Galina stood in the middle of the kitchen, slowly unfolding their marriage certificate in her hands. Two years. Only two years had passed since the day she and Arkady had stood in the registry office and sworn eternal love. Back then, it had seemed to her that a whole lifetime lay ahead—filled with happiness and mutual understanding.
— Why isn’t dinner ready, and why didn’t you buy groceries? — her husband demanded, outraged. — Is this a strike?
Arkady walked into the apartment as he always did, around eight in the evening. Tall and fit, thirty-two years old, with dark hair and brown eyes. He worked as a sales manager at a construction company and considered himself the breadwinner. Galina, meanwhile, worked as an administrator in a medical center—and her paycheck was almost the same as his.
— Yes, Arkady, — Galina answered calmly, slipping the document into a folder. — It’s a strike. You can consider it indefinite.
— What kind of CRAP are you spouting? — he barked, throwing his briefcase onto the floor. — Have you lost your mind? A wife is supposed to cook for her husband—that’s your DUTY!
Galina raised her green eyes to him. She was twenty-eight. She usually pulled her fair hair into a ponytail, and she didn’t wear a trace of makeup—there was no time for it when you ran nonstop from morning to night like a hamster in a wheel.
— Duty? — she repeated, and a hard edge rang through her voice. — And what about your duties, Arkady? Or do you have NONE?
— I earn the money! — he shouted. — I’m the man in this house!
— Oh right, a man? — Galina gave a joyless little laugh. — A man who can’t even wash his own plate? Who tosses his things all over the apartment? Who believes laundry, cleaning, cooking—those are strictly women’s jobs?
— That’s exactly how it is! — Arkady insisted. — My father never did housework, and neither did my grandfather. It’s women’s work!
— Your father lived in a different time, — Galina shot back. — And your mother didn’t work—she stayed at home. But I, by the way, get home from work at the same time you do. Sometimes even later.
It had started a month earlier
A month ago Galina had gone to visit her friend Marina, who had recently married Pavel. What she saw there flipped her understanding of marriage upside down. Pavel was cooking dinner while Marina rested after work. Then they set the table together and cleared the dishes together. No one ordered anyone around, no one forced anything—they simply did it as a team.
— It just happened that way for us, — Marina explained when Pavel stepped out of the kitchen. — We both work, we both get tired. It would be silly to dump everything on one person.
Galina thought about it. And really—why should she carry the entire household? She worked full-time too. She got tired too. But she came home and started a second shift: cooking, cleaning, laundry, ironing. And Arkady, meanwhile, lay on the couch with his phone or watched TV.
When she got home that night, she tried to talk to her husband.
— Arkash, — she began gently, sitting down beside him on the sofa. — Let’s try dividing up the chores. I know you’re tired after work, but I’m tired too. Maybe we can take turns?
Arkady looked up from his smartphone and stared at her as if she’d gone crazy.
— Galya, what’s wrong with you? — he asked. — What chores? My responsibility is to make money. Yours is to keep the home in order. It’s simple.
— But I work too! — Galina protested.
— So what? — Arkady shrugged. — That’s your personal choice. Work if you want, stay home if you want. But housework is your territory.
— So you’re REFUSING to help me? — Galina clarified.
— I’m not refusing, — he drawled lazily. — I just don’t see the point. Everyone has their responsibilities. You don’t interfere with my job, do you?
— Arkady, this is UNFAIR! — she burst out.
— Life isn’t fair, — he said philosophically, and went right back to his phone.
That talk ended in a blowup. Galina screamed that he was selfish and lazy. Arkady accused her of hysterics and childish tantrums. In the end she slammed the bedroom door, and he stayed on the couch to sleep.
The week after
A week passed. Galina kept doing everything, but with each day the anger inside her grew. She woke at six, made breakfast, got ready for work. She came home at seven in the evening, cooked dinner, cleaned the apartment. Weekends were for big laundry, ironing, and a full deep clean. And all that time Arkady behaved like a lord: he demanded meals on time, clean shirts, perfectly pressed pants.
— Galya, where are my gray socks? — he yelled from the bedroom.
— In the dresser, second drawer! — she yelled back from the kitchen, stirring soup.
— They’re not there!
— They are—look again!
— No they’re NOT, I’m telling you! You messed everything up again!
And Galina would go into the bedroom, open the drawer, and pull out the socks lying right on top. Arkady didn’t even apologize—he just took them and went to get dressed.
One evening, as she washed dishes after dinner and her husband lounged on the couch as usual, something inside her cracked. She looked at the mountain of dirty plates, at his things scattered around the apartment, at him—content, full, completely convinced that this was how it was supposed to be.
— You know what, Arkady, — she said, drying her hands on a towel. — I can’t do this anymore.
— What now? — he grumbled.
— I’m tired of being your maid, — Galina said clearly. — Either you start helping around the house, or—
— Or what? — he cut in with a smirk. — You’ll leave? Come on, Gal. Where would you go?
— We’ll see, — she replied quietly, and walked out of the room.
The next day Galina made up her mind. If her husband believed the house was solely her responsibility, then he could try living without her labor. She stopped cooking for two—she grabbed something for herself at a café near work. She stopped washing his clothes, ironing his shirts, and picking up the things he left all over the place.
For the first two days Arkady ate sandwiches and barely noticed. On the third day he started complaining:
— Galya, what the hell is this? Why is the fridge empty?
— I don’t know, — she shrugged. — Probably because nobody bought groceries.
— Then buy them!
— Why? I don’t need them. I eat at work.
— And me? Am I supposed to walk around hungry?
— That’s your problem, Arkady. Go to the store and buy yourself food.
— You’re messing with me! — he screamed. — That’s your responsibility!
— No, — Galina answered evenly. — It’s not my responsibility. I’m not your housekeeper. Or pay me for the work I do in this home.
Another week passed
At first Arkady tried guilt. Then he tried threats. Then he promised he’d “think about” her proposal. But Galina didn’t budge. She watched him sprint around the apartment looking for a clean shirt, watched him try to iron his pants and burn a hole straight through them, watched him live off frozen dumplings because he didn’t know how to cook anything else.
— Galya, enough already! — he begged one evening. — Stop this circus!
— This isn’t a circus, — she snapped. — This is LIFE. The same life I’ve been living for the last two years—only I did all of it for two people.
— Oh, don’t play the victim! — Arkady lashed out. — All women live like this!
— That’s not true, — Galina said. — I’ve seen how normal families live. A husband and wife are partners—not a lord and a servant.
— Screw you! — he swore. — You found some pathetic little doormat and now you’re taking it out on me!
— No, Arkady, — Galina said, standing and walking to the closet. — You’re the one who’s leaving now.
She pulled out a folder and handed it to him.
— What is this? — he asked, confused.
— Divorce papers, — Galina replied calmly. — I filed a week ago. I made a copy for you.
Arkady snatched the papers from her and skimmed them. His face flushed red.
— You… you’re serious? — he rasped.
— Completely, — Galina nodded. — I packed my things and I’m leaving. The apartment is rented, the lease is in your name, so you can stay. Or move out—I don’t care.
— You’ve LOST your mind! — Arkady shouted. — You’re divorcing me over some cleaning?!
— Not over cleaning, — Galina shook her head. — Over disrespect. Over you treating me like hired help. Over the fact that my feelings and my exhaustion mean nothing to you.
She picked up the suitcase she had packed in advance and headed to the door.
— STOP! — Arkady yelled. — Where are you going? Let’s talk!
— Too late, — she threw over her shoulder. — You should’ve talked a month ago. I asked and asked, and all I got from you was silence…
— Galya, don’t go! — He rushed after her. — I… I’ll think about your proposal!
— Don’t strain your brain—it probably won’t work anyway, — Galina cut him off, turning back. — I don’t need your “thinking” anymore. Know what I understood over these two weeks? I can live perfectly fine alone. Without you. Because in reality, I already lived alone—except I was also servicing you.
— I support you!
— Nonsense! — Galina snorted. — We split rent fifty-fifty. I buy my own clothes. I’m the one who buys the groceries half the time too. What “support,” exactly?
— Fine! I’ll go to my mom’s! — he threatened. — I’ll tell her how ungrateful you are!
— Go ahead, — Galina shrugged coldly. — Your mother is a smart woman. She’ll understand me.
And she left, while her stunned husband stood in the hallway.
After she left
Arkady didn’t believe Galina was serious. The first few days he was sure she’d come to her senses and return. He called her a hundred times a day, texted nonstop, but she didn’t answer. The apartment quickly turned into a pigsty: dirty dishes piled in the sink, clothes littered the floor, and the fridge held nothing but beer and dumplings.
A week later he couldn’t take it anymore and went to his mother. Elena Petrovna, a sixty-year-old woman, had always adored her daughter-in-law. Galina often helped her around the house, drove her to doctors’ appointments, or simply dropped by to drink tea and chat.
— Mom, — Arkady began, sitting at her kitchen table. — Galya and I are getting divorced.
— I know, — his mother replied calmly, pouring herself tea. — She called me. Told me everything.
— And you’re on her side?! — Arkady exploded.
— Why wouldn’t I be? — Elena Petrovna shrugged. — The girl did the right thing. No need to play the lord of the manor.
— Mom, what are you even saying? — Arkady stared. — I’m your son!
— You’re my son, yes, — she nodded. — And you’re an idiot. You lost a good wife because of your laziness and contempt.
— She didn’t do ANYTHING! — Arkady tried to defend himself.
— You’re lying, — his mother cut in. — Galina told me how you tossed your stuff all over the apartment, how you demanded she wait on you. Shame on you, Arkady! I didn’t raise you like that!
— But Dad—
— Your father helped me at home! — Elena Petrovna snapped, cutting him off. — Yes, he didn’t do everything—times were different. But he washed dishes, carried groceries, looked after you, and did deep cleaning. And you? You decided that if your wife works, she should also bend her back at home for you?
— Mom… can I stay with you? — Arkady switched tactics. — Until I find a place.
Elena Petrovna looked at him for a long moment.
— No, — she said firmly.
— What? — Arkady couldn’t believe it.
— You can’t, — she repeated. — I’ve done my time. I raised you, fed you, educated you. Now live on your own. Learn to cook, wash, clean. Maybe then you’ll understand what a fool you’ve been.
— Mom, come on! — he pleaded. — I don’t know how!
— You’ll learn, — she said flatly. — And now get out. Don’t come back until you’ve come to your senses.
— Mom!
— OUT! — she shouted so loudly Arkady flinched. — And leave your keys!
Shaken, he left his mother’s apartment and trudged back toward his rental place. On the way he tried calling friends, but they either didn’t pick up or refused to take him in. It turned out Galina had been right—no one needed him.
At home he was greeted by the trashed apartment and a letter from the landlord. The owner demanded he vacate within a month due to repeated late payments and property damage. Arkady collapsed onto the couch and clutched his head.
— Damn it, — he whispered. — What have I done?
He tried calling Galina again and hit voicemail. Later he heard from mutual friends that she had rented a small studio and was doing great. And a month after that he learned she was seeing someone new—a man who could cook, clean, and treated her as an equal.
Arkady, meanwhile, moved into a cheap apartment in the middle of nowhere. In the evenings, returning to his tiny room, he heated up instant food on a hot plate and thought about how stupidly he’d lost everything because of his pride. His mother never forgave him—she stopped answering his calls. Friends turned away once they learned the real reason for the divorce.
— You brought it on yourself, — Igor, a former buddy, told him one day. — You lost a good woman. She wasn’t your maid—she was your wife. And you treated her like hired help. So you got what you deserved.
Standing at the window of his cramped room and staring out at the gray courtyard, Arkady finally understood what he’d done. But it was too late. Galina was gone for good, and with her went the warmth and comfort he’d never valued. Only now—when he had to wash clothes in a plastic basin and live on noodles—did he understand how much she’d done for him, and how cruelly he’d paid her back.
— Idiot, — he whispered to himself. — Just an idiot.
Somewhere else in the city, Galina was making dinner with her new partner, Dmitry. They laughed, joked, and for the first time in a long while she felt truly happy.
— You know, — Dmitry said, wrapping his arms around her from behind, — I’m grateful to your ex.
— For what? — Galina asked, surprised.
— For being an idiot and letting you go. Otherwise we never would’ve met.
Galina smiled and leaned back against him. Yes, the divorce had been painful—but it opened the door to a new, better life. A life where she was valued and respected. And that was worth everything she’d endured.
That evening Elena Petrovna drank tea with Galina and Dmitry in their home. She had long since considered her former daughter-in-law a daughter, and in Dmitry she saw the kind of man the girl truly deserved.
— Arkady called, — she said. — He asked to come back home.
— What did you tell him? — Dmitry asked.
— “Go roll away like a sausage,” — Elena Petrovna snorted. — That’s exactly what I said. I raised a child once, not a lazy man. Let him clean up the mess he made.
All three of them laughed. Life went on—and it was wonderful. At least for those who knew how to value other people and their work.
