I would never have thought that I would find myself in such a situation — planning revenge on my own husband. Life sometimes presents such twists and turns that it seems as if you have been thrown out of your usual reality. I was developing a plan for revenge after his words at a festive dinner, and every second of waiting was unbearably pressing. Something inside me broke, like an expensive crystal vase that looks whole on the outside, but is covered with small cracks.
My name is Marina. I live in Berezovsk — a small town where every street keeps its own stories. Here in the mornings it smells of fresh pastries from the bakery on the corner, and in the evenings old people play chess in the park. Everyone knows each other, and this makes our story even more painful.
I met Gleb ten years ago at a corporate party. At that time, I worked as a financial analyst, and he was just starting his career in construction. I remember his look — confident, slightly mocking, but warm. He asked me to dance, and the whole world around me disappeared.
“You are the most beautiful girl here,” he told me.
A year later, we got married. The wedding was modest, but full of happiness. Gleb literally carried me in his arms. We dreamed of a big house, children, a dog. I continued my career and got promoted to lead analyst. Gleb also developed, opening his own construction company.
Four years ago, Sonya was born – a little miracle with his eyes and my curls. That’s when I began to notice changes in his behavior. He became more domineering. When we discussed my maternity leave…
“You don’t need to go back to work,” he said decisively.
“I earn enough for both of us.”
“But work is important to me, Gleb. It’s a part of me.”
“Now the main part of you is our daughter. Think about her, not your career.”
“Is it impossible to combine both? We could hire a nanny…”
“No!” – his voice echoed in the kitchen. – I don’t want strangers to raise my child.
I gave in. Perhaps I made my first mistake. I convinced myself that it would be better for Sonya. I quit my job and completely immersed myself in household chores. I tried to be the perfect wife and mother. I cooked delicious meals, took Sonya to classes, and kept the house tidy.
Gleb was successfully developing his business. We moved to a new apartment and bought a car. From the outside, we seemed like the perfect family. But gradually I began to feel like I was losing my identity amidst the endless household chores.
The first serious confrontation took place at Sonya’s birthday party. Everyone came – Gleb’s parents, friends, colleagues. I prepared for a week – I decorated the apartment, ordered a special cake, organized entertainment for the children. When it came to choosing a kindergarten, I suggested a private kindergarten with English.
– Don’t talk nonsense, – Gleb rudely cut me off in front of everyone. – I decide where my daughter will go.
An awkward silence fell over the room. Mom looked down, Dad frowned. Lena, my friend, tried to change the subject, but the aftertaste remained bitter.
A week later, the story repeated itself when I started talking about buying a new car – the old one often broke down, and I drove Sonya all over the city a lot.
– Mare, have you forgotten your place? – Gleb asked coldly, not even looking up from his phone. – You don’t earn money, which means you have no right to decide anything.
These words hit my pride hard. I remembered my old self – a confident, successful woman whose opinion was valued by colleagues and management. Where did all this go?
Then that very evening came. Gleb was promoted to head of the department, and we decided to celebrate this event. I cooked his favorite dishes all day, decorated the table, put on a new dress – I strove for perfection. The guests praised the food, congratulated Gleb, but then he made a toast that changed my whole life:
“To real men who know how to keep their women in line! We are the heads of families, and only our decisions matter. And some forget their place – they start to assert their rights, although they themselves mean nothing without us.”
His gaze was directed straight at me, full of superiority, which made me sick. I sat there, smiling wearily, but inside I froze. After the party, Gleb took all the money from our family budget – even the money I had saved for my mother’s birthday – and went to his parents in Sosnovka, leaving Sonya and me alone.
I spent three sleepless nights, wandering around the apartment and remembering every detail of our life together. When did everything start to change? How did I not notice how a loving husband turned into a tyrant? His phrases were spinning in my head: “You’re not so good anymore,” “What do you know about business?”, “Don’t you dare embarrass me in front of others with your stupid ideas.”
On the fourth day, I called my father. He was always a man of few words, but he found the right words.
“Daughter, pack your things,” he said after listening to my story. “I’ve already called a taxi.”
“Dad, maybe I’m exaggerating? Maybe it’s my fault?”
“Marina,” his voice trembled, “you’re my only daughter. I didn’t raise you for this, so that some tyrant would make a powerless slave out of you.”
By evening, Sonya and I were already at the parent’s house.