Evening was drawing to a close, and in the apartment where Nina, her husband Anton, and her mother-in-law Vera Pavlovna lived, it was usually quiet. But today had gone wrong from the very morning. Two-year-old Semyon was cranky, Vera Pavlovna kept finding reasons to be dissatisfied, and Nina felt completely exhausted. She did her best: cooked her mother-in-law’s favorite dishes, cleaned the apartment, took care of Semyon. But it was impossible to please Vera Pavlovna.

“Nina, you’ve folded the towels wrong again,” Vera Pavlovna grumbled, walking past the bathroom. “How many times do I have to tell you, corner facing you, not away from you!”

Or:

“You didn’t dress the child properly, Nina! It’s chilly outside and you’ve put him in a light sweater! He’ll catch a cold!”

Each time Nina sighed. She didn’t argue, she endured it, hoping that in time things would settle down, that Vera Pavlovna would get used to her, to Semyon, to their life together. When things became completely unbearable, Anton usually kept his mouth shut. If Nina tried to complain, he would toss out indifferently:

“Just don’t pay attention, Nina. Mom’s old, her nerves are shot.”

Nina was preparing a surprise for their wedding anniversary. She had ordered a small cake and bought Anton a new leather belt he’d been wanting for a long time. She wanted to arrange a cozy evening just for the three of them—with Semyon, of course.

On the day of the celebration, when dinner was almost ready and Semyon, luckily, had fallen asleep, Vera Pavlovna threw another fit. This time because, in her opinion, Nina had “over-salted the soup.” Though the soup was perfectly normal.

“This is inedible!” the mother-in-law yelled, banging her spoon on the table. “What, are you trying to poison us? Nina, you can’t cook at all!”

Nina stood at the stove, gripping the ladle in her hand. The anniversary, the cake, the surprise—everything was going to hell. She turned to Anton, who was sitting at the table with his eyes down. She waited for him to finally say something, to defend her, to stop this absurdity. But he stayed silent.

“Anton,” Nina said quietly. “Are you going to say anything?”

He got up and slowly walked out of the kitchen into the hallway. Nina followed him.

“Mom is right,” Anton said, without looking at her. “You always do something wrong.”

Tears welled up in Nina’s eyes. That was the last straw. She looked at her husband, and he stared somewhere at the wall.

“Do you even realize what you’re saying?” her voice trembled. “It’s our anniversary today! I… I cooked, I tried! And your mother…”

Anton turned to her sharply. There was no anger in his eyes, only tiredness and a kind of indifference.

“If you don’t like my mother—leave.”

Those words sounded so matter-of-fact, so casual that Nina didn’t even grasp their weight at first. He said them as if he were giving her advice, not passing sentence. Then he turned away and went to his room. Dinner was ruined. The celebration was ruined. Everything was ruined.

Nina sat on the bed in their bedroom, holding sleeping Semyon in her arms. Her tears had dried, leaving salty tracks on her face. She was in shock. He’d said, “Leave.” Was he serious? This was their home. Their family. Was he really so ready to give her up, to give up his son? She didn’t pack a suitcase. She simply could not believe any of this was real. It seemed like some kind of bad dream that would end in the morning.

A day passed. Then another. Anton didn’t apologize. He acted cold and distant. He came home from work, ate in silence, then went into his room or sat down at the computer. He barely spoke to her. He played with Semyon in a formal way, with none of his former enthusiasm.

When Nina tried to talk to him, he brushed her off.

“Mom is really hurt. She says you insulted her.”

“I insulted her?” Nina couldn’t believe her ears. “She yelled at me over the soup!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Anton cut her off. “Everything depends on you. Make the first move. Apologize. Then maybe she’ll forgive you.”

There was no reconciliation in his words. Only an ultimatum. And Nina began to understand. This wasn’t her home. Here she was temporary. They tolerated her as long as she was convenient, as long as she fulfilled all her functions. The moment she stopped being perfect, she could simply be thrown out like something unnecessary. The fear she had felt on the first day was replaced by a dull, crushing realization. This wasn’t a family. It was a one-sided loyalty game. She had to be loyal to Anton, to his mother, to their whims. And they owed her nothing.

She looked at her sleeping son. He didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong here. This home, this atmosphere—they were destroying her. Slowly but surely. And Anton, her husband, just watched it happen. And, as it turned out, he himself pushed her closer to the edge.

Anton was sitting in a café with his friend Andrey. He spoke slowly, weighing every word.

“Listen, man, I’ve got this thing with Mashka…” he began. “Well, with Nina. A jam.”

Andrey took a sip of coffee.

“What now? Your mother-in-law again?”

Anton nodded.

“Yeah. Mom… she’s old, her nerves are bad. And Nina… she’s young, she should adapt. But she doesn’t want to. It’s always some hurt feelings, complaints.”

He felt tired of this endless struggle. He was sick of constant showdowns, his mother’s nagging, Nina’s dissatisfaction. He wanted peace.

“I’m tired of these constant grievances,” he went on, spreading his hands. “Honestly—maybe it’d be better if we just split up. I’m sick of living in constant tension. Mom on one side, her on the other. And I’m in the middle. What do I need all this for?”

Andrey stayed silent, listening.

“I told her straight: if you don’t like my mother—leave. I mean, what else could I say? Mom is sacred. She raised me. She’s… she’s all alone. And Nina is always unhappy.”

There was no regret in his voice. Only righteous anger and a desire to get rid of the problem. He didn’t want to take responsibility. He wanted Nina to make the decision. For her to leave on her own. That way his conscience would remain clean. He wouldn’t be “kicking out” his wife. She would “decide” to go.

“Let her decide for herself,” he repeated, as if trying to convince himself. “I’m tired of all this. I just want a quiet life. To come home—and there’s peace. And no one complaining about anyone.”

He didn’t see his own fault. He was sure Nina was to blame, that she couldn’t find common ground with his mother. He didn’t want to admit that the problem was in his inaction, in his refusal to defend his wife. He just wanted the problem to disappear. And in his mind, the only way was for Nina to leave.

The next day Nina rented a small one-room apartment nearby. She found it quickly, through acquaintances. She moved her things out in silence, without drama. Anton was at work. A driver came with a small car, and in several trips they moved everything essential: her and Semyon’s things, a few toys, some books. Nothing extra. No shouting, no arguing, no tears.

When Anton came home from work, the apartment felt strangely empty. He went into the bedroom. Her things were gone from the bed. No trace of her presence. He went to the kitchen. His half-eaten dinner was still there. On the table lay a note. Short, emotionless.

“You said it – I did it. To make it easier for you.”

Below, in small handwriting, was added: “Semyon is with me.”

Anton read the note several times. He couldn’t believe it. Had she really left? He’d been sure she’d spend a couple of days at her mother’s place, “cool off,” and then come back to beg forgiveness. He waited for her call. One day, two, three. Nina didn’t call.

The next week began. He came home—and no child’s laughter greeted him. Semyon no longer ran toward him shouting “Daddy!” The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

He called Nina.

“Hi. How are you two doing?”

“Fine,” she replied. Her voice was even. No resentment, but no warmth either. “Semyon is asleep.”

“When… when are you coming back?” Anton asked, surprised himself at how his voice shook.

“Why would I?” Nina answered calmly. “You yourself said: ‘If you don’t like it—leave.’ I left.”

“But I didn’t think that you…”

“And I did think,” Nina cut him off. “And I decided. To make it easier for you. And for me. And for Semyon.”

She hung up. Anton sat on the couch, staring at one spot. He had done it all with his own hands. Not by accident. Not by mistake. He had thrown her out himself.

Several months passed. Anton stayed living with his mother. The apartment he had so long wanted to “clear of constant tension” really did become quiet. Too quiet.

Vera Pavlovna, his mother, was constantly dissatisfied. Now all her nitpicking was directed at him.

“Anton, you’re not sitting properly at the table!” she would say. “You’re slouching!”

“Anton, why did you put the tea there again? I told you to put it on the coaster!”

“Anton, why are you eating so long? I’ve already cleaned everything up!”

Everything that used to annoy Nina now became his reality. Constant lectures, groundless resentments, reproaches over every little thing. No one disturbed him. No one argued. Only silence, broken by his mother’s voice. And her strange, all-consuming control.

He woke up in the morning, and the first thing he heard was her voice. He came home in the evening—and her voice was the first thing to greet him. He was trapped in his own snare. He had wanted to get rid of Nina to live peacefully. And he got his peace. Dead silence and constant dissatisfaction.

Sometimes he saw Nina from afar when she walked with Semyon in the park. She looked… calm. Free. No yelling, no battles, no confrontations. She had simply left, just as he himself had suggested. And she had taken with her everything that had made his life full.

He was the master of his house. But in that house there was no love, no joy, no warmth. Only silence and someone else’s oppressive authority. And this new reality was his punishment. A daily one