Darya sank down onto the couch with difficulty, carefully supporting her rounded belly. Seven months of pregnancy were becoming increasingly hard to bear. She closed her eyes, trying to dissolve into the blissful silence of the apartment.
The day had been exhausting. Since six in the morning, she had been standing in lines at the polyclinic: first to the therapist, then for an ultrasound, then for tests… By noon, her back ached, and her legs buzzed and swelled inside her tight shoes.
“Just half an hour of quiet,” Darya thought, massaging her lower back. The small two-room apartment in a residential district of Kazan now seemed like a peaceful haven.
The sound of a key turning in the lock shattered the idyll. A bag was thrown loudly onto the floor in the hallway, followed by hurried footsteps.
“Dashka!” Igor exclaimed joyfully as he appeared in the doorway. His eyes sparkled with excitement. “Can you imagine? Lyokha and his family are in town! I invited them for dinner!”
Something inside Darya snapped. The fatigue, which had so far been just a physical condition, suddenly turned into a suffocating blanket.
“Igor… I can’t. I haven’t even made lunch today,” she said quietly.
“Nonsense!” her husband waved it off. “It doesn’t have to be much! You’ll make pizza, cook a quick soup. You can handle it!” He was already taking off his jacket, not noticing how his wife’s eyes dulled. Or maybe he didn’t want to notice.
Igor disappeared into the bathroom, whistling some tune. The sound of running water drowned out all noises, while Darya remained sitting on the couch, feeling the familiar tension building inside her. Slowly, she stood up, holding onto the armrest, and shuffled to the kitchen.
The refrigerator greeted her with half-empty shelves — a carton of milk, a few eggs, a wilted bunch of dill. On the bottom shelf, a lonely pack of frozen minced meat sat. Darya sighed, remembering how five years ago, in the early months of her marriage, she had enthusiastically cooked Sunday dinners for her husband’s family. Back then, it seemed important to impress them, to earn their approval.
The wedding photos still stood on the living room shelf — smiling faces, a white dress, a happy Igor. Nearby was a photo from last year’s mother-in-law’s birthday: a huge table laden with dishes Darya had cooked over two days, and all of Igor’s family — noisy, loud, with endless toasts and songs until dawn.
“What are you stuck on there?” her husband’s voice brought her back to reality. Igor stood in the kitchen doorway, drying his hair with a towel. “Lyokha said they’ll be here in an hour. Will you be ready?”
“Igor, I’m really very tired,” Darya leaned against the fridge. “Maybe we can postpone? To the weekend?”
“How postpone?!” he frowned. “They’re just passing through, leaving for Ufa tomorrow. Listen, they’re family! What’s with all the ceremonies?”
The phrase “they’re family” Darya had heard for five years — when Igor’s brother with his wife and kids would drop by unannounced; when after their visits she had to clean sticky fingerprints off the furniture and pick up scattered toys; when her mother-in-law criticized her borscht or how she arranged the furniture.
“My blood pressure is fluctuating,” Darya said quietly. “The doctor told me to limit physical strain.”
“Oh, come on!” Igor approached and lightly snapped her on the nose. “You’re responsible; you manage everything. Make your signature soup and pizza. I ordered the groceries. They should be delivered in five minutes.”
He kissed her on the cheek and left, not noticing the change in her expression. Darya slowly took out a pot. Her temples were pounding, and her legs felt like they were filled with lead. Nighttime cramps had tortured her, but Igor, sound asleep beside her, didn’t notice.
“They’re family,” echoed in her head as she poured water into the pot.
The soup had been simmering on the stove for half an hour. The kitchen filled with the thick aroma of vegetables and spices, which made Darya slightly nauseous. Pizza dough rested on the table — Igor insisted the kids needed something “tastier than soup.” A pile of dishes from cooking stacked in the sink. Circles swam before her eyes, and her head throbbed, counting down the minutes until the guests arrived.
Darya tried to bend down to get the baking sheet from the lower cabinet, but a sharp pain in her lower back forced her to straighten up. She leaned against the fridge, waiting out the attack. The baby inside stirred restlessly, as if sensing her mother’s condition.
“Quiet, little one,” she whispered, stroking her belly. “We’ll rest soon.”
Darya went into the bathroom, turned on the light, and looked at her reflection. Puffy face, dark circles under her eyes, pale skin.
“My God, what’s wrong with me?” she whispered, leaning on the edge of the sink.
Water dripped from the faucet, ticking off the seconds. Somewhere in the room the phone rang — probably Lyokha.
“This is wrong,” Darya said aloud. “I can’t do this anymore. No one asks me. No one hears me.”
She stroked her belly, feeling the baby’s kicks.
“You will not live like this,” she promised. “Neither you nor I. No more.”
The doorbell rang at 7:15 PM. Darya was still in the bathroom. She heard Igor hastily opening the door, followed immediately by loud, lively voices.
“Lyokha! Vika! Come in, come in!”
Children’s voices filled the hallway with a ringing echo. Darya heard little feet stomping, rustling bags, and the knocking of closet doors.
“Where’s Dashka?” a hoarse voice of the brother asked.
“She’ll be out soon!” Igor confidently answered.
“Darya, where are you? The guests have arrived!” Instead of going out, Darya quietly slipped into the bedroom and closed the door. The room welcomed her with a cool dusk. She sat on the bed, hugged a pillow, and pressed it to her chest like a shield.
Noise grew louder in the living room. The clinking of glasses, children’s screams, loud laughter. Through the thin wall, she heard something liquid spill, a boy in the hallway opening a closet from which shoes tumbled with a crash.
“Vasenka, don’t touch other people’s things!” a female voice said without much enthusiasm, immediately followed by laughter at some joke.
The bedroom door swung open without knocking. Igor stood in the doorway, flushed, holding a bottle of wine.
“Darya, where are you anyway?” His tone was angry. “Everyone’s already at the table! The soup is getting cold!”
“I’m not coming out,” she answered quietly, without looking up.
“What do you mean you’re not coming out?” He lowered his voice, but irritation was clearly audible. “Darya, please come out, they won’t be long!”
Slamming the door, he left without waiting for a response.
Through the wall, she heard a new voice — sharp, female, with intonations Darya could recognize from a thousand.
“Where’s your wife gone? Are we not worthy of her presence?” It was her mother-in-law.
“Mom? You came too?” Igor’s voice sounded surprised.
“Of course! I missed you!” she answered. “So where is Darya? What kind of hostess is this? No greeting, no care. Always with that face like everyone owes her something.”
These words hit Darya like a slap. She slowly sat on the bed. Inside rose a wave — not of anger, but of a clear resolve. As if something long asleep inside her finally woke up.
She stood up, fixed her hair, and left the bedroom.
Everyone in the living room fell silent. Six pairs of eyes stared at her — Igor, his brother with wife, two children, and mother-in-law — surprised, judgmental, curious.
“I’m not the hostess today,” she said quietly but clearly. “I’m a woman seven months pregnant. And I’m not going to entertain you when I can barely stand on my feet.”
Darya paused and scanned them all with her gaze.
“I’ve said everything,” she turned to leave but stopped. “Food’s on the table. Enjoy your meal.”
Silence in the room became absolute. Even the children quieted, sensing the tension. The mother-in-law was the first to break the silence:
“What manners! In our day…”
But Igor suddenly raised his hand, stopping his mother. He looked at Darya as if seeing her for the first time. Slowly he got up from the table and approached his wife.
“Dash, you…” He gently put his hand on her shoulder.
Darya flinched and pulled away as if struck. Saying nothing, she turned and went back into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Half an hour later, jackets rustled in the hallway, children’s boots clicked shut. Igor spoke quietly to his brother. The mother-in-law sighed. The front door slammed.
Darya lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She felt tired and at the same time relieved.
The clock on the bedside table showed just after eleven when the bedroom door quietly creaked open. Darya was not asleep, just lying with her eyes closed. Igor quietly entered, stood in the doorway, then slowly approached the bed.
The mattress creaked under his weight as he sat on the edge. He smelled of coffee and cigarettes — meaning he had smoked on the balcony, although he quit three years ago.
“Dash,” his voice was unusually soft. “You’re not asleep?”
“No.”
“What’s going on with you?” he asked. “You… you never acted like this.”
“You should have!” Darya turned to look at her husband. “Maybe I should have acted like this from the start?”
Igor looked confused. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled sheepishly.
“Well, they’re family. Isn’t it normal to gather…”
“No,” she shook her head. “It’s not normal to turn one person into the help. Not normal to ignore my opinion. Not normal to pretend you don’t notice how hard it is for me.”
“I do notice!” he retorted.
“Really?” Darya slowly sat up in bed. “When was the last time you asked how I felt? When you cared what the doctor said? When you helped with cleaning or cooking?”
Igor seemed about to say something but couldn’t find the words.
“Sorry,” he whispered, looking down. “I behaved badly. You’re my wife. The mother of my child. I’m ashamed.”
He was silent, then continued:
“You know, I’ve seen this since childhood. Mom always did everything — cooked, cleaned, worked, never complained. Dad brought friends over without warning, and she just set the table. I was used to it… I thought it was how it should be.”
Darya listened without interrupting. His words echoed in her as a strange mix of bitterness and hope. After all, they were both prisoners of someone else’s scripts.
“I don’t want to live like this anymore, Igor,” she finally said. “I’m tired of being a background for your happy family. I’m not a servant. I’m a person.”
“I know. I’ll fix everything, I promise,” Igor said, looking into her eyes.
“Enough words,” Darya cut him off. “Show it with actions.”
He nodded, and in that nod there was more understanding than in all his previous apologies.
Three months later…
The autumn sun gently lit the balcony. Darya sat in a wicker chair, holding their sleeping newborn son. The baby made soft smacking sounds in his sleep, occasionally wrinkling his little nose, which always made Darya smile.
From the kitchen came the quiet clinking of dishes — Igor was cooking dinner. After work, he stopped by the store, bought groceries, and was now busy at the stove, strictly forbidding Darya to interfere.
Two weeks ago, when they brought the baby home from the maternity hospital, Igor took time off work. For three days he followed Darya around, learning all the intricacies of baby care. He learned how to change diapers, bathe the baby in the infant tub, hold the head correctly.
A knock interrupted her thoughts. Darya listened.
“Mom? Why did you come without warning?” Igor’s voice sounded surprised.
“Well, do you have to make an appointment to see the son now?” the mother-in-law’s familiar voice rang out. “I came to see my grandson.”
“The grandson is sleeping. And Darya is resting.”
“Well, I’ll be quiet! Dashenka!” The mother-in-law’s voice grew louder, and Darya involuntarily hugged the baby closer.
“No, Mom,” Igor’s voice grew firm. “No. Today Darya is resting. We have our own rules. Please call in advance. We’re always happy to see you, but by appointment.”
There was a pause. Darya held her breath.
“Did she turn you against me?” The mother-in-law’s voice sounded offended.
“I decided to respect my family myself,” Igor replied calmly. “Darya never sets anyone against anyone. She just wants to be respected. And I agree with her.”
Soon Darya heard the front door slam. The mother-in-law left.
When the baby woke up and began to whimper demandingly, Igor came to Darya with a bottle of warmed milk formula.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“You know,” Darya replied thoughtfully, taking the bottle, “sometimes it seems hearing each other is the hardest thing in the world. And sometimes — nothing could be simpler.”
Igor sat down nearby, watching their son greedily drink the milk.
“Now we will learn this together,” he said quietly. “All of us.”
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only.