Pavel? Or even with him? He preferred spending weekends at home, buried in the TV or the computer.
“Isolde!” her husband called again. “What’s going on with dinner? I’m hungry!”
She turned off the stove and went into the living room. Pavel sat on the couch in a stretched-out tank top and sweatpants he hadn’t changed for three days. Chip wrappers and empty beer bottles were scattered on the table.
“Pasha, on Saturday I want to meet up with my friends,” she began.
“Saturday is football,” he cut her off. “You’ll make snacks.”
“But I haven’t gone anywhere in forever…”
“Oh, here we go again!” Pavel snapped, irritated. “You always need something. Sit at home like a normal wife. Or work more, if you’ve got time for stupid nonsense.”
Isolde turned around without a word and went into the bedroom. She sat on the bed and looked around. Everything in the room had been chosen by Pavel—dark wallpaper, bulky furniture, even the bed linens. No one had ever asked what she wanted.
The next morning, Isolde woke up with a clear feeling: this couldn’t go on. She made breakfast as usual, but something inside her had shifted—like an invisible countdown timer had started ticking.
Pavel, as always, ate in silence, scrolling through the news on his phone. The eggs grew cold on the plate while he commented on another post.
“What idiots,” he snorted. “They got divorced after twenty years of marriage. Can you imagine? The wife says her husband doesn’t appreciate her. What nonsense!”
Isolde looked up at him.
“Maybe he really didn’t appreciate her.”
“What do you know?” Pavel waved her off. “She got spoiled, that’s all. Bet she found herself a lover.”
“Or she was just tired of being a servant,” Isolde said quietly.
“What?” He even looked up from the phone. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Eat before it gets cold.”
Pavel shrugged and went back to his feed. And Isolde looked at him and saw a stranger. When had he become like this? Where was the romantic guy who used to carry her in his arms and bring flowers for no reason? Where was the man who could listen for hours to her stories about work and her dreams?
After breakfast Pavel, as usual, went into his office—he worked remotely as a programmer. Isolde cleared the table and sat down at her laptop. She opened a search engine and typed: “How to know when it’s time to divorce.”
The first article felt like it was describing her life: a partner who shows no interest, no communication, ignored feelings, being reduced to household staff. She read and recognized herself in every line.
Her phone rang—someone from work.
“Isolde, are you coming in today? We have a meeting at three.”
“Yes, of course, Sveta. I’ll be there.”
“Great! And listen, news—Veronica got divorced! Says she’s done tolerating disrespect. Good for her, right? How long can you let people wipe their feet on you?”
After the call, Isolde sat motionless for a long time. Veronica… they weren’t close, but she’d always seemed so obedient, so quiet. And now—divorced.
That same evening, something happened that became the turning point. Isolde was making dinner when she heard Pavel’s voice from his office. He was on the phone, and his tone was… different. Soft, engaged, alive.
“Of course, Anya, I understand… Yes, that’s a really interesting approach… Good for you for deciding… No, not at all, it’s no trouble to help…”
Isolde froze with the knife in her hand. Anya—the new employee on his team, mentioned once or twice. Young, ambitious, talented—those were his words.
“Tomorrow? Yes, I can… No, everything’s fine at home… My wife? She won’t mind, she’s got her own things…”
Those words pierced Isolde’s heart sharper than the knife. “She’s got her own things.” As if she were just a roommate, not his wife.
When Pavel came out of the office, his eyes were shining and a smile played on his lips.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked, sitting down at the table.
“Chicken with vegetables.”
“Again?” he grimaced. “Can’t you cook something new for once?”
“I can,” Isolde answered calmly. “But you always say you don’t care what you eat.”
“Not that much!” Pavel flared up. “Though what am I expecting? You’re not exactly trying. Anya, now she—yeah. She cooks great, and she always looks… not like certain people.”
He gave Isolde a critical look, lingering on her house robe and worn-out slippers.
Isolde silently set a plate in front of him and sat down across from him.
“Tell me about Anya,” she asked.
“What’s there to tell?” Pavel perked up. “Smart girl, promising. You can tell she’s from a good family. Well-mannered, educated. And the main thing—ambitious! Not like…” He cut himself off.
“Not like me?” Isolde finished for him.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you thought it.”
“Oh, stop nitpicking!” Pavel boiled over. “You always twist everything! ENOUGH with the scenes!”
For three days, Isolde prepared. She gathered documents, looked for an apartment to rent, consulted a lawyer. Pavel noticed nothing—he came home, ate, disappeared into the office or in front of the TV. Sometimes he talked with Anya on the phone for a long time, not embarrassed by his wife’s presence.
On Friday morning Isolde woke up with a firm decision—today. She made breakfast better than usual: an omelet with bacon, fresh croissants, fruit salad. Pavel looked surprised.
“What’s the occasion?”
“Just a good mood,” she smiled.
“Well, finally!” he chuckled, pleased. “You’ve been walking around like you’re drowning. Depressed or what?”
Isolde said nothing. After breakfast Pavel went into his office as always. She could hear him laughing on a video call—judging by the tone, with Anya.
At lunchtime, Isolde set the table in the living room. She took out the nice dishes they hadn’t used in years. Pavel came out, looked at the place setting in confusion.
“Are we having guests?”
“No. Sit down. We need to talk.”
“About what?” He flopped into a chair. “Just make it quick—I have a call in half an hour.”
Isolde sat across from him, folded her hands on the table, and looked him straight in the eyes.
“Pavel, I’m filing for divorce.”
He froze, fork halfway to his mouth.
“What?”
“Divorce. I want a divorce.”
“Is this a joke?” he laughed. “A bad one, by the way.”
“It’s not a joke. I’ve already prepared the documents. Here.” She handed him a folder.
Pavel tossed the fork aside, grabbed the folder, and skimmed the first page.
“Have you lost your mind?” His voice trembled. “Why? What did I even do?”
“Exactly,” Isolde said. “Nothing. You did NOTHING. For the last three years.”
“What do you mean, DIVORCE? I thought you were just tired!” he said, stunned.
“Tired?” Isolde gave a bitter smile. “Yes, Pavel, I’m tired. Tired of being invisible in my own home. Tired of you remembering I exist only when you need something.”
“You’re exagger—” he started, but Isolde abruptly stood up.
“NO!” Her voice rang out so loudly Pavel flinched. “Don’t you dare tell me I’m exaggerating! Do you know my favorite color? No. What I read? No. What I dream about? ALSO NO. Because you don’t give a damn!”
“Isolde, calm down…”
“SHUT UP!” She slammed her palm on the table. “Seven years I stayed quiet—now you’ll listen! Do you know when you last said you loved me? Two years ago! And even then only because I reminded you about our anniversary!”
“But I… I thought you understood…”
“Understood what? That you see me as free household labor? Yes, I understood that a long time ago! Cook, wash, clean—that’s my function in this house!”
“That’s not fair!” Pavel protested. “I work, I earn…”
“So what?” Isolde walked around the table and stopped right in front of him. “Does that give you the right to treat me like furniture? Do you know what you told your Anya on the phone yesterday? ‘My wife has her own things.’ What things, Pavel? Serving you?”
“You were eavesdropping?”
“I don’t even need to!” she shot back. “You talk so loudly like I don’t exist! And speaking of Anya—maybe you’ll explain why you can talk to her for hours, but with me it’s only ‘bring this,’ ‘hand that,’ ‘what’s for dinner’?”
“We’re colleagues. We discuss work…”
“You’re LYING!” Isolde grabbed his phone from the table. “Here’s your chat: ‘Anya, you look amazing.’ ‘Anya, you’re so smart.’ ‘Anya, you’re so interesting.’ When was the last time you said anything like that to me?”
Pavel tried to snatch the phone, but Isolde flung it aside.
“How dare you!” he shouted.
“And you—WHAT DO YOU DARE?” Her voice broke into a scream. “Humiliating me every day! Comparing me to another woman! Ignoring me! I became empty space to you!”
Pavel stood up, his face red with anger.
“You’re just jealous! That’s why you’re throwing a tantrum!”
“Jealous?” Isolde laughed. “Jealous of what? What’s left of our relationship? The emptiness? The indifference? No, Pavel, I’m not jealous. I’m disgusted.”
“How dare you talk like that!”
“And how did you dare turn me into a shadow?” She stepped closer, staring him in the eyes. “Remember what you were like? Flowers, interest in my work, my thoughts. We could talk all night. And now? Now you don’t even know I got a promotion a month ago!”
“You didn’t tell me…”
“I DID!” she snapped. “Three times! But you were busy—football, computer games, chatting with Anya!”
“Enough about Anya!”
“Oh, does the truth sting?” Isolde circled him. “You know what’s the filthiest part? You don’t even try to hide it. You light up like a polished coin when she calls. And when I come home from work—you don’t even lift your head.”
“I’m tired…”
“From what? Sitting at a computer? Watching TV? Or ignoring your wife?” Isolde said, bitter. “Yes, it must be exhausting—pretending I don’t exist!”
Pavel clenched his fists.
“Stop yelling!”
“NO, I WON’T!” Isolde hurled a plate to the floor; it shattered into pieces. “Seven years I stayed silent, endured it, hoped. Thought it was temporary, that things would get better. But you know what I realized? You just got LAZY! Why try if your wife won’t go anywhere?”
“You’ve gone insane!”
“Yes, I have!” Isolde shouted. “From loneliness in my own home! From living with someone who doesn’t give a damn about me! You know what I did yesterday? I cried in the bathroom for two hours. And you didn’t even notice my eyes were swollen.”
“Isolde, let’s calm down and talk…”
“Talk?” she sprang up again. “NOW you want to talk? When I’m already halfway out the door? Where were you all these years? Where were the talks when I was trying to reach you?”
“I didn’t know…”
“LIES!” She grabbed a glass of water and splashed it in his face. “You knew! It was just convenient not to notice! Convenient when everything’s ready at home, clean, and the wife doesn’t bother you with her problems!”
Pavel wiped his face with his sleeve; anger appeared in his eyes.
“Who do you think you are! I’m the one who provides for you!”
“Provides?” Isolde burst out laughing. “I WORK, you idiot! I earn no less than you! But you don’t even know that because you’ve never been interested!”
“That can’t be…”
“Check the bank statements! Half the expenses are my money! But you’re so buried in your egoism you didn’t even notice!”
Pavel sank into a chair; his confidence began to melt.
“Isolde, let’s not get heated…”
“Too late!” she went to the window, looking out at the street. “You know, I thought for a long time—maybe it’s my fault? Maybe I’m not trying hard enough? And I tried harder—cooked your favorite dishes, bought nice lingerie, tried to talk… And what? YOU DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE!”
“I noticed…”
“What did you notice?” she whirled around. “That the soup was too salty? That there was dust on a shelf? That I gained two kilos? Yes, you noticed that! But look at yourself—your belly’s like you’re pregnant. And when I bought a new dress, got my hair done, put on makeup—no!”
“Isolde, I’m sorry…”
“TOO LATE! I don’t need your apologies anymore! You know what I realized? I deserve more. I deserve a man who will SEE me. Who will care about my life, my feelings!”
“But we’ve been together so many years…”
“So what?” Isolde said, firm. “Is that a reason to keep this farce going? No, Pavel. I won’t be your shadow anymore. I won’t be a nobody who exists only when you need your socks washed.”
Pavel jumped up, his face twisted with rage.
“No one needs you! Look at yourself—fat, unkempt! Anya is a thousand times better than you!”
Those words were the last straw. Isolde walked up to him slowly, and Pavel instinctively stepped back when he saw her eyes. Then came a sharp slap.
“You know what, sweetheart,” her voice turned icy. “You’re right. I really let myself go. You know why? Because who was I supposed to try for? A man who looks straight through me? Who’d rather stare at the TV than at his wife?”
She took another step, and Pavel’s back hit the wall.
“And the funniest part? Yesterday I went to a beauty salon. Four hours. Manicure, pedicure, a new haircut, coloring. Then I bought a new dress—red, the one you used to love. And what? You didn’t even lift your head when I walked in!”
“I was busy…”
“With what? Texting Anya?” Isolde pulled printed pages from her pocket. “Here’s your chat for the last month. ‘Sunshine,’ ‘pretty girl,’ ‘smart one’… When was the last time you called me anything affectionate?”
“Where did you get that?”
“Oh, now you’re interested?” She flung the papers in his face. “From your computer, genius! Password ‘123456’—so original!”
Pavel went pale.
“You hacked…”
“There was nothing to hack!” Isolde snapped. “You weren’t hiding! You sat here a meter away from me, typing her compliments while I ironed your shirts!”
“It’s just friendly texting…”
“‘I want to hug you’? ‘I dream of seeing you in that dress’? ‘Too bad you’re not my wife’?” Isolde quoted from memory. “That’s friendly?”
Pavel said nothing, head lowered.
“The most disgusting part,” Isolde continued, “is I’m not even angry at Anya. It’s not her fault you’re a goat. But you—you I won’t forgive.”
“Isolde, let’s discuss it calmly…”
“GET OUT!” she screamed. “GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT!”
“What? It’s ours…”
“NO! It’s MY apartment!” Isolde shouted. “I inherited it! Remember? Or did you forget that too?”
Pavel opened his mouth and closed it. He really had forgotten.
“I… I thought we—”
“No, dear. You moved in with me. And now you’re moving out. Your suitcases are there.” She pointed to the hallway, where two big suitcases stood. “I packed up your junk. Take it and GET LOST!”
“You can’t…”
“I can and I am! You’ve got an hour. Then I’ll call my brother and his friends and they’ll carry you out under their arms!”
“Your brother lives in another city…”
“He did. He came yesterday. Specifically. He’s downstairs in the car. Want me to call him up?”
Pavel retreated toward the door.
“Isolde, this is insane…”
“Yes, it is!” she said fiercely. “Insane is putting up with your rudeness for years! But now it’s over. ENOUGH. Take your stuff and crawl to your Anya! Maybe she’ll be happy to wash your socks!”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“I DON’T CARE!” Isolde grabbed his jacket from the hanger and threw it at him. “To your mother, your friends, the train station—WHEREVER YOU WANT. Just don’t let me see you here!”
“But we’re not officially divorced…”
“That’s just a matter of time!” Isolde said coldly. “The papers are already with the lawyer. And you know what? I’m demanding compensation for moral damages!”
“What? For what?”
“For seven years of psychological abuse. For humiliation. For cheating.”
“I didn’t cheat!”
“Emotional cheating is still cheating!” Isolde shot back. “And the court will agree when they see your messages!”
Afraid of meeting his wife’s furious brother, Pavel hurried out of the apartment with his suitcases, hoping to find comfort with Anya. But she only laughed at his hints about living together and coldly said she was happily married and had no intention of becoming anyone’s mistress. His mother, learning the real reason for the divorce from Isolde’s angry call, tore into her son and refused to let him through the door, calling him a disgrace to the family and an unworthy man.
Pavel rented a bleak one-room apartment where, surrounded by unwashed dishes and dirty laundry, he suddenly realized how much Isolde had done for him. His work began to fall apart: his boss complained about his constant lateness and unfinished tasks; colleagues avoided him after hearing how he’d treated his wife; and a crushing emptiness—and belated remorse—settled in his soul.
As for Isolde, to her own surprise, she felt not pain, but an incredible relief. She had cried all her tears long ago and had already lived through the divorce in her heart before it was ever official. Now, looking at her reflection in the mirror, for the first time in years she saw not a tired shadow, but a living woman with shining eyes—finally freed from the ballast of a parasitic husband and ready to begin a new, real life.
