Svetlana had had enough. It wasn’t just today’s request that pushed her over the edge—it was the countless small tasks she had taken on over the years, the endless errands, the unspoken assumption that she was there to serve.
She had always been there for Kirill’s mother, Anna Lvovna, without question. At first, it had been small favors: picking up some bread, running errands for her, dropping off medicine. But soon, the requests grew. Every weekend, it was Svetlana who went to their apartment, hauling heavy bags of groceries, scrubbing floors, and even taking on odd jobs, like fixing things Anna Lvovna couldn’t manage. Meanwhile, Kirill remained in their comfortable home, glued to his work or, more often than not, resting.
Today was no different. Kirill, looking disheveled in his sweatpants, strolled into the kitchen as if everything were normal. He poured himself a glass of water, barely noticing Svetlana sitting at the table, lost in thought. She had been up since dawn, and her heart weighed heavy with the same familiar thoughts.
“— Sveta, here’s the thing. Mom needs help: the balcony windows need washing, she can’t manage herself anymore. And groceries for the week, the list is pretty long. Can you go today?”
Svetlana didn’t even look up at first. Her morning coffee was lukewarm now, and the sunlight falling on the table seemed too bright. Kirill’s words hit her like a sharp slap, and something inside her snapped.
“— Kirill,” she began, her voice calm but laced with quiet strength. “I’ve already told you. I’m your wife, not your mother’s assistant, and certainly not a free housekeeper. If Anna Lvovna needs help, especially such serious help, why don’t you go yourself? You have a day off too. Or did you forget?”
Kirill stopped mid-drink, his hand frozen around the glass. For a moment, confusion clouded his features. He wasn’t used to this side of Svetlana, the side that didn’t just give in.
“— Well… I thought you…” he stammered, clearly thrown off. “It’s not difficult! Women’s stuff—washing windows, buying groceries… You’re better at it than me anyway.”
Svetlana’s eyes narrowed, and her lips curled into a faint smile that promised trouble.
“— ‘Women’s stuff?’” she repeated with biting sarcasm. “Interesting. So carrying five-kilogram bags of potatoes and then hanging on the seventh floor, wiping dirt off windows—that’s exclusively a woman’s job? And you’ll rest at home, saving your strength to get comfortable on the couch in the evening?”
Kirill’s face flushed red with anger, his grip tightening around the glass. His patience was starting to thin, but Svetlana wasn’t backing down.
“— What are you starting again? I just asked! You know, Mom’s alone, she’s old, it’s hard for her! Instead of help, I get hysteria!” he shouted, his voice rising.
“— Hysteria?” Svetlana raised an eyebrow, her voice sharp. “So my refusal to be a slave is ‘hysteria’? Listen carefully.”
“— What else?” Kirill scoffed, frustration clear in his voice.
“— I’m your wife, not your errand girl! If your mother needs help—then you should go and help her yourself!”
Kirill stepped forward, his face twisted with disbelief.
“— What does that have to do with me?” he sneered. “I told you…”
“— She’s your mother. Yours. And if she’s really struggling, it’s your duty as her son to help her,” Svetlana interrupted, her voice firm. “Or do you think a son should dump all that on his wife? By the way, I’m not asking you to help my mother. Her problems are mine, and I deal with them myself. So, darling, take the list, the rag, the bucket, and go to your mother. You can even use my gloves if you don’t have your own. And I’ll take care of my own things. No more of these ‘requests’ accepted. Understand?”
Kirill stood there, stunned, as if everything he knew had been turned upside down. He had always relied on Svetlana to bend to his will, to take care of things when he didn’t want to. But now, she was standing her ground. His usual tactics weren’t working.
“— Do you even realize what you’re saying?!” he shouted, his voice full of anger. “This is disrespect to elders! To my mother!” He took a step toward her, fists clenched.
Svetlana didn’t flinch. Her gaze was unwavering as she met his eyes.
“— No, Kirill. This is respect for oneself. Basic self-respect. If you don’t understand that—that’s your problem.”
With that, she stood up, pushing her chair back with a sharp scrape, and calmly walked around him, leaving the kitchen. Kirill stood there, fists clenched, feeling the silence settle heavily around him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the comfort he had known, the easy, unquestioned roles in their marriage, were slipping away.
He wasn’t about to let it go. Determined, he followed her into the living room, where she had settled with a book in her hands. He stopped in the doorway, still burning with frustration.
“— You just decided to refuse like that?” he hissed. “Decided you can ignore my requests? My mother? Is that normal for a wife?”
Svetlana didn’t even glance up from her book. Her voice was steady, calm, but final.
“— Yes, I decided. And no, it’s not normal. Because I’m your wife, not your servant. And if you don’t get that, Kirill, then maybe you need to rethink what we’re doing here.”
Kirill stood there, fuming, his chest rising and falling with anger, but he knew, deep down, that this wasn’t something he could easily dismiss. Something had changed in Svetlana, and for the first time, he was faced with the possibility that things might not go back to how they were before.
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