It all started with that ill-fated kazan.
My husband, Anton, had bought it a week earlier and hadn’t stopped admiring it since. A genuine Uzbek cast-iron kazan with a twelve-liter capacity. It had cost as much as my monthly salary, but he was as happy as a child with a new toy.
“Lena, can you imagine the kind of plov we’ll make in this?” he exclaimed, stroking the kazan as if it were a cat. “The real thing, just like my grandfather used to make in Tashkent!”
I said nothing. I know how to make plov, but I had no desire to conduct culinary experiments for his relatives. The moment they heard about the new kazan, they would naturally insist on trying it.
And sure enough, Anton came home from work the following day beaming.
“Mom called! She said they absolutely have to try your plov from the new kazan. She, Ira, and Nastya are coming for the weekend!”
Of course they were.
“Mom” was my mother-in-law, Galina Pavlovna. Ira was his sister, and Nastya was Ira’s daughter—his niece. The holy trinity that could turn my home into a theater of the absurd.
“Isn’t it great?” Anton continued. “We’ll finally get to put the kazan to a proper test!”
I knew I couldn’t refuse. Anton would sulk for a week and say that I didn’t love his family. The truth was, I really didn’t like his family very much. But I tolerated them for my husband’s sake.
All his relatives lived in another city and came to stay for the weekend once every two or three months. Anton and I lived in a small two-room apartment consisting of a bedroom and a combined living room and kitchen.
Whenever his relatives visited, the place turned into a communal apartment. They slept wherever they could, made noise, ate everything in sight, and discussed every detail of my life.
But the worst part was the way they communicated. They constantly made cutting remarks disguised as love and concern.
Galina Pavlovna would always say:
“Lenochka, you should put on something nicer. You’re the hostess, after all! You’re such a pretty girl—don’t embarrass yourself by wearing that greasy old robe.”
I would obediently change into proper clothes and try to look presentable. Then, at the table, Nastya would suddenly mutter:
“Oh, you finally bought yourself a decent blouse! The one you wore last time made you look just like old Grandma Lyuba from the train station.”
Everyone would laugh—including my husband.
I would get up, silently collect the plates, and make my face completely expressionless. I would force a smile and stop participating in the conversation.
“Lena’s offended,” Nastya would giggle.
“Oh, don’t be so sensitive,” Ira would say. “We mean it affectionately! We’re family!”
Apparently, “being family” meant constantly rubbing someone’s nose in their flaws while calling it “concern.”
During their previous visit, Galina Pavlovna had spent an hour telling us how her neighbor had lost fifteen kilograms.
“Lenusya, you should try it too. Our Antosha is so athletic, while you… well, you understand.”
I understood.
I understood that the scale showed three kilograms more than it had the previous year. I understood that Anton regularly went to the gym. And I understood that his mother considered me unworthy of her son.
“Mom,” Anton had protested weakly, “Lena looks fine.”
“Of course she does!” my mother-in-law agreed. “She could just take better care of herself. Men love with their eyes, you know!”
After these “family gatherings,” it took me a week to recover. Anton simply pretended that nothing unusual had happened.
But the worst incident had taken place two months earlier.
The same three had come to visit, but this time they brought a surprise. Ira arrived with what she called her “gentleman friend.”
“This is Dmitry,” she said, introducing a strange man in his forties. “He’s my new admirer. We only met recently, but he’s so interesting! Anton, you don’t mind if he spends the night, do you?”
Naturally, Anton didn’t mind.
I did, but nobody even asked me.
Dmitry was from Yekaterinburg. He worked for some construction company and was constantly traveling on business. How he had met Ira was a mystery. She had known him for only a week, yet she had already brought him to our home and introduced him as though he were part of the family.
He looked decent enough—tall and fit. But there was something unpleasant in his eyes. He stared too intently, stood too close, and “accidentally” touched my hand too often when I passed him a plate.
“You’ve got a beautiful wife,” he told Anton over dinner.
“Thanks,” my husband replied. “I’m a lucky man.”
“You certainly are,” Dmitry said, looking me up and down. “Women like her are rare.”
I felt uncomfortable, but no one else seemed to notice anything suspicious—or they pretended not to.
Originally, the guests were supposed to stay for one day. However, it soon became clear that Dmitry could remain until Monday because his “job allowed it.” Ira decided to stay longer too, and Galina Pavlovna and Nastya followed suit.
So the weekend turned into a three-day ordeal.
Dmitry was given the folding sofa in the living room. Anton and I slept in our bedroom. Everyone else slept wherever they could. Ira was on an air mattress in the kitchen, while Galina Pavlovna and Nastya slept on the living-room floor.
I couldn’t fall asleep on the first night. There were too many people in our small apartment. It was too noisy and stuffy.
And Dmitry had spent the entire evening staring at me like a hungry wolf watching a sheep.
At two in the morning, I got thirsty. I quietly walked into the kitchen and froze in shock. Dmitry was sitting by the window, barely dressed, smoking through the open window and staring into the darkness.
“Oh, Lena!” he said happily, showing no embarrassment about his near-nudity. “Can’t sleep either?”
“I just wanted some water,” I muttered, trying not to look at him.
“Why don’t you keep me company?” he suggested, taking a drag from his cigarette. “We can have a heart-to-heart talk. I was just thinking that you and I have hardly spoken.”
“No, thank you. I want to sleep.”
“Don’t rush off.” He stood up and moved closer. “A beautiful woman like you, sitting at home all the time. Does Anton appreciate you?”
A chill ran down my spine—not because of the compliment, but because I was frightened.
“Good night,” I said sharply before quickly returning to the bedroom.
Anton was sleeping like the dead. I nudged him.
“Anton, your sister’s boyfriend is behaving strangely.”
“Mmm… what?” he grumbled sleepily.
“Dmitry. He keeps… looking at me in a disturbing way.”
“He’s a perfectly normal guy,” Anton mumbled. “Go to sleep.”
I didn’t sleep until morning. I lay awake, listening for footsteps approaching our bedroom door.
Fortunately, no one came.
The next morning, Dmitry behaved as though nothing had happened. He joked over breakfast, helped wash the dishes, and played cards with Nastya. He was the perfect guest.
But whenever no one was looking, he winked at me, stared at my chest, and “accidentally” touched me as he walked past.
I made sure never to be alone with him, even for a second. If he entered the kitchen, I immediately left.
Anton noticed nothing—or perhaps he didn’t want to. Maybe male solidarity mattered more than his wife’s “silly fears.”
“Dmitry’s a good guy,” Anton said on Sunday as he sprawled across the sofa. “Ira is definitely lucky to have found him.”
“Sure,” I muttered. “She’s very lucky.”
By Sunday evening, I was already dreaming of the moment when they would finally leave. But no—they decided to have a farewell dinner.
“Let’s go to the store,” Galina Pavlovna suggested. “We’ll buy something tasty for the journey.”
Everyone eagerly prepared to go shopping. I refused because my head was pounding from their constant chatter.
“Lena, should we get you anything?” Anton asked as he put on his jacket.
“Some painkillers,” I replied. “My head is killing me.”
They all left together, finally giving me some peace. I went into the bedroom, closed the door, and lay down on the bed.
Silence!
For the first time in three days.
About thirty minutes later, I heard someone return—the sound of the lock and footsteps in the hallway.
“I forgot my phone,” Dmitry announced loudly, apparently trying to reassure me.
I lay perfectly still, hoping he would quickly find his phone and leave. But his footsteps came toward the bedroom.
There was a knock on the door.
“Lena? Are you awake? I want to tell you something.”
“I’m asleep,” I lied. “My head hurts.”
“Come on, open the door. I’ll be quick.”
I got up and walked to the door, but I didn’t open it. The interior doors in our apartment didn’t have locks, only simple latches. I pressed my back against the door and froze.
“Lena, listen…” His voice became quieter and more intimate. “You’re amazing. I’ve really enjoyed being around you these past few days.”
“Thank you. Goodbye.”
“Come on, wait! Open the door so we can talk properly.”
“What is there to talk about?”
“I can see that you’re interested in me too. Stop pretending.”
Goosebumps spread across my skin—not because of his compliment, but because of fear.
“You’ve misunderstood.”
“Oh, come on! Anton doesn’t even notice you. I saw the way he treats you—like a piece of furniture.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is my business because I like you. I really like you.”
I remained silent, pressing my entire body against the door. My heart was pounding wildly.
“Lena, don’t be stupid. I’m leaving tomorrow, and we’ll probably never see each other again. Open the door.”
He pushed it.
Not hard, but I felt it give way slightly. I braced my feet against the floor and held it shut with all my strength.
“Don’t,” I said. “Please go away.”
“What are you so afraid of? I only want to talk.”
He pushed the door again, harder this time. I pressed my back against it, but I knew that if he truly decided to force his way inside, I wouldn’t be able to stop him.
At that moment, voices sounded from the entrance. The others had returned.
Dmitry stepped away from the door.
“Fine,” he said. “It’s your choice. We’ll talk later.”
When everyone came back, I emerged from the bedroom pale and trembling. Anton didn’t even notice the state I was in.
“We bought your painkillers.” He handed me the tablets. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Much better,” I lied.
I spent the rest of the evening beside my husband, refusing to leave his side. Dmitry didn’t approach me again, but he kept smirking as though we shared some secret.
They finally left on Monday morning. As Dmitry said goodbye, he held my hand slightly longer than necessary.
“It was a great pleasure meeting you, Lena. I hope we’ll see each other again.”
“Unlikely,” I replied.
Anton accompanied the guests to the train station. I stayed home and cried with relief for half an hour.
Ira called the following day.
“Lena, thank you for your hospitality! Dmitry and I aren’t seeing each other anymore, though. Our personalities weren’t compatible.”
“I see,” I said.
“He turned out to be quite a character. Can you imagine? He harassed the train attendant on the journey home! Fortunately, I immediately realized that he wasn’t my type.”
Anton knew nothing about Dmitry’s “personality,” and I didn’t tell him.
Why ruin our relationship?
He wouldn’t have believed me anyway.
Two months had passed since then. I tried not to think about that terrible weekend, and life gradually returned to normal.
Then Anton came home yesterday, beaming.
“Lena, great news! My family is coming for the weekend! Mom, Ira, and Nastya. They said they absolutely have to try the plov from the new kazan. You’ll make some plov and set the table like usual, won’t you? We’ll finally put the kazan to good use!”
I froze, still holding a cleaning cloth.
Them again.
The sarcastic remarks, the giggling, and the advice about how I should live my life. Once again, my apartment would become a public thoroughfare.
“Isn’t it great?” Anton continued. “It’s the perfect opportunity to try out the kazan! Mom is really looking forward to your plov. Oh, and Ira is bringing someone with her—a new acquaintance. She says he’s a very pleasant man.”
I went still.
Another guest. Another strange man in my home.
“What acquaintance?”
“Don’t worry,” Anton said, waving his hand dismissively. “Ira says he’s polite and intelligent. He works for some important company. They only met recently, but things are already serious between them. She wants to introduce him to us.”
My stomach tightened.
History was repeating itself—the same three relatives plus a complete stranger. Once again, my home would become a hotel for people I didn’t know.
“And where is he going to sleep?”
“In the living room, as usual. We have the sofa.”
As usual.
Just like last time, with Dmitry.
I turned toward Anton and looked him in the eye.
“I’m not participating.”
The smile froze on his face.
“What do you mean, you’re not participating?”
“I mean exactly what I said. I’m not participating in this weekend.”
“Lena, come on… They’re my family.”
“Exactly. They’re your family, so you can entertain them yourself.”
“But what about the plov? And the new kazan?”
“Excellent. You know the way to the refrigerator, and you know how to cook plov. Entertain them yourself.”
Anton opened his mouth, but I was already walking toward the bedroom to pack a bag.
“Lena, what are you doing? Where are you going?”
“To my friend’s country house for the weekend.”
“But we had plans…”
“We didn’t plan anything. You made plans. I’m simply leaving.”
“Lena, don’t do anything foolish.”
“Foolish is when I tolerate your family’s rudeness. Right now, I’m doing the right thing.”
I took out my phone and texted Katya:
“Can I come to your country house for the weekend? I really need to.”
Her reply arrived a minute later:
“Of course! Come over. We’ll drink and talk about life.”
“Lena, this is ridiculous!” Anton protested. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Because I’m tired of being an entertainer in my own home.”
I closed my bag and headed for the front door. Anton followed me.
“Lena, don’t leave! What am I supposed to tell Mom?”
“Tell her your wife has gone away to rest. Weekends are part of her life too—not a family theater staged in her kitchen with her forced into the leading role. ENOUGH!”
“Lena!”
But I had already closed the door behind me.
The air outside was cool and fresh. I called a taxi and felt as though an enormous weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
Let Anton explain to his mother why his wife ran away. Let him cook plov in his precious kazan. Let him listen to their sarcastic remarks about how he can’t control his own wife.
I’m going to Katya’s country house. I’ll drink, read books, and enjoy the silence.
Because my weekend is my time, and I have the right to spend it however I choose.
Not the way his family demands.
I think she should have told her husband what happened. What do you think the heroine should have done?
