Svet, were hungry! Stop lying there! a disgruntled voice shouted from above.
Her head throbbed, her throat burned, her nose was blocked. When she tried to stand, her body felt like cotton. No wonder she fell ill.
All week the weather had been scorching, and yesterday, toward evening, snow mixed with rain arrived. Spring Calling a taxi in such weather proved impossible. She had to get home from work on a minibus. After waiting thirty minutes for a bus that turned out to be packed, she barely squeezed into the cabin and then had to walk a long way from the stop.
She had asked her husband to pick her up on his way.
Svetka, Artёmek and I stopped at my mothers. Well be late, Victor told her.
As usual.
Consequently, Svet arrived home late, drenched and shivering. She glanced at the clock: 8 a.m., Saturday.
Victor, bring the thermometer, please! she asked.
Whats wrong? Are you sick? Victor sounded surprised. And what about breakfast?
Do we have to do it ourselves? she replied.
What do you mean ourselves? he didnt catch her. And Artёm?
Hes ten already! Youre an adult man. Make some eggs, let him help. I taught him to cook; hes grown now.
You taught him to cook? Victor exclaimed.
Yes. Whats the problem? He spends all day on his phone, does nothing. Svet shrugged.
Are you crazy? Hes a man! Men arent supposed to cook or learn it! Thats womens work! Victor fumed. Fine, well go to my parents since youre not interested in us. Well be back tomorrow evening.
Victor and the others quickly packed and left for his parents house.
Svetlana forced herself up, found the thermometer, turned on the kettle and began to think
Why did it come to this? When did the moment slip away when my husband could calmly prepare food for both of us, when we cared for each other during illness? When did everything change? Why did all household duties suddenly become my responsibility?
The thermometer beeped: 39.2°C.
The young woman took her medicine and tried to sleep again.
A short while later her phone rang. It was her mother.
Svetka, why arent you answering? Im used to you calling in the morning I was worried, Victoria Alexandrovna said.
Mom, Im a bit under the weather. Took medicine and fell asleep again, Svet croaked.
A bit, huh? And wheres Vitya? With Artёm at his mothers again? Mom grumbled.
We went away with Artёm so we wouldnt catch anything, the daughter replied listlessly.
Do you really believe that? So we dont get sick. Say it outright, otherwise youll have to wash the dishes yourself! the mother snapped.
Mom! Svet tried to protest, but was cut off. She understood all too well.
Stop whining! I have the right to be angry. I gave you in marriage, not into slavery! Did you check your temperature?
Yes. It was high this morning. Its a little better now, just no strength, she complained.
Lie down! Dad will pick you up soon. Ill get you on your feet! Dont stay sick alone. Wait, Victoria hung up.
Svet quietly got up, washed her face, packed her essentials and laptop, and waited for her father.
Oh! he clutched his chest when he saw her.
Whats wrong, Dad? the young woman startled.
Ah, its you! he calmly took her bag. I thought Id found my death! Im pale as a sheet!
Dad, why scare me like that? she smiled. Shall we go?
Lets go. Hold on to me, or the wind will blow you away, he helped her into the car, commenting, Youre so thin, exhausted. No, daughter, your mothers right, its as if you were handed over as a slave. Youre sorry, of course, but you look not great.
She didnt argue; she was exhausted.
At her parents the house was warm, tasty, and happy. Victoria took Svets care seriously, and by evening Svet felt a bit better.
She called Victor to tell him she wasnt home, and heard his lazy reply:
What do you want from me? I cant bring you medicine. I had a beer with Dad. Its Saturday, were watching football. Oh, Mom wanted to talk to you, Victor passed the phone to his mother.
Svet! Youre a woman! You cant relax and leave your men hungry! Whats important in a family, especially for men? That theyre fed, warm, and dont bother anyone! And you? Shes ill Took a pill and thats it! Ksenia Anatolyevna sniped.
A passing mother heard this and snatched the handset:
My dear daughterinlaw! What kind of man? Weak? Sick? What must he be, warm, fed, and not touch anyone? Victoria was outraged.
Why weak? Husband! All men are like that, the motherinlaw seemed surprised by the harsh words. Victor, how are you?
How? a mess! Im raising my daughter. A real man cant even buy medicine he drank beer Thats it! Wifes sick and hes happy. The inlaws didnt love each other. Yet Victoria still feared Ksenia.
Nonsense. The boys left so Svet wouldnt be bothered. Ksenia scoffed. Found a remedy! Care! Healthy girl, just lazy. Forgot about her men! And they are, after all, family! Fine, Ill look after my boys! Your daughter is a cuckoo!
Victoria stared silently at the nowquiet phone.
Daughter, do you really need this? Youre still young! This is too much. Her mother was deeply offended.
The chat program then displayed a message from Victor:
We and Artёm are staying at my parents until Monday. I hope youll recover by then and finally understand something. Youre not a child anymore.
Svet read it several times. No mention of her health. No question about how she felt. No hint of concern. Just a rebuke, a demand, a cold understand, as if she were a student retaking an exam, not a wife with a fever near forty.
Well Victoria muttered, peeking over her daughters shoulder. A painting in oil.
Svet slowly put the phone down. Her chest felt empty and heavy, as if someone had carefully yet decisively removed something vital and thrown it away. No tears, no hysteriajust fatigue, the deep kind that had built up over years of trying to be convenient, soft, patient, swallowing slights, justifying rudeness with hes just like that, everyone is, at least he doesnt drink, at least he works.
Mom she finally said. He really believes Im obligated. If I dont make breakfast Im bad. If I fall ill Im weak. If I ask for help Im rude.
He thinks that because he was raised that way, her mother sighed. The problem is he never wanted to learn differently. And you stayed silent too long.
The words hurt, but didnt offend. They were true. Svet had always thought patience equaled love, that closing your eyes would somehow fix everything, that a son would learn respect just by watching. But he was watching. He saw his mother rise with a fever to cook, his father lie on the couch waiting. He watched and learned.
That night her condition worsened. The fever spiked again, the headache intensified, her whole body ached. Father silently brought water, mother placed a cold compress. They didnt rush, didnt blame, simply stayed. In that simple being there was more love than all the loud accusations Victor had hurled over the years.
By morning she felt lighternot only physically but inside. It was as if the fever had left both body and soul, bringing clarity.
Victor didnt write on Monday, nor Tuesday. Svet didnt call. For the first time in a long while she listened to herself: sleeping when she was tired, eating when she was hungry, staying silent when she lacked the strength to speak. Mother brewed herbal teas, father joked as if returning her to childhood. With them, Svet suddenly recalled who she had been beforealive, laughing, not forever exhausted.
Wednesday Victor arrived. No flowers, no apologies. He stepped out of the doorway:
So you really decided to camp out here? Artёm asks when youll come back. He has nothing, his school uniform is at home. Are you even thinking?
Svet listened calmly, astonishingly calm. She didnt interrupt, didnt defend herself. She simply waited for him to finish.
Vitya, sit down, she finally said. We need to talk.
He snorted but obeyed.
I wont live like this any more, she continued softly. Im not a servant or a backdrop for your male life. Im your wife, not a function. If you dont think its necessary to care for me when Im sick, then we have different ideas of what family means.
What are you making up! Victor tried to retort. Everyone lives like that!
No, Svet answered firmly for the first time. Not everyone. And I wont.
She spoke plainly about fatigue, loneliness, fear that her son would grow indifferent, about how painful it was to hear the motherinlaw call her a cuckoo when she was merely ill, about love not being measured by the number of soups boiled.
Victor stayed silent, then stood.
I see, he said dryly. You fell under your mothers influence. Think it over.
Ive just started thinking, Svet replied. For the first time in ages.
He left, the door slammed. Svet realized she wasnt afraid, didnt tremble, didnt wait for him to change. She simply knew things would be different now. How, she didnt know yet, but she was sure she wouldnt go back.
A week later she collected some belongings and documents. She told Artёm honestly, without blame:
Dad and I are sorting things out. I love you, and youre not at fault.
The boy was silent, then softly asked:
Mom can I learn to cook? Grandma says its not for boys, but you said it was okay.
Svet smiled and hugged him.
You should, you can, and its important. So that one day you care because you want to, not because you must.
Life didnt turn into a fairy tale. It was hard. There were doubts, evenings when she wanted everything back as before because it felt familiar. But she no longer felt like nobody.
Soon Svet returned to work, grew more confident, calmer. She stopped asking permission to be sick, to rest, to be silent. Most of all, she stopped explaining the obvious: care isnt a heroic act, its a norm; love isnt service; family starts where people hear each other.
Sometimes a single illness is enough to realize: this cant continue. And a single day of silence is enough to finally hear yourself.
