The day turned out to be extraordinarily quiet. Marina sat on the veranda of the summer cottage, sorting through herbs for drying. Her entire life had been measured like the ticking of a clock in a hospital corridor—second after second, day after day. Twenty years of marriage with Andrey had turned into a habit, like that morning coffee—bitter, yet without which the day would never begin.
The phone vibrated, displaying her husband’s name.
“Marin, I’m not coming today; I’ve got a mountain of work,” his voice sounded familiarly detached. “Don’t be bored over there, there’s everything in the fridge. Are you coming back to the city tomorrow?”
“I wanted to stay another day. It’s so peaceful here,” she replied, winding the string from her apron around her finger.
“Well, as you wish. Then we’ll see each other the day after tomorrow.”
The call ended as abruptly as it had begun. And in Marina’s mind, as if on a worn-out record, the question kept repeating: “When did everything become just a function? When did love turn into a schedule?”
Evening descended slowly over the summer settlement, enveloping the trees in twilight. Marina was making compote when she heard the sound of an approaching car. “Could it be that Andrey changed his mind?” flashed through her mind. Glancing out the window, she froze: her husband was helping his mother, Galina Petrovna, out of the car.
Instinctively, Marina retreated into the shade. Twenty years of habitually giving in, not interfering, not annoying the mother-in-law kicked in instantly. “Why come if you thought I was alone here?” a thought flashed by, accompanied by a strange feeling that something was not right.
Holding her breath, she walked to the far room, from where the conversations on the open veranda could be heard clearly.
“Andryusha, why don’t you open the windows in the house, it must be stuffy in there,” Galina Petrovna commanded in a tone that brooked no argument. “It’s good that your wife didn’t come. At least we can sit down calmly and have some tea.”
“Mom, what are you starting with now?” Andrey replied wearily. “Marina is a decent woman.”
“Decent?” The mother-in-law’s voice rang coldly, as if clanging metal. “I’ve watched her for twenty years and still can’t understand—how do you live with her? No decent education, no interests, just your little cabbage garden at the cottage and the district hospital.”
Marina shuddered as if struck by a slap. Wasn’t it for the family that she had given up her continuing education courses? Wasn’t it for her husband that she had abandoned her dream of becoming a senior nurse?
“Mom, let’s drop it,” Andrey clinked something metallic, presumably setting down some cups. “It’s hot today…”
“And what do you mean ‘drop it’?” the mother-in-law persisted. “The way you lived with that fool for the sake of registration and convenience— that’s exactly how you will continue to live. You got everything your way, had children, and you thought someone respectable would marry you?”
The silence that followed those words crashed down on Marina like a heavy weight. Her heart pounded somewhere in her throat, drowning out every other sound. “For the sake of registration… fool… convenience…”—the echo of these words reverberated in her mind.
“Yes, Mom, I’ve been thinking for a long time about how to wrap all of this up,” Andrey’s voice sounded dull as if he were turning away. “It’s just that I’m short on money—I don’t want to split anything with her.”
Marina pressed her palm against her mouth to stifle the scream rising inside her. Twenty years… twenty years had turned to ashes in mere minutes. Images of the past flashed before her eyes: there she was, handing over her savings for the down payment on an apartment, taking on extra shifts to pay for his retraining courses, and patiently enduring yet another critique from her mother-in-law.
“And what is there to split?” Galina Petrovna snorted. “The apartment is in your name. And that cottage… well, you can give her the cottage and let her grow her little cabbage.”
“I bought the apartment with my own money,” Andrey lied so easily, as if he had done it his whole life.
Marina laughed silently. A fit of hysteria was rising in her throat, but years in the medical field had taught her to keep herself under control even in the toughest situations. “Calm down,” she told herself. “Think like a nurse. The diagnosis is made. Now it’s time for a treatment plan.”
Meanwhile, on the veranda the conversation had shifted to discussing some trivial household matters.
Cautiously, Marina crept toward the back door. Her bag, phone, documents—everything was with her. Slipping out of the house, she walked to the bus stop, trying to stay in the shadows of the trees.
The bus appeared as if on command. Marina sat by the window, watching the passing scenery, yet not really seeing it. In her mind, a clear plan of action was taking shape.
“First—find a lawyer. Second—get bank statements. Third—gather every receipt and document related to the apartment,” she methodically listed in her mind, as if preparing a prescription of necessary medications.
The phone vibrated again. A message from Andrey appeared on the screen: “How are you? Not bored?”
Marina looked at those words—so ordinary and insincere—and for the first time in twenty years of marriage, she didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she opened her browser and typed in: “Legal advice for divorces.”
That evening, sitting in her city apartment, she meticulously gathered documents. Every receipt, every bill, every bank statement was filed into separate folders. For twenty years she had kept everything, not knowing why. Now she understood.
“You’re home early,” Andrey remarked in surprise when he appeared at the door the next day. “You said you’d stay longer.”
“Changed my plans,” Marina replied in an even tone. “I wasn’t feeling too well.”
She didn’t mention that the “not well” had a name—betrayal. Marina now looked at her husband with fresh eyes, as if she had removed the rose-colored glasses she’d worn for two decades. How had she not noticed these small gestures of disrespect before? How could she have been so blind to the insincerity in his care?
“And how was your day? How did things go?” she asked, trying to keep her voice as normal as ever.
“Fine,” Andrey tossed his keys on the hallway table. “Just tired. Mom sends her regards.”
“Really?” Marina raised her eyebrows. “How nice of her.”
Andrey gave her a strange look, but said nothing. He was not used to the irony in his wife’s voice. He wasn’t used to her being different—not the obliging shadow but a person with her own thoughts and feelings.
“Will you be having dinner?” Marina asked, and that simple question, which she had asked a thousand times over the course of their life together, now sounded different—as if from a stranger.
“Yes, of course. What do we have?”
“We have…?” Marina allowed herself a slight smile. “We have nothing. You have reheated borscht in the microwave.”
She went off to the bedroom, leaving her bewildered husband in the kitchen. Her heart pounded in her throat, her hands trembled, yet a strange relief settled in her. It was as if she had been carrying an unbearable burden for so long, and finally she decided to let it go.
The next day, Marina took a day off from the clinic and went for a consultation with a lawyer.
“So,” the elderly lawyer said, peering over his glasses, “you claim that you contributed a significant amount of money toward the purchase of the apartment, yet the ownership is registered solely in your husband’s name?”
“Exactly,” Marina said as she pulled out a folder of documents. “Here are my bank statements. Here are the details of my extra shifts. I took them specifically to save up for the down payment.”
The lawyer methodically reviewed the papers, occasionally making notes.
“And why did you agree to have it registered only in his name?” he inquired in a businesslike, non-judgmental tone.
“He convinced me that it would be easier with the mortgage,” Marina said bitterly with a smile. “He said it was just a formality. That we are a family…”
“Family…” the lawyer echoed. “You know, Madam Marina, this isn’t the first time I’ve encountered such a case in my practice. But you have a good chance. Especially with this amount of evidence.”
As she left the office, it felt as if something had shifted within her. All the doubts and long-held insecurities that had accumulated for years receded in the face of one simple thought: “I deserve better.”
The following week turned into a strange game for Marina.
During the day, she was the same caring wife—preparing dinner, inquiring about the day’s events, engaging in conversation. But inside, a new light seemed to ignite—a light of self-worth.
In the evenings, when Andrey fell asleep, she worked on her plan. She studied the laws, consulted with the lawyer, gathered proof of her financial contributions to the family budget. For twenty years she had kept everything, as if she sensed that one day these papers would become her shield and sword.
“Maybe we should visit Mom’s this weekend?” Andrey once suggested at dinner. “We haven’t been over there in a while.”
Marina lifted her eyes from her plate and looked at her husband intently. In the past, she would have simply nodded, resigning herself to the inevitable prospect of enduring her mother-in-law’s barbs. But now…
“You know, I think I’ll skip that visit,” she sipped her tea, watching his reaction. “I have other plans for the weekend.”
“What other plans?” Andrey frowned, as if a child had had his toy taken away.
“Personal,” she replied simply.
“Personal?” he smirked. “Since when did you have personal plans?”
There was so much condescension in his question that Marina felt something inside her break. No, it wasn’t breaking—it was being freed. Like ice on a river in spring.
“Ever since I decided I have a rig
ht to them,” she replied calmly.
Andrey looked at her in bewilderment, but did not argue. He was used to Marina eventually yielding, conceding, remaining silent. But his “convenient” wife was vanishing before his eyes, and he couldn’t even comprehend what was happening.
On Saturday, Marina truly set about taking care of herself.
She signed up for an appointment with the director of a private clinic and sent in her resume.
“Have you been working at the district clinic for a long time?” the silver-haired clinic director asked as he reviewed her documents.
“Twenty-two years,” she answered proudly. “I started right after nursing school.”
“And why have you decided to change your workplace?”
Marina paused for a second. How could she explain that this was part of her new path? That she had finally decided to live for herself?
“I want to develop further,” she said simply. “It’s too… predictable at the district clinic. And I realized that I’m capable of more.”
The director nodded understandingly, as if he had heard something important between the lines.
“We’re actually in need of experienced nursing staff in our diagnostics department. When could you start?”
“In a month,” she replied firmly. “I need to finish up a few things.”
When she returned home, Andrey was sitting in the kitchen with a sour expression on his face. Next to him was a half-finished cup of tea and his phone, which he kept glancing at.
“Where have you been?” he asked in a tone mingling irritation and bewilderment.
“I had an interview,” Marina replied as she removed her coat. “At a private clinic.”
“A clinic?” Andrey looked as if she had told him she’d flown to the Moon. “Why? You already have a job.”
“I decided to change,” she shrugged as she passed him on her way to the refrigerator. “They offered better conditions and an opportunity for growth.”
“Since when?” Andrey stood up, blocking her path. “You worked at the clinic for twenty years, and everything was fine. And now out of nowhere—a private clinic!”
Marina looked him directly in the eyes. In the past, she would have backed down, started justifying and explaining. But not now.
“People change, Andrey,” she said calmly. “I realized that I deserve more.”
“More?” he said with a nervous smile. “And what now? Maybe you’ll find yourself a new husband?”
For a moment, silence fell—a heavy, oppressive silence. Marina felt a surge of bitterness and hurt rising within her. Yet, through that bitterness, a new, unfamiliar voice emerged—the voice of her own dignity.
“You know, maybe I will,” she replied quietly. “Someone who won’t use me for a mere registration or convenience for twenty years.”
Andrey’s face changed. Where there had once been self-assurance, there now appeared confusion—almost fear.
“What are you saying?” he rasped.
“About the conversation at the cottage,” Marina said as she stepped away and moved to the table. “When you and your mother thought I had gone to the city.”
Andrey froze. In his eyes flickered something resembling understanding, then panic, then anger.
“You were eavesdropping?” he protested.
“I was making compote,” Marina replied evenly, though everything inside her trembled. “When I heard the car. And then… I learned the truth about my life. About our marriage.”
Silence. The ticking of the clock. The hum of the refrigerator. Their entire life together flashed before her eyes like scenes from an old black-and-white movie with faded colors.
“Mom… sometimes she says too much,” Andrey finally mumbled. “You know how she is…”
“It’s not about your mom,” Marina interrupted. “It’s about you not objecting. About you confirming her words. ‘Yes, Mom, I’ve been thinking for a long time about how to wrap all this up…’” She had quoted him exactly, word for word. “‘It’s just that I’m short on money—I don’t want to split anything with her…’”
Andrey turned pale. His hands, resting on the table, trembled noticeably.
“Are you really going to file a lawsuit?” his voice wavered. “Over some conversation? Have you lost your mind?”
“No,” Marina shook her head. “I finally came to my senses after a long time. And yes, I’m filing for divorce.”
She pulled out another envelope—this one containing the marriage dissolution statement.
“You can’t do this!” Andrey leaped from his chair. “We have a son! What will people say? What about his mom…”
“Our son is twenty-one, he lives on his own, and he’ll understand everything perfectly,” Marina interrupted. “And what people say… You know, I care more about what I’ll say to myself if I stay with someone who used me for convenience for twenty years.”
Andrey paced the kitchen like a cornered animal. At times he threatened, at times he pleaded, at times he promised the world. Marina silently watched this spectacle, and with each moment, her certainty in the righteousness of her decision grew.
“You won’t manage on your own!” he finally snapped. “Where will you go? How will you live?”
Marina smiled—for the first time during this conversation.
“I’m a nurse with twenty-two years of experience. I’ve already been hired at a private clinic, with a salary higher than yours. And as for living…” she shrugged. “I’ve found an apartment. It’s small, but it will be enough for one person. After we sell our apartment and divide the money.”
“Sell it?” Andrey turned white. “What do you mean, sell it?”
“That’s it, Andrey,” Marina said calmly, as if explaining a medication regimen to a patient. “The apartment will be sold, the money split. Or you pay me my share—here are the calculations,” she slid another sheet toward him. “It’s your choice.”
He grabbed the paper and stared at the numbers. His face contorted.
“This is robbery! Where did that sum come from?”
“It’s half the market value, plus my share in the renovations, plus interest for using my money all these years,” Marina explained like a professional accountant. “The lawyer calculated everything.”
“A lawyer?” Andrey collapsed into a chair. “You’ve already hired a lawyer?”
“Of course. I’m not an ‘idiot with a garden,’ as your mother calls me. I needed professional advice.”
There was a sharp irony in her tone that made Andrey grimace.
“Marina, let’s talk this over,” he attempted to take her hand conciliatorily. “We’ve been together for so many years… Can’t you just wipe the slate clean over one conversation?”
She gently but firmly withdrew her hand.
“No, not over one conversation. Over twenty years of lies. Over the fact that you let your mother humiliate me. Over the fact that you used me as a free housekeeper and source of money.”’
Marina stood up from the table.
“You have one week to think it over. Either we sell the apartment, or you pay me my share. And in the meantime…” she grabbed her bag. “I’m going to stay with a friend.”
“You can’t just leave like that!” his voice was tinged with panic.
“I can,” she said as she headed for the door. “And you know what? I should have done this much sooner.”
In the foyer, Marina stopped in front of a mirror. The woman staring back at her seemed different—straight-backed, confident, shoulders squared. No longer the “idiot with a garden” but a person who had finally found herself.
“By the way,” she said over her shoulder to the frozen figure in the kitchen doorway, “give my regards to Mom. Tell her that she finally got what she wanted—she freed you from an unsuitable daughter-in-law.”
That first night in her friend’s apartment, Marina slept almost no sleep. Her thoughts swirled like autumn leaves in the wind—sometimes rising with a burst of determination, sometimes falling under the weight of doubt. And what if she was making a mistake? What if twenty years is too long a time to wipe the slate clean?
The phone rang off the hook with calls and messages.
Andrey alternated between threatening, pleading, and promising the world. By morning, Marina simply muted her phone and set it face down.
“How are you?” asked Lena, her friend from nursing school, handing her a cup of hot tea.
“Strange,” Marina replied honestly. “It’s as if I’d been tied to a dock all my life, and now the rope has snapped. And I’m free, but I don’t know which way to go.”
“You did exactly what you needed to do,” Lena sat down beside her. “I’ve watched you dissolve into that marriage for twenty years—becoming a shadow. And you know what?” she took Marina’s hand. “I’m glad you finally chose yourself.”
