Irina stood by the window, watching gusts of wind carry leaves across the yard.
In less than an hour, her home would no longer be her own.
Every Sunday, her husband Viktor’s relatives descended like clockwork, turning their quiet apartment into a bustling thoroughfare.
For thirty years, Irina had been married to Viktor. And for thirty years, he never once found his glasses, socks, or keys without her help.
Just as he never seemed to realize how exhausting these Sunday gatherings were for her.
The doorbell rang earlier than usual. Irina sighed.
As always, Olga, Viktor’s younger sister, stepped inside unannounced, her teenage daughters trailing behind.
She dropped her coat on the kitchen bench without so much as a greeting.
Her daughters dashed to the living room, where the television was soon blaring.
Irina clenched her jaw. Ever since she’d retired, her mother-in-law had declared it Irina’s duty to host weekly family dinners. And with that came constant jabs about her housekeeping.
The doorbell rang again.
Tamara Pavlovna, Viktor’s mother, marched in with her usual oversized bag of containers and an air of authority.
“Irina, have you cleaned the stove?
You always forget — it should shine after cooking!”
Irina’s hands trembled slightly. The stove was spotless. She scrubbed it nightly.
But explaining that never helped.
A crash from the living room made her flinch. One of the girls had broken something.
Her vase — the one her late mother had given her. Irina shut her eyes.
A knot formed in her throat. She swallowed it down.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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