Katya felt her heart racing as she stood in the doorway, her hand still gripping the knob. The dim light from the hallway filtered in, casting long shadows across the small, cluttered space. The usual warmth of her apartment now felt cold, distant. The familiar scent of her kitchen—once a place of comfort—was tainted by the weight of her mother-in-law’s sharp comments, which seemed to fill every corner.
She had no energy left for this—no more room to argue, no more strength to fight. But as she looked at Sasha, her husband, his gaze directed at the television, she could feel a pang of something deeper—a sense of loss.
“Yours?” Lyudmila’s words rang in her ears. “What about the family?” She had no right to question her. Her apartment, her space, had been a sanctuary—until the day they moved in.
“Yours?” Her mother-in-law had asked again, as if Katya’s autonomy was a mere suggestion, something easily disregarded in favor of family duty. It stung. How had it come to this? How had she become the outsider in her own home?
Katya’s feet moved on their own, carrying her to the kitchen where the familiar clanging of pots and the muted hum of the TV filled the silence between them.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Katya said, her voice trying to mask the frustration building in her chest. She didn’t expect a response—Lyudmila was too entrenched in her own complaints to care. The cold indifference was almost a relief at this point.
“Again with the work, huh?” Lyudmila’s voice rang out, a mixture of accusation and judgment. “And where’s Sasha in all of this? He’s waiting for his dinner. Are you going to make us wait, too?”
The question hit harder than Katya expected. Her eyes flicked to Sasha, who remained silent, his face a mask of discomfort. He wasn’t defending her. He wasn’t standing by her, not like he used to. The words she had longed to hear, the support she had hoped for, were nowhere to be found.
Katya could feel her patience fraying. She opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, before turning back to face them. “I have work,” she repeated, trying to sound calm. “I had to finish something important. That’s why I’m late.”
Lyudmila scoffed, dismissing her words as though they meant nothing. “And I’m sure it’s more important than Sasha’s needs,” she muttered, her voice heavy with disdain. “Sasha, can’t you say something to her?”
Katya’s heart sank as she looked at Sasha, hoping for some reassurance, some sense of solidarity. But all she got was a half-hearted shrug, his eyes still glued to the screen. “Maybe you should come home earlier, Katya,” he said quietly, almost absentmindedly.
The words stung. This was not the man she had married. This wasn’t the man who had once understood her ambition, her drive. This was a man who had surrendered to the pressure of his parents, and it hurt in a way she didn’t know how to explain.
Katya stood there, unsure of how to move forward. The apartment that had once been her haven now felt like a trap. The love, the quiet moments with Sasha, the shared laughter—everything had been replaced by tension, by the weight of expectations that weren’t hers to carry.
She wanted to scream, to tell them all to leave, to take back what was hers. But instead, she stood still, her heart heavy with the realization that the person she had married no longer existed in the same way.
“Sasha,” Katya whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “Do you even see me anymore?”
The question hung in the air, unanswered. But the silence was deafening.