Galina left the hospital at half past six. Her feet ached, and her mind felt completely drained. Twelve hours straight on duty. A diabetic patient had slipped into a coma, there had been a rush to intensive care, and the whole shift had gone off the rails.
She made her way to the bus stop, sat down on the bench, and closed her eyes. Just a minute. Just one moment of silence.
Then the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Where on earth are you?” Viktor shouted so loudly that she pulled the phone away from her ear.
“Vitya, I just got out of the hospital.”
“I don’t care! My relatives came over and they’re waiting for dinner! When are you getting home?”
“What relatives?” Galina blinked in confusion. “You never told me.”
“And why would I need to tell you? You’re my wife, aren’t you? When people come to visit, they should be welcomed! Aunt Zina came from Voronezh with her daughter! And my nephew Seryozha! They traveled all this way to see us!”
“Vitya, I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know! That’s always your excuse—you didn’t know, you didn’t have time, you couldn’t manage!” He was practically choking with anger. “They’ve been sitting here for two hours already! Hungry! And the table is empty!”
“Vitya, maybe you could do it yourself?”
“Do it myself?” he roared. “What, am I supposed to run around the kitchen like some woman? You’re the wife! Your job is the house, the guests, the food! Not wandering around hospitals until late at night!”
“I’m not wandering around! I’m working! One of our patients almost died.”
“I don’t give a damn about your patients! Family comes first! Get home right now and make dinner!”
He hung up.
Galina sat staring at the screen. “Call ended.” Just like that. Twenty-two years of marriage reduced to a single sentence.
The bus arrived fifteen minutes later. On the ride home she kept wondering what she could throw together quickly. There probably weren’t even potatoes in the house. Once again she would have to rush to the store. Carry heavy bags. Stand over the stove.
And meanwhile they were all sitting in the living room—Viktor, Aunt Zina, her daughter. What were their names? Lena? Ira? It didn’t matter. Sitting there, complaining and discussing what a terrible wife she was.
“I’m sure he’s saying,” Galina thought, “‘Can you believe it? She thinks work is more important than family!’”
And Aunt Zina would be nodding and sighing.
“Oh, Vitenka, a wife should know her place…”
When Galina stepped into the apartment, she immediately heard laughter from the living room. Cheerful, contented laughter. So Vitya had already entertained them with his jokes about his “missing” wife.
“Galya’s here!” he called out. “Finally!”
She walked into the room. The sofa was full of guests. Aunt Zina—plump, wearing a bright dress. Beside her sat a woman around thirty, probably the daughter. In the corner was a young man staring at his phone—the nephew.
“Oh, Galya!” Aunt Zina rose from the sofa. “You’ve lost so much weight! You work yourself to death, poor thing!”
“Hello,” Galina managed. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“Oh, don’t worry!” Aunt Zina waved her hand. “We understand. Work is work. But now you’re home! Vitya says you bake wonderful pies!”
Galina looked at her husband. He was sitting in an armchair, smiling with satisfaction.
“Galya,” he said gently, “maybe you could set the table? These people have been traveling, they must be starving.”
“Of course,” she replied.
And she went into the kitchen to cook dinner for people she had never seen before in her life.
At half past eleven, Galina set the final dish on the table—fried potatoes with lard. The way Viktor liked it. Or no, maybe that was what nephew Seryozha had asked for. Or perhaps Aunt Zina.
All their faces had blurred together into one single hungry, satisfied, expectant expression.
“Galya, finally!” Aunt Zina clapped her hands. “We were beginning to think we’d go to bed hungry!”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Galina murmured. “It took a long time.”
“Oh, it’s nothing!” Aunt Zina’s daughter said with a wave of her hand. “Now we’ve got a whole feast!”
Viktor, thoroughly pleased with himself, was pouring vodka.
“Well then, here’s to our gathering! To family!”
Galina perched on the edge of her chair. All she wanted was to take off those cursed shoes. Her feet were throbbing after twelve hours at the hospital and then three more in the kitchen.
“Aunt Galya, is there any more bread?” the nephew asked without even looking up from his plate.
“Yes, of course.” She stood and went to get it.
“And bring some pickles too!” Aunt Zina called out. “I saw them in the fridge!”
“And mustard!” Viktor added. “Lard isn’t the same without mustard!”
Galina kept moving back and forth. Bringing whatever they asked for. No one said thank you. It was simply understood—the wife was supposed to serve.
The conversation at the table drifted from children to work to rising grocery prices. No one asked Galina how she was. She was background noise. Household staff.
“Do you remember, Vitya,” Aunt Zina laughed, “how we used to go to Grandma’s when we were kids? She cooked just like this!”
“Yeah, those were good days,” Viktor agreed. “Not like now.”
“By the way,” Aunt Zina said, turning to Galina, “you’re still exactly the same, Galya. Quiet, hardly noticeable. Vitya is lucky. A wife who knows how to keep house—that’s a real blessing.”
Galina tried to smile. Something inside her tightened. Quiet. Hardly noticeable. That was all they thought of her.
At one in the morning, the guests finally began to leave. They took forever saying goodbye, hugging, promising not to disappear.
“Thanks for dinner!” Aunt Zina’s daughter shouted on her way out. “Everything was delicious!”
“Galya, you did wonderfully!” Aunt Zina kissed her on the cheek. “Vitya, take care of your wife!”
The door shut. Viktor stretched contentedly.
“Well, that was nice. Haven’t seen the family in a long time.”
Galina silently began gathering the dirty dishes. Plates, shot glasses, salad bowls. Piles and piles of dishes.
“Vitya,” she said quietly, “could you help me?”
“What?” He was already undressing. “Oh, the dishes. You’ll finish in no time. I’m exhausted. I have work early tomorrow.”
“I’m exhausted too. And I have to get up early too.”
“Galya, don’t start,” he said with a grimace. “I have a demanding job. As for you—what’s the big deal? Just wash a few plates.”
She stood in the middle of the kitchen holding a greasy frying pan. Tears ran down her cheeks.
“Just wash a few plates.”
Twelve hours in the hospital. Saving someone’s life. Then three hours of cooking for strangers. And now washing dishes until two in the morning.
“Just a few plates.”
The next morning Viktor left for work without even saying goodbye. Galina got to the hospital in a daze. She fell asleep on the bus and missed her stop.
“Galina Ivanovna, are you alright?” her coworker Lida asked. “You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine,” Galina lied. “I just didn’t sleep enough.”
“Did you have guests?”
“Yes. My husband’s relatives came over.”
“I figured,” Lida said with sympathy. “I know how those family gatherings go. The wife works herself into the ground while everyone else relaxes.”
Galina spent the whole day on autopilot. Injections, IV drips, blood pressure checks. Mechanical. Empty.
“Galina Ivanovna,” Dr. Petrov called after her, “are you going to the seminar? The one about new stroke rehabilitation methods?”
“What seminar?”
“Tomorrow at six. Nearby, at the medical center. It’s free. They’ll give out certificates.”
“I don’t know,” Galina said, immediately thinking of home. Of Viktor waiting for dinner. “Probably not.”
“That’s a shame. The lectures should be interesting. And honestly, it’s good to step out of routine once in a while.”
That evening at dinner, Viktor was unusually talkative.
“By the way, Aunt Zina called. She thanked us for last night. Said you’re an excellent cook.”
“Did she?” Galina pushed her salad around without enthusiasm.
“Yep. She also said I’m lucky to have a wife like you.” He smirked, pleased with himself. “I told her I agree.”
“Vitya,” she said suddenly, “there’s a seminar at the medical center tomorrow. Can I go?”
“What seminar?”
“New treatment methods. They give a certificate.”
“And who’s going to make dinner?” he asked, frowning.
“You can do it yourself for once.”
“Galya, don’t be ridiculous. What seminars? Don’t you have enough work already? There’s plenty to do at home.”
“But it’s for work! For my qualifications!”
“And what exactly are you going to learn there?” he scoffed. “How to give injections? You’ve been doing that for thirty years. Enough with these seminars already. Stay home and take care of normal things.”
Galina said nothing. She stood up and began clearing the table.
“Enough with these seminars,” she repeated silently to herself. Thirty years. Thirty years she had been giving injections. And he thought there was nothing left for her to learn.
And once, long ago, she had dreamed of becoming a doctor. She had gotten into medical school. But in her second year she met Vitya. Fell in love. Got married. Dropped out.
“Why do you need to be a doctor?” he had told her then. “Being a nurse is a fine profession too. You’ll have a salary, and you’ll still be able to keep up with the house.”
And she had listened. She enrolled in nursing college. Became a nurse.
And now it was: “Enough with these seminars.”
“Galya,” Viktor called after her, “the salad needed more salt. Next time add more.”
She nodded silently.
“Next time,” she thought. “But what if there won’t be a next time?”
The thought came unexpectedly.
And frightened even her.
The next day, Lida ended up going to the seminar after all.
“Galina Ivanovna!” her coworker called to her. “How are you? Are you coming to yoga?”
“Yoga?” Galina stopped.
“Yes, there’s a flyer right there. Free classes for women over fifty. At the medical center, every Tuesday. Want to come?”
Galina looked at the bright poster. “Yoga for body and soul. Find your harmony.”
“I don’t know,” she began.
“Oh, come on,” Lida said, linking arms with her. “Let’s go. What do we have to lose? Just an hour. Maybe you’ll like it.”
And Galina went. Simply because she was tired of arguing. Tired of always explaining to someone why she couldn’t, why it wouldn’t work, why there was never time.
There were about twenty people in the room. Women of different ages were spreading out their mats. The instructor, a young woman with a calm voice, asked everyone to lie down and close their eyes.
“Feel your body,” she said. “Listen to your breathing.”
For the first time in many years, Galina truly felt her body. Tired shoulders. A stiff neck. A clenched jaw.
And for the first time in many years—silence in her mind.
The class lasted an hour. When the lights came back on, Galina didn’t want to open her eyes.
“Did you like it?” Lida asked.
“Yes,” Galina said, surprising herself. “Very much.”
“Then we’ll come again next Tuesday?”
“I will.”
When she got home, Viktor greeted her with a scowl.
“Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for dinner for half an hour!”
“I was at a class,” Galina replied calmly.
“What class?”
“Yoga. I liked it.”
“Yoga?” he scoffed. “At your age? Galya, have you lost your mind?”
For three weeks she went to yoga in secret. She said she was staying late at work. And every Tuesday she felt alive.
Then came another phone call.
Galina was standing in tree pose, balancing carefully, when her phone started ringing.
“Don’t answer it,” the instructor said. “This is your time.”
But voicemail kicked in automatically.
“Where are you?!” Viktor’s voice growled from the phone. “We have guests! Aunt Zina and her daughter are here! Where’s dinner?! Get home now!”
Everyone in the room turned to look. Galina stood there, red with shame.
“You can call him back later,” the instructor said quietly.
Galina looked at the phone. Seven missed calls already.
And suddenly, something inside her clicked.
“No,” she said. “I won’t.”
She turned the phone off.
“Let’s continue,” she told the instructor.
After yoga, Galina walked home slowly. Preparing herself. Once she turned the phone back on, it kept ringing in her pocket, but she didn’t answer.
At home, Viktor was furious.
“Where were you?! Aunt Zina left without waiting for dinner! What a disgrace to the whole family!”
“I was at class,” Galina said.
“What class?! And why the hell weren’t you answering your phone?!”
“At yoga. And I turned it off.”
“Yoga?!” he shouted. “I don’t give a damn about your yoga! When I call, my wife answers!”
“Yes,” Galina nodded. “A wife. Not a servant.”
“What?”
“I said, not a servant. And not a slave. If guests come to see you, then cook for them yourself. Or order food.”
“What are you talking about?!” Viktor stared at her in disbelief. “I don’t know how to cook!”
“I didn’t know how to give injections once either. I learned. You can learn too.”
“Galya, have you lost your mind?”
“Quite the opposite,” she said with a smile. “I’ve finally come to my senses.”
Viktor stared at his wife as if he no longer knew her. This calm, smiling woman looked nothing like his obedient Galya.
“You don’t love me anymore?” he asked, confused.
“I do,” she answered honestly. “But I’m starting to love myself too.”
A month later, Galina applied for paid vacation.
“Galya,” Viktor said over breakfast, “maybe this isn’t the right time. Work is crazy for me right now. Better stay home.”
“I already bought a package,” she answered calmly.
“A package? To where?”
“A boarding house on the Black Sea. For two weeks.”
“Alone?” His eyes widened.
“Alone.”
Viktor fell silent, trying to process it.
“And what if guests come over?”
“Order food delivery. Or cook. There are recipes online.”
“But that’s not right! A wife can’t behave like that!”
“She can,” Galina smiled. “I checked.”
At the boarding house she woke up at nine in the morning. No alarm clock. For the first time in thirty years.
Outside her window, the sea was roaring.
Her phone was silent. She had turned it off the night before.
“I wonder what Viktor is doing right now,” she thought. And was surprised—she thought of him without anxiety. Just curiosity.
She turned her phone on. Seven missed calls. Four messages.
“I ordered pizza. It’s expensive!”
“When are you coming back?”
She turned the phone off again.
For breakfast there was a buffet. She took a chocolate croissant. Something she never bought at home—she hardly ever bought anything for herself there.
At the neighboring table sat a woman about her age. She was reading a book and sipping coffee.
“Is it a good book?” Galina asked.
“Wonderful,” the woman said with a smile. “It’s about a woman who decides to change her life at fifty.”
“Does she succeed?”
“I’m still reading. But I think she does.”
Galina poured herself some coffee. Real coffee, strong and rich. At home she always drank instant coffee—faster, easier.
After breakfast she went to the beach. Sat down on a lounge chair and closed her eyes.
“What if I just never go back?” the thought came suddenly.
It was unexpected. Frightening. Tempting.
Of course she would go back. She had her job, her apartment, her life at last. But now she knew—she could choose not to. If she wanted to.
She came home tanned, rested, and wearing a new hairstyle.
Viktor met her at the door.
“Finally! I missed you!”
He hugged her, and she didn’t push him away. But she didn’t melt into him the way she once had either.
“How have you been?” she asked.
“Fine. Though I lost a little weight. I’ve been living on pizza.”
“Didn’t try making borscht?”
“How am I supposed to make borscht?” he protested.
“The same way I did thirty years ago. With a recipe.”
Galina walked into the kitchen. The sink was full of dirty dishes. Pizza boxes were scattered across the table.
“Vitya,” she said calmly, “I go back to work tomorrow. And the day after that I have yoga. Every Tuesday and Thursday.”
“But—”
“No buts. That is my time.”
Viktor looked at his wife and understood—something had changed forever. This woman would no longer rush home at the first call. She would no longer apologize for the fact that she was alive.
“What about dinner?” he asked helplessly.
“We’ll make it together,” Galina said with a smile. “Or take turns. Like grown-ups.”
She poured herself a cup of tea and looked at him expectantly.
“So? Are we going to learn how to cook? Or are you planning to live on pizza forever?”
Viktor sighed.
“I guess I’ll learn.”
“Good,” she said with a nod. “Then let’s start with borscht.”
