– Masha, are you asleep there? – Andrey’s voice comes from the living room. – The guests are waiting for dessert!
I hastily cut the cheesecake and decorate it with fresh raspberries. Every movement is measured – I’m afraid of making a mistake. His words from the last family dinner echo in my head: “As always, your hands are like hooks. You can’t even cut a simple cake properly.”
I enter the living room with a tray. His entire family is at the table – mom, dad, sister and her husband. They are smiling and chatting. Only his mother-in-law is looking at him with her usual squint.
– And here is our cook! – Andrey greets me with his signature grin. – I hope there are no surprises this time?
I set out the plates, trying not to meet anyone’s gaze. Andrey tries first. I hold my breath.
– Hmm… – he winces dramatically. – Do you seriously think you can eat this? Where have you seen cheesecake so dry?
“I’m sorry, I…” I begin, but he interrupts:
– Can’t you really remember a simple recipe? How many times do I have to repeat it – temperature 160 degrees, no higher! Any fool can handle it, but you…
The mother-in-law shakes her head:
– Andryusha, don’t be angry. Mashenka tried…
– That’s exactly what I tried! – He pushes the plate away irritably. – Everything is, as always, in one place. Sometimes I think – maybe I should have married someone who at least knows how to cook?
Everyone laughs awkwardly. And I stand there, clutching the tray with white fingers. Something inside me breaks, quietly but irrevocably.
“I’ll bring coffee,” I squeeze out and run to the kitchen.
My hands are shaking as I place the cups on the tray. My head is pulsing: “How much longer? How much longer do I have to endure this?”
In the evening, when the guests have left, I stand for a long time in front of the mirror in the bedroom. When did I become like this? A gray face, dull eyes, drooping shoulders. Where is that cheerful girl who once dreamed of great love?
Andrey’s voice can be heard from the living room – he’s calling someone:
– Yes, imagine, I screwed up with dessert again. I don’t know how to teach her anymore – I could bang my head against the wall…
I peer into my reflection. Something dark and heavy is growing in my chest. The ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly becomes deafening.
Enough. Never again.
That night I hardly slept. For the first time in ten years of marriage, my head was crystal clear. A plan had formed on its own – simple and scary at the same time.
Tomorrow I’ll show him what it’s like to be humiliated. And I don’t care about the consequences.
– Mashenka, my sunshine, are you crazy? – Andrey twitches in the bonds attached to the headboard. – Untie me immediately!
I look at him, so helpless, and a strange calm spreads inside me. My hands no longer tremble, my voice no longer breaks.
“You know, honey, I was thinking…” I slowly run my finger down his cheek. “Ten years is enough time to learn how to make the perfect cheesecake. But for some reason you still find something to complain about.”
“Masha, stop this circus!” He tries to speak with authority, but fear creeps into his voice. “Untie me immediately, or…”
– Or what? – I lean closer. – Will you tell everyone what a worthless wife I am? Oh, wait… you already do that. At every opportunity.
I get up and start walking around the room. The dawn is breaking outside, but the curtains are tightly drawn. The phones are turned off – no one will interrupt our special conversation.
– Do you remember our wedding? – I stop at the dressing table. – That was the first time you humiliated me in public. “The clumsy bride can’t even throw a bouquet properly!” Everyone laughed. And I smiled because I thought you were just joking.
“Masha, I…” he stops short under my gaze.
– Shut up. Now it’s my turn to talk, – I take the comb and run it through my hair. – You know what’s funniest? I really tried to become better. I took cooking lessons, read etiquette books, lost weight… But it was never enough for you.
Andrey fell silent. For the first time in all these years, he listens to me, really listens.
— Do you remember last year’s corporate party? When you told all your colleagues how useless I was? “Can you imagine, she can’t even turn on an iron properly – something always burns!”
I go to the window and slightly pull back the curtain. The city wakes up outside.
– Do you know that I was crying in the toilet then? No, of course you don’t. You were too busy telling stories about your worthless wife.
– Masha, I didn’t mean to… – his voice sounds muffled. – They were just jokes…
I turn around abruptly:
– Jokes?! And when you said in front of my parents that I can’t get pregnant because I’m “not even competent at that” – was that a joke too?
He turns pale. We both remember this moment all too well.
– Three miscarriages, Andrey. Three! And you… you turned my pain into a reason for another mockery.
I sit on the edge of the bed. I take out an album with our photos from the nightstand drawer.
– Look how happy I am here, – I show a photo from ten years ago. – My eyes are shining, my smile is sincere. And here is a photo from last New Year, – I turn the page. – Do you see the difference? You slowly killed everything alive in me, day after day, year after year.
Andrey twitches in his bonds:
– Look, I understand that I was wrong. Let’s talk calmly…
– Oh, now you want to talk? – I grin. – Where was this desire before? When I tried to explain how much your “jokes” hurt me?
I get up and go to the closet. I take out my suitcase and start methodically packing my things.
“What are you doing?” There is panic in his voice.
“What I should have done a long time ago,” I carefully fold my blouse. “I’m leaving.”
– You can’t! – He almost shouts. – What about me? What will people say?
“Now that, my dear, is not my problem,” I zip up my suitcase. “Let your mother teach you how to make the perfect cheesecake.”
I take out my phone and type a message to his sister: “Come to Andrey’s in a couple of hours. The key is under the mat.”
“You know I won’t let this go, right?” His voice trembles with rage. “I’ll tell everyone what a psychopath you are!”
I turn to him for the last time:
– Tell me. Just keep in mind that I have dozens of recordings of your “cute jokes”. And believe me, the public will be delighted with your sense of humor.
His face distorts:
— You… you wrote everything down?
– And you thought I was just enduring it? – I smile. – No, darling. I learned. Learned to be strong. And you know what? Thank you for this lesson.
I take the suitcase and go to the door. Behind me I hear his screams, pleas, threats. But inside there is absolute silence and peace.
In the hallway I stop at the mirror. I look into the eyes of that other Masha – determined, free. She smiles at me, and I smile back.
Goodbye, dear. Thank you for everything.
The lock clicks behind me, and I take the first step into a new life. An amazing feeling spreads inside me – as if a bird that has been sitting in a cage for years has finally spread its wings.
And in his pocket his phone is buzzing – a message from Andrey’s sister: “I’m on my way. What happened?”
I don’t answer. Let her see for herself. Let everyone see.
I get into a taxi:
— To the airport, please.
The driver nods and the car starts moving. In the rearview mirror I see the silhouette of the house where I spent ten years of my life melting away. Ten years of humiliation, pain and fear.
But that’s in the past. Ahead lies only freedom.
And you know what? I will definitely learn how to make the perfect cheesecake. But now – just for myself.
A week later, I’m sitting in a cozy cafe somewhere on the outskirts of Barcelona. In front of me is a cup of hot chocolate and a fresh copy of the local newspaper, in which I’m trying to make out the Spanish words.
The phone vibrates – another missed Internet messenger from my mother-in-law. I smile and turn off the sound. Over these days, I have probably received a hundred messages and calls. From his parents, from mutual friends, even from neighbors.
– Would you like more coffee? – the waiter brings the bill. And he doesn’t speak Spanish.
“No, gracias,” I answer with a smile, glad that I’ve at least learned these simple phrases.
I open my laptop. There’s a letter in the mail from Andrey’s sister, Katya:
“Masha, I understand your feelings, but what you did… Andrey is in a terrible state. He doesn’t even go to work. Maybe we should talk?”
I close the letter without a response. Instead, I open the document I started writing on the plane. “The Story of One Marriage” is a banal title, but what difference does it make?
“I learned to smile when it hurts. I learned to swallow my tears along with the next portion of humiliation. Every morning I woke up with the thought – maybe today will be different? Maybe today he will finally see me as a person, and not the eternally wrong, inept, unworthy wife…”
I write and write, not noticing how time flies. Words flow like a stream – everything that I have kept inside for years.
The phone comes to life again – this time a message from a friend:
“Turn on Channel One on the Internet! Your husband is giving an interview there!”
I quickly find the broadcast. And indeed, Andrey is in the studio of some talk show. Haggard, with circles under his eyes.
“I was blind,” his voice trembles. “Only when she left did I realize what a monster I was. Masha, if you’re watching this, forgive me. I realized everything. Let’s start over…”
I turn off the broadcast. I laugh bitterly – wow, what a talented actor. I wonder how much they paid for this show?
New message – from his mother:
“Mashenka, my daughter, he has really changed! I beg you, come back, give him a chance…”
And then from Andrey himself:
“I signed up for a psychologist. I’m changing. I swear, everything will be different…”
I shake my head. Too late, darling. Too late.
In the evening I walk along the embankment. The sea is noisy, the air smells of salt and freedom. I go into a small pastry shop where an elderly Spaniard, Jose, works. He already knows me – I come here every day to learn how to make desserts.
“Cheesecake lover,” he smiles.
I nod. Tomorrow we’ll start with cheesecake. How ironic.
I return to the apartment after dark. It is small but cozy – white walls, large windows, a view of the sea. The first place I chose myself.
I open my laptop – a new letter from the publisher:
“Dear Maria! Your story has interested us. We are ready to discuss publication…”
I smile. Who would have thought that my pain would turn into a book that could possibly help other women find the strength to start a new life.
A few months later, I walk into my bakery — yes, it’s mine now. Jose agreed to sell me the business after seeing my passion for baking. Luckily, I’ve been saving for years, I have enough savings. Every morning, I bake cheesecakes, croissants, tarts. And you know what? They’re perfect.
On the table by the window is a fresh issue of a Russian magazine. On the cover is a photo of Andrey with his new girlfriend and the headline: “A story of repentance: a famous businessman talks about his mistakes…”
I grin and throw the magazine away. This is no longer my story.
The phone rings – the number is unfamiliar.
— Maria? This is Elena from the help center. I read your book… Could you speak to our wards? Many women need your story.
“Of course,” I answer without hesitation. “When?”
In the evening I sit on the balcony, watching the sunset. Another cheesecake is baking in the oven – this time with lavender and blueberries. My special recipe.
The phone beeps – the last message from Andrey:
“I still love you…”
I don’t answer. Instead, I open my email and write:
“Dear Elena! Yes, I am ready to share my story. Because every woman deserves to be happy. Every woman deserves respect. And every woman should know: it is never too late to start over…”
There’s freedom in the air. And you know what? It’s sweeter than any dessert.
I cover my shoulders with a blanket and watch the sun slowly sink into the sea. Who would have thought that I, always so correct and cautious, would suddenly decide to take a crazy step. I dropped everything and went to a foreign country. Do you know what’s most surprising? For the first time in many years, I don’t think about what Andrey would say. I don’t imagine his contemptuous grin, I don’t hear caustic comments. For once, I don’t care whether I live right or not.
I would love to stay in my country, but I’m still afraid of him.
I take a sip of coffee and smile at my thoughts. It’s funny how it works – having lost my usual life, I seem to have found my true self. That girl who once dreamed of opening her own pastry shop. Who loved to fool around and wasn’t afraid to seem funny.
