«— So, are you going to cook today?» Vadim drawled without taking his eyes off the flickering images on the screen. His voice, sluggish and slightly congested, spread through the cramped living room, mixing with the forced laughter from the TV.
Kira barely stepped over the threshold when she felt the last remnants of her strength drain completely. The bag with documents weighed heavily on her shoulder, and her feet, clad in elegant but cruel shoes, were already dreaming of freedom. The air in the apartment was stale — smelling of old food and something else, distinctly «Vadim’s»: a mixture of his cologne and the scent of a sedentary life. It seemed he had been home for several hours, but the only trace of his presence was a depression in the cushions and a groove in the upholstery.
— There’s soup and pilaf from yesterday in the fridge, — Kira sighed, walking into the hallway and slipping off her shoes. Her feet tingled pleasantly with relief. Her head was pounding, and numbers from reports still flashed before her eyes. The dream of a hot shower and at least forty minutes of silence seemed an unreachable luxury right now.
Vadim grimaced in disappointment, his lips curling into a contemptuous sneer. He didn’t even bother to look away from the screen.
— That pilaf again? Kira, how long is this going to go on? I want real cutlets — juicy, with a crispy crust and golden potatoes with onions. Like mom’s. That’s food! And this… this is just leftovers.
Kira took a deep breath, restraining the growing irritation. She went to the kitchen, mechanically turned on the tap, and filled a glass. The cold water cooled her burning mind a bit. She felt his dissatisfied gaze on her back, full of childish resentment and adult selfishness.
— Vadim, I’m squeezed like a lemon. I had a hellish day. No energy for cutlets or potatoes. Take what’s there. Or — she paused to gather her thoughts — cook it yourself. You’ve got hands.
That word hit him like an electric shock. «Yourself» sounded like a mockery of his status as a man and his mother’s favorite.
— Yourself?! — he finally tore himself away from the TV, sitting up with a face frozen in indignation. — What are you, anyway? My wife or what? My mom always knew what I needed! And never once said ‘yourself.’ Not once! She would even skip work if she knew I was hungry!
Kira’s patience cracked. Inside, a wave of anger that had long been waiting to surface boiled over.
— Then go to your perfect mommy! — she shouted, spinning sharply around. Her voice trembled with exhaustion and hurt. She didn’t want a conflict, just some water and silence. But his words, his smug face were driving her mad.
Vadim jumped up and stomped after her into the kitchen. His face twisted with rage, his eyes narrowed, nostrils twitching. He moved like a black storm cloud before a thunderstorm.
— You’re asking for it! I’ll show you how to talk to me! How to flap your gums! — his hand shot up, ready to strike.
But Kira instinctively stepped back. His palm whooshed an inch from her cheek. The next moment, her hand found the heavy wooden cutting board on the table — a gift from her mother-in-law, whom she hated. But now it was a lifesaver.
Without hesitation, she turned and struck with all the pain, fatigue, and anger she had accumulated. The board crashed into his face with full force. A dull sound rang out, and Vadim screamed like a wounded animal. Clutching his face, he staggered, blood dripping from under his fingers.
— Quickly pack your things and get out of my apartment! You have your mommy — go live with her now!
She dashed to the hallway, flung open the door, and rushed to the closet. Pulling out shirts, jeans, t-shirts, socks — anything at hand — she threw them onto the landing. Vadim, stunned, stood in the kitchen holding his injured nose. He tried to stop her, but Kira, like a hurricane, pushed him out the door, slammed it shut with a clang, and turned the key twice.
On the stairwell, Vadim collapsed onto his pile of things like a sack of sand. His nose throbbed, the skin on his cheek swelling blue, metallic taste of blood in his mouth. The woman had hit him! His own wife! And not just lightly — with full force, using a board!
His hands shook as he pulled out his phone. Tears of pain and humiliation ran down his cheeks.
— Mom… Ma? It’s me, Vadim… — he croaked into the receiver.
Immediately, a worried but steady female voice came through — the woman who was always there.
— Vadya? Son, what happened? Why does your voice sound so strange? Where are you?
— Mom, she kicked me out! — Vadim whimpered, doing his best to sound like a victim. — Kira… your beloved Kirochka… completely lost it! I just politely asked for dinner, and she grabbed a cutting board and hit me! Broke my nose, my whole face hurts, threw all my things onto the stairs! Mommy, come quick! She almost killed me! Totally crazy!
Svetlana Arkadyevna fell silent for a second, and Vadim sensed anger boiling inside his mother. He knew her — she would stand up for her son even against the president himself.
— Whaaat?! — she roared so loudly Vadim instinctively pulled the phone away from his face. — That woman dared to hit my son?! I’ll show her who’s the boss in this house! Stay right where you are! Mommy’s on her way. I’ll teach that fury a lesson!
About twenty minutes passed — for Vadim they stretched into an eternity spent on the cold floor among his stuff — when the entrance door to the building slammed open, and determined, firm footsteps thundered up the stairs. Those heels could belong to only one person.
Svetlana Arkadyevna burst onto the landing like a tornado in a skirt. Seeing her son sitting with a broken nose and a bruise on his face, she let out a sound like a mix of growling and a battle cry.
— My dear son! What did that bitch do to you! — she rushed to him, waving her arms and lamenting as if he had returned from the battlefield. — Look at yourself, sweetheart! I’ll grind that bitch to dust!
Feeling his mother’s support, Vadim immediately got bolder and started sobbing even harder, adding horrible details of the «bloodthirsty attack» and «a sudden sneak attack from behind.» Svetlana Arkadyevna quickly assessed the situation and decisively headed for the apartment door where Kira waited. Her eyes flashed lightning, and her face showed holy certainty of her righteousness.
She knocked on the door several times with force. The sound was like she was going to break the door with her bare hands.
— Kira! Open up right now! It’s me, Svetlana Arkadyevna! Come out, let’s talk! How could you raise your hand against your husband?! Especially such a good guy like Vadim! Open up before I tear down the whole door!
The only answer was silence. Kira apparently decided not to engage in conversation. But this only poured fuel on the fire.
— Oh, hiding?! — she raised her voice. — You think I’m scared? No way! I’ll find you wherever you hide! What have you done?! Vadim might be traumatized! And you’re locked in there like a mouse in a hole! Heartless woman!
She began pounding again — now with her feet. Vadim watched this with obvious satisfaction. Now Kira was definitely done for.
— Come out, sneaky one! Come out before I come in myself! — Svetlana Arkadyevna continued relentlessly. — You destroyed the family! Is this how it’s done? Instead of caring for your husband, you hit him with a piece of wood! What kind of woman are you after that!
Vadim decided to chip in, trying to sound hurt and a little touching:
— Kira, what’s wrong? We can talk it out. I didn’t want to offend you… I just wanted a cutlet. You started it yourself…
From inside the apartment, Kira listened leaning against the door. Her heart was still racing, but her mind was crystal clear. She knew if she opened the door — a new wave of accusations, tantrums, and pompous declarations would begin. No way.
— What, lost your tongue?! — screamed Svetlana Arkadyevna. — Nothing to say? Because I’m right! You’re tormenting my Vadik, and you live here like a queen! Got the apartment, promised him everything, and this is how you repay him!
— Mom, come on, come on! — Vadim chimed, increasing the theatrical suffering. — She doesn’t appreciate me at all! I mean nothing to her!
But Kira stood firm.
— I’ll call the police! — Svetlana Arkadyevna threatened, though it was clear she wouldn’t do it. — For assault, for eviction! He’s registered here!
Finally, her voice came from behind the door — calm, confident, without a trace of fear:
— This is my apartment, Svetlana Arkadyevna. And I decide who stays and who leaves. And your son got off lucky with just a board. Such behavior can lead to worse consequences.
That statement was the last straw. Svetlana Arkadyevna gasped with outrage.
— Oh, you… I’ll… Vadik, you hear that?! She’s threatening us! That scum is threatening us! That’s it, Kira, you’re playing with fire! We won’t leave until you apologize to my son! Even if we sit here until morning!
She kicked a shirt lying on the floor, sending it flying into a corner of the stairwell. The siege continued, and both sides were ready to stand their ground to the death.
— Until the second coming! — she croaked hoarsely, feeling her voice start to fail. — Vadik, son, want some pizza? We’ll order it right here! We’ll have dinner here so the neighbors can see how you suffer from your ungrateful wife!
Vadim slumped helplessly against the wall, quietly moaning with every movement of his mother. He was hurting, not just physically but also from the fact that he, an adult man, was kicked out of the house by his own wife. The idea of pizza sounded good, but the humiliating situation and throbbing cheek ruined his appetite.
— Kir… Mom’s serious, — he wheezed, trying to sound pitiful yet sincere. — Come out, okay? What’s it cost you? Let’s just talk… I’ll forgive everything… if you just apologize…
Inside, Kira listened to this spectacle with growing irritation. They were really going to put on a show here — with pizza, wailing, and a demonstration of the «victims.» Every word, every gesture she could easily imagine was soaked with falseness, self-pity, and self-righteousness. She understood: they would not leave. Not because they had nowhere else to go — Svetlana Arkadyevna had her own apartment — but because to give in meant to lose. And losing was not something they were used to.
And at that moment, something clicked inside Kira. It was not rage or anger. It was cold, clear determination. Enough. Not one more minute. Not one more word. Not one more humiliation. She would no longer allow these two to rule her home, her life, her mind. She would not listen to their theatrical attacks and unfair accusations. Today it ends. Once and for all.
She approached the door. The voices behind her grew quieter — apparently, Svetlana Arkadyevna was already dialing the pizzeria. This was her moment.
Taking a deep breath, she confidently placed her hand on the handle, sharply turned the lock, and flung the door open.
Svetlana Arkadyevna was just dictating the delivery address, adding, “right on the second landing!” when the phone slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor. Vadim flinched and stepped back. Kira stood in the doorway. Calm, composed, eyes blazing, posture ready for any turn of events.
— Okay. You have thirty seconds, — her voice was steady, firm, without a hint of hesitation. She looked directly at Svetlana Arkadyevna, ignoring her son. — Pack your things and leave my landing. Time starts now.
Svetlana Arkadyevna almost choked on her outrage.
— Do you even know who you’re talking to?!
— Twenty-five, — Kira continued calmly without looking away. — If you don’t start moving in twenty seconds, I’ll help you speed up. Consider yourself warned.
A brief pause ensued. The tension hung in the air. Vadim feverishly shifted his gaze from his mother to his wife, expecting another scandal to erupt. But Svetlana Arkadyevna, meeting Kira’s absolutely cold, steel gaze, somehow hesitated. There was no anger in that look, not even contempt — only absolute confidence and readiness to act.
— You won’t dare! — she finally spat out, but her voice no longer sounded so firm.
— Ten… nine… eight…
And then Svetlana Arkadyevna understood — this was no bluff. This woman, whom she had considered weak and controllable, really could do what she said. She shot a spiteful glare, gave her son a displeased look as he hastily gathered his rags, dropping and picking them up again.
— Vadik, move! — she ordered, though her voice no longer carried its former certainty. — Let’s go! We won’t humiliate ourselves in front of this… this woman!
Huffing and panting heavily, she started stuffing things into bags she had brought. Kira stood without moving or interfering, but her posture and gaze kept reminding them of the deadline.
When the last t-shirt disappeared into the bag, Vadim, lowering his head, muttered:
— Well… we’re going…
Svetlana Arkadyevna shot Kira a look full of hatred and a silent promise of revenge, turned, and marched down the stairs. Vadim, like a beaten puppy, trailed behind.
Kira waited until the footsteps faded on the first floor, until the entrance door slammed shut. Then she slowly, almost ceremoniously, closed the door. Not slammed — just closed it. And turned the key twice. Once. Twice.
She leaned her back against the door, feeling a slight tremor run through her body — from the release of tension. But along with it came a strange feeling — a mixture of bitterness and liberation. She was alone. In her own home. And it was the end. No options. No looking back.
On the landing lay a few flower petals from Vadim’s shirt and a barely noticeable spot from the fallen phone. And silence. Deep, dense, almost tangible silence. The silence of a new, free life…
