— Next Sunday I’ll bring my signature pie. Niku-sha, you wouldn’t mind preparing something with meat? And more salads— you know how much the kids love your Olivier salad.

Nika got up from the table, her heart tightening with indignation. All her weeks were spent working and handling household chores, and now even Sundays turned into endless cooking and cleaning.

— Excuse me, but next Sunday I want to rest, — Nika said quietly yet firmly.

Varvara Dmitrievna froze, fork in hand:

— What do you mean “rest”? And what about the family lunch?

— I’m tired, — Nika tried to speak calmly, but her voice already carried fatigue. — I need a day off.

— Tired of what? — Kristina snorted. — Tired of wandering around the house?

Lev frowned, sitting at the table. A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the rustling of paper as Varvara Dmitrievna picked up a napkin.

— Honey, let’s discuss this later, — he said, trying to regain some control of the situation.

— There’s nothing to discuss here, — Varvara Dmitrievna snapped, placing the napkin on her lap. — The family must come together. And you, Niku-sha, are just spoiled. In my day…

— Mom, please, — Lev interrupted, noticing the rising tension. — I’ll talk to Nika.

That evening, when the guests had finally left and Nika was cleaning up the shards of the broken figurine, now only a crack remained, Lev finally approached her. He stood behind her, trying to start a conversation, but the words wouldn’t come.

— Why did you create such a scene? Mom is upset — his voice sounded weary.

— A scene? — Nika didn’t turn her head, continuing to clutch the dustpan. — I just said I want to rest.

— From the family!? — Lev sharply raised his voice, feeling his patience running thin. — You must understand, family dinners, traditions—they are important to Mom, to Kristina!

— And my opinion doesn’t matter? — Nika set the dustpan on the shelf and turned to her husband. There was pain in her voice. — I’m a person too, Lev. I’m tired.

— You must remember that you’re a wife, not a guest! — Lev retorted, his face reddening with anger. — You have responsibilities to the family!

Nika recoiled, as if she’d been spared. Her eyes stung and her heart tightened.

— So that’s how you see it? I’m just a servant for your family? — she couldn’t hold back her anger.

— I didn’t mean it like that, — Lev tried to recover. — Just try to understand…

— No, you understand, — Nika interrupted, her voice firm, her eyes filling with determination. — I’m not going to cook for your whole family every Sunday anymore. I need rest.

The next day, on Saturday, the house was quiet, yet an undercurrent of tension lingered. Lev kept trying to find the right words to make her change her mind.

— Mom called. They’re coming tomorrow at two — he said in a subdued tone, not even looking her way.

— Fine, — Nika replied calmly, refusing to be provoked. — But I won’t be cooking.

— What do you mean you won’t? — Lev banged his fist on the table, his face tense. — They expect a festive lunch!

— And I expect understanding, — Nika shrugged calmly, feeling the weight of her exhaustion. — You see, we don’t always get what we want.

On that Sunday morning, when the entire house resonated with the sounds of lunch preparation, Nika locked herself in the bedroom. Lev, judging by the noise, was handling the pots rather clumsily. The kitchen echoed with the sounds of dishes seemingly deciding to abandon their places. Nika opened a book and immersed herself in its pages.

At two o’clock, as expected, the doorbell rang. Varvara Dmitrievna was the first at the door, her loud voice soon spreading through the apartment.

— She’s in the bedroom, — Lev’s voice came from the kitchen. — She said she’s tired.

— What?! — Varvara Dmitrievna’s outrage boomed throughout the house. — Lying in the bedroom while the family is hungry? Niku-sha! Get out here immediately!

Nika turned a page, ignoring the shouts.

— This is simply outrageous! — Varvara continued. — Lev, how can you tolerate this? Your wife is completely unruly!

— Yes, — Kristina agreed, joining in the commotion. — I would never allow myself to treat my husband’s family like that.

After an hour, when it was clear that a festive lunch would not happen, the guests began to leave. Varvara Dmitrievna loudly declared that her son deserved a better wife.

When the door closed, Nika emerged from the bedroom. Lev stood in the kitchen, looking at the mess left from the attempted festive lunch.

— Happy now? — his voice was tired, yet edged with discontent. — You’ve humiliated me in front of everyone.

Nika stared at his back, and suddenly everything became painfully clear. Five years of marriage, endless compromises, trying to please everyone—it had all been in vain.

— You know, Lev, — she said quietly, — I finally understand one thing.

— And what is that? — Lev turned sharply to her.

— That I mean far less to you than your mother and sister do. And that will never change.

Nika turned away without another word and went back to the bedroom. Her hands trembled slightly, but her decision had been made, and nothing could stop her. Packing her suitcase slowly, as if bidding farewell to this home, to this world.