Inna looked at her husband, but he pretended not to understand the hints.
It was the third or fourth time Oleg came “to visit,” but only to eat. Inna sighed deeply, bit her lip, and began to serve chicken with potatoes on plates. She placed them in front of the men without a trace of a smile.
Oleg, comfortably seated at the table, took a deep breath of the food’s aroma and, with his mouth full, mumbled:
— Hey, Inna, isn’t there a first course? I haven’t eaten anything all day… just the morning coffee.
“What am I, a canteen? Maybe you want some compote too?” — flashed through her mind. But in a low voice, she only said:
— There is. I’ll get it for you now.
She approached the stove, took a pot, and poured soup into a deep plate, which she placed in front of Oleg. He didn’t even thank her. He just ate, as if that was normal.
After dinner, the men pushed their empty plates to the edge of the table, and Aleș stretched lazily:
— Ooo, that was great… Inna, you’re a master in the kitchen, as always.
Meanwhile, Oleg got up, stretched fully, cracking his back, and headed towards the living room. Seeing the couch, he was ready to flop down on it, with his dirty work clothes, when a loud, almost screaming voice came from behind him:
— Nooooo!
He jumped and turned around. Inna stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, looking at him as if he were an explosive object.
— In those clothes — don’t sit on the couch! It’s new, you know.
Oleg raised his eyebrows, turning to Aleș, as if asking: “What’s wrong with her?” But Aleș just shrugged and sank back into his phone.
Inna wiped her hands on her apron and left the kitchen. Her voice was calm but as cold as ice:
— If you’re hungry — I’ll feed you. But, excuse me, unlimited hospitality is not my specialty. This is a home, not a rest area for workers. Oleg, you have your apartment — rest there. Or at least wash up and change before you lie down on our couch. Aleș, you’re the master here, but I’m not a servant.
And with those words, she locked herself in the bathroom. The sound of running water could be heard from behind the door. Oleg stood in the middle of the room, scratching his head, while Aleș frowned.
— What’s gotten into her? — he asked his brother.
After that evening, Oleg didn’t show up again. Not the next day, nor the day after, nor on Sunday — which was surprising. Inna silently rejoiced. She felt a relief, mixed with unease:
“Isn’t he just waiting for the right moment?”
A week passed. Inna was almost convinced that her words had an effect, that Oleg understood it wasn’t normal to come to someone else’s house as if it were a canteen. But one Friday evening, just as she had taken off her shoes and put a pot of buckwheat on the stove, the key turned in the lock. Aleș came in, sneezed loudly, then shouted towards the door:
— Come on, what are you waiting for?
Inna froze. First came Oleg — with a satisfied look and surprisingly clean t-shirt. After him — his wife, Lenuța, with her hair up and a confident gaze. And behind them, two boys: one with a backpack, the other with a plastic sword and a mouth smeared with chocolate.
— Hi, Inna! — Lenuța said cheerfully. — I hope we’re not too early? We thought we’d stop by while Oleg is still carrying some boxes. Anyway, we live nearby now!
Inna nodded, slowly turned back to the stove, and turned off the heat. The buckwheat was boiling and sizzling, just like her irritation. She wiped her hands on a towel and turned to them:
— I see you’ve made yourselves comfortable, — she said with a sharp but controlled voice. — Please, come in… there’s plenty of room, right?
The children were already crowding into the living room, laughing, chasing after the plastic sword. Oleg dropped two boxes by the door and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Lenuța, with her well-practiced smile, sat down at the table as if she were already the mistress of the house.
Inna felt her temples throbbing. Her home, her refuge after a day of work, had become a rest stop for relatives.
— What are you cooking? — Lenuța asked, lifting the lid off the pot without asking for permission. — Buckwheat? Well, my kids don’t eat much, but we’ll find something.
Inna looked at her and, for the first time, felt that the cup had overflowed. Her grandmother’s words from childhood echoed in her mind: “A woman is the pillar of the house, but even a pillar can collapse if you keep hitting it.”
She straightened her back, tightened her apron, and said clearly:
— No. Your children eat at home. This is not a boarding house.
Lenuța blinked in surprise, and Oleg burst into a coarse laugh:
— Let it go, girl, she had a hard day at work.
But Inna wouldn’t be silent anymore.
— A hard day? — her voice rose. — Every day is hard! I work, I cook, I clean, and what do I get? A house full of people who take me for granted!
Aleș, who had been silent until then, tried to intervene:
— Come on, Inna, don’t make a scene…
— A scene? — she interrupted him. — No, Aleș. This is not a scene. It’s the truth. I am nobody’s servant!
The children had stopped playing, looking wide-eyed. Lenuța had turned red, and Oleg was trying to hide his irritation behind a grimace.
Inna took off her apron and left it on the table.
— You want to stay here? Very well. But from now on, everyone cooks and eats in their own house. I will no longer cook for half the block.
She went to the bedroom, took out the freshly changed linens from the closet, and began to gather her husband’s dirty clothes. Placing them in a basin, she put them in front of Aleș.
— You want to be a good brother? Very well. Be one. But be a husband here, in your own house. Or, if not, go and stay there, with them.
It became silent. Only the ticking of the clock in the kitchen could be heard. Oleg grabbed his boxes and called his children:
— Come on, that’s enough, we’re leaving.
Lenuța, with pursed lips, followed him. Before leaving, she turned to Inna:
— You could have said it more nicely.
— No, — Inna replied, her eyes sparkling. — I said exactly what needed to be said.
The door slammed shut, and silence fell over the apartment. Aleș remained staring at the floor.
— Inna… maybe you’re right…
She looked at him for a long time.
— No maybe, Aleș. I am.
That evening, for the first time in a long time, Inna slept peacefully. She knew she had set a boundary, one that should have been set long ago. And somewhere deep in her soul, she felt that she had just regained her dignity.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or for how characters are portrayed and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
