“Why isn’t dinner ready, and why didn’t you buy any groceries?” Galina’s husband asked indignantly. “Is this a strike?”
Galina stood in the middle of the kitchen, slowly turning their marriage certificate in her hands. Two years. Only two years had passed since the day she and Arkady had stood in the registry office and vowed eternal love to each other. Back then it seemed to her that a whole lifetime of happiness and understanding lay ahead.
“Why isn’t dinner ready, and why didn’t you buy any groceries?” her husband repeated angrily. “Is this a strike?”
Arkady entered the apartment, as always, around eight in the evening. A tall, fit thirty-two-year-old man with dark hair and brown eyes. He worked as a sales manager in a construction company and considered himself the provider of the family. Galina worked as an administrator at a medical center, but her salary was almost the same as his.
“Yes, Arkady,” Galina replied calmly, placing the document into a folder. “It’s a strike. You may consider it indefinite.”
“What NONSENSE are you talking about?” her husband exploded, throwing his briefcase on the floor. “Have you lost your mind? A wife MUST cook for her husband, that is your DUTY!”
Galina lifted her green eyes to him. She was twenty-eight, her light-brown hair usually tied back in a ponytail, and she didn’t wear a gram of makeup — there was simply no time for it when you spin like a squirrel in a wheel from morning till night.
“Duty?” she repeated, steel ringing in her voice. “And where are your duties, Arkady? Or do you not have any?”
“I earn the money!” he shouted. “I’m the man of this house!”
“Oh, really? A man?” Galina gave a bitter smile. “A man who can’t even wash his own plate? Who leaves his things all over the apartment? Who believes that laundry, cleaning, and cooking are exclusively women’s work?”
“That’s exactly right!” Arkady declared stubbornly. “My father never did housework, and neither did my grandfather. It’s women’s work!”
“Your father lived in a different time,” Galina countered. “And your mother didn’t work — she stayed at home. But I, for your information, come home from work at the same time you do. Sometimes even later.”
It had all started a month earlier. Galina had gone to visit her friend Marina, who had recently married Pavel. What she saw there completely overturned her idea of married life. Pavel was cooking dinner while Marina rested after work. Then they set the table together and cleaned up the dishes together. No one ordered anyone around — they simply did everything as a team.
“It just happened naturally with us,” Marina explained when Pavel stepped out of the kitchen. “We both work, we both get tired. It would be silly to dump everything on one person.”
That made Galina think. Why should she be the one dragging the entire household on her shoulders? She also worked full-time, she also got tired. But she would come home and begin her second shift: cooking, cleaning, laundry, ironing. Meanwhile Arkady lay on the couch with his phone or watched TV.
When she returned home that evening, she tried to talk to her husband.
“Arkasha,” she began gently, sitting down next to him on the couch. “Let’s try to divide the household chores. I understand that you get tired at work, but I get tired too. Maybe we could take turns doing things?”
Arkady tore himself away from his smartphone and looked at her as if she were crazy.
“Galya, are you out of your mind?” he asked. “What other duties? I have one duty — to earn money. You have one — to keep the house in order. It’s perfectly logical.”
“But I work too!” Galina objected.
“So what?” Arkady shrugged. “That’s your personal choice. If you want to work — work; if you want to stay home — stay home. But household chores are your domain.”
“So you REFUSE to help me?” Galina clarified.
“I’m not refusing,” her husband drawled lazily. “I just don’t see the point. Everyone has their own responsibilities. You don’t interfere with my job, do you?”
“Arkady, this is UNFAIR!” Galina exclaimed.
“Life is unfair in general,” he remarked philosophically, burying his face back into his phone.
That conversation ended in a fight. Galina yelled that he was selfish and lazy, Arkady accused her of hysterics and whining. Eventually she slammed the bedroom door, and he stayed to finish sleeping on the couch.
A week passed after that quarrel. Galina continued running the household, but with each passing day, anger grew inside her. She got up at six in the morning, made breakfast, got ready for work. Came home at seven in the evening, cooked dinner, cleaned the apartment. On weekends — major laundry, ironing, deep cleaning. And all this time Arkady behaved like a lord: demanding food on time, clean shirts, ironed trousers.
“Galya, where are my gray socks?” he would shout from the bedroom.
“In the dresser, second drawer!” she would answer from the kitchen, stirring the soup.
“They’re not there!”
“They ARE. Look more carefully!”
“I’m telling you — they’re NOT! You mixed everything up again!”
And Galina would go to the bedroom, open the drawer, and pull out the socks lying right on top. Arkady didn’t even apologize — he simply grabbed them and went to get dressed.
One evening, while she was washing the dishes after dinner and her husband, as usual, sprawled on the couch, something inside her broke. She looked at the pile of dirty plates, at her husband’s things scattered all over the apartment, at him — full, satisfied, absolutely convinced that this was how things were supposed to be.
“You know what, Arkady,” she said, wiping her hands with a towel. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“What now?” he grumbled irritably.
“I’m tired of being your maid,” Galina said clearly. “Either you start helping me around the house, or…”
“Or what?” he interrupted mockingly. “You’ll leave? Oh please, Gal. Where would you even go?”
“We’ll see,” she replied mysteriously and walked out of the room.
The next day, Galina made a decision. If her husband believed that household chores were exclusively her responsibility, then let him try living without them. She stopped cooking for the two of them — just bought something for herself at a café near work. She stopped washing his clothes, ironing his shirts, picking up the things he left everywhere.
For the first two days, Arkady lived on sandwiches and didn’t notice the changes. On the third day he began to complain:
“Galya, what the heck? Why is the fridge empty?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Probably because no one bought groceries.”
“Then buy them!”
“Why? I don’t need any — I eat at work.”
“And me? Am I supposed to starve?”
“That’s your problem, Arkady. Go to the store and buy yourself food.”
“You’re MOCKING me!” he roared. “This is your job!”
“NO,” Galina replied calmly. “This is not my job. I’m not your housekeeper. If you want me to do all the housework — then pay me for it.”
Another week went by. At first Arkady tried to guilt-trip her, then he threatened her, then he promised to think about her proposal. But Galina remained firm. She saw him rushing around the apartment looking for a clean shirt, trying to iron his trousers and burning a hole in them, eating nothing but dumplings because he couldn’t cook anything else.
“Galya, enough already!” he pleaded one evening. “Stop this circus!”
“This isn’t a circus,” she said sharply. “This is LIFE. The very life I’ve been living for the past two years. Only I was doing it for two people.”
“Oh stop acting like a martyr!” Arkady snapped. “All women live like this!”
“That’s not true,” Galina countered. “I’ve seen how normal families live. A husband and wife are partners, not a master and a servant.”
“Oh, get lost!” he swore. “You found some fool of a whipped husband and now you’re trying to brainwash me!”
“No, Arkady,” Galina stood up and walked to the closet. “You’re the one who’s about to leave.”
She took a folder from the shelf and handed it to her husband.
“What’s this?” he asked, puzzled.
“Divorce papers,” Galina replied calmly. “I filed them a week ago. Made a copy for you.”
Arkady snatched the papers from her and skimmed the lines. His face turned red.
“You… you’re SERIOUS?” he croaked.
“Absolutely,” Galina nodded. “I’ve packed my things and I’m leaving. The apartment is rented, the contract is in your name, so you can stay. Or move out — I don’t care.”
“You’ve LOST YOUR MIND!” Arkady shouted. “Divorcing over some cleaning?!”
“Not over cleaning,” Galina shook her head. “Over disrespect. Over the fact that you see me as your servant. Over the fact that my feelings and exhaustion mean nothing to you.”
She grabbed the suitcase she had packed in advance and headed for the door.
“STOP!” Arkady shouted. “Where are you going? Let’s talk!”
“Too late,” she threw over her shoulder. “We should’ve talked a month ago. I asked you so many times, and in return — silence…”
“Galya, don’t go!” He rushed after her. “I… I’ll think about your proposal!”
“DON’T strain your mind — it’s unlikely to work anyway,” Galina cut him off, turning toward him. “I don’t need your reflections anymore. Do you know what I realized over these two weeks? That I can live perfectly well on my own. Without you. Because in reality, I already was living alone — I just also happened to be serving you.”
“I financially support you!”
“Nonsense!” Galina snorted contemptuously. “We split the rent in half, I buy my own clothes, and I buy the groceries too. What kind of ‘support’ are you talking about?”
“I… I’ll go stay with my mother!” he threatened. “I’ll tell her how ungrateful you are!”
“Go ahead.” Galina shrugged indifferently. “Your mother is a smart woman, she’ll understand me.”
And she left, leaving her stunned husband standing in the hallway.
Arkady did not believe she was serious. During the first few days, he was certain she would come to her senses and return. He called her a hundred times a day, sent messages, but she never replied. The apartment quickly turned into a pigsty. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink, clothes lay scattered across the floor, and the fridge contained nothing but beer and dumplings.
After a week, he couldn’t take it anymore and went to his mother. Yelena Petrovna, a sixty-year-old woman, had always adored her daughter-in-law. Galina often helped her with household tasks, took her to doctors, or simply came to chat over tea.
“Mom,” Arkady began, sitting down at the kitchen table. “Galya and I are getting a divorce.”
“I know,” his mother replied calmly, pouring herself some tea. “She called me and told me everything.”
“And you SUPPORT her?!” her son exclaimed.
“Why wouldn’t I support her?” Yelena Petrovna shrugged. “The girl did the right thing. No need for you to act like some noble lord.”
“Mom, what are you talking about?” Arkady was stunned. “I’m your son!”
“A son is a son,” his mother nodded. “But a fool is a fool. You lost a good wife because of your laziness and your contempt.”
“But she did NOTHING!” Arkady tried to defend himself.
“You’re lying,” his mother cut him off. “Galina told me everything. How you threw your things around the apartment, how you demanded she serve you. Shame on you, Arkady! I didn’t raise you like that!”
“But Dad…”
“Your father helped me around the house!” she interrupted again. “Yes, he didn’t do everything — it was a different time. But he washed the dishes, carried the groceries, took care of you, even did the big cleaning. And you? You decided that if your wife works, she must still break her back at home for you?”
“Mom, can I stay with you for a while?” Arkady switched the subject. “Until I find an apartment.”
Yelena Petrovna looked at him for a long moment.
“NO,” she said firmly.
“What?” Arkady couldn’t believe his ears.
“You may NOT,” she repeated. “I’ve done my part. I raised you, fed you, taught you. Now live on your own. Learn to cook, to wash, to clean. Maybe then you’ll understand what a fool you’ve been.”
“Mom, come on!” her son begged. “I don’t know how!”
“You’ll learn,” she said sharply. “Now GET OUT. And don’t come back until you’ve sorted yourself out.”
“Mom!”
“OUT!” she shouted so loudly Arkady flinched. “And leave the keys!”
Stunned, he left his mother’s apartment and trudged back to his rental. On the way, he tried calling his friends, but they either didn’t pick up or refused to let him stay over. Turned out Galina had been right — no one needed him.
At home, he was greeted by a trashed apartment and a letter from the landlord. The landlord demanded he vacate the place within a month due to repeated late payments and property damage. Arkady collapsed onto the couch and buried his head in his hands.
“Damn,” he whispered. “What have I done?”
He tried calling Galina again, only to end up on her voicemail. Later he found out from mutual acquaintances that she had rented a small studio apartment and was doing just fine. A month later, he heard that Galina was seeing someone new — a man who could cook, clean, and treated her as an equal.
Arkady, meanwhile, moved into a cheap apartment in the middle of nowhere. In the evenings, returning to his tiny room, he heated convenience food on a hotplate and thought about how stupidly he had lost everything because of his own pride. His mother still hadn’t forgiven him and stopped answering his calls. His friends turned away after learning the real reason for the divorce.
“It’s your own fault,” Igor, a former friend, once told him. “You lost a good woman. She wasn’t your maid — she was your wife. And you treated her like a servant. Now you’re paying for it.”
Standing by the window of his room, staring at the gray courtyard, Arkady finally understood what he had done. But it was too late. Galina was gone forever, taking with her the warmth and comfort he had never appreciated. And only now, having to wash his clothes in a basin and eat cheap noodles, did he realize how much she had done for him — and how unfair he had been to her.
“Idiot,” he whispered to himself. “I really am an idiot.”
And somewhere in another part of the city, Galina was cooking dinner with her new companion, Dmitry. They laughed, joked, and she felt genuinely happy.
“You know,” Dmitry said, embracing her from behind, “I’m grateful to your ex.”
“For what?” Galina asked, surprised.
“For being an idiot and letting you go. Otherwise we’d have never met.”
Galina smiled and leaned back against him. Yes, the divorce had been painful, but it opened the door to a new, better life. A life where she was valued and respected. And that was worth every hardship she had endured.
That evening, Yelena Petrovna sat drinking tea with Galina and Dmitry at their home. She had long considered her former daughter-in-law as her own daughter, and in Dmitry she saw the kind of man the young woman truly deserved.
“Arkady called,” she said. “Begged to come back home.”
“And what did you tell him?” Dmitry asked.
“I told him to roll away like a sausage!” Yelena Petrovna huffed. “That’s exactly what I told him. I raised a child back then, not a lazy grown man. Let him clean up the mess he made.”
The three of them laughed. Life went on, and it was beautiful — at least for those who knew how to value other people and their work.
