“You know,” Marina interrupted the festive symphony of conversations, making the guests freeze with forks mid-air, “our Lyoshka is such a little homemaker!”
Yesterday he mopped the floors, then scrubbed the dishes for two hours. Just the perfect little housewife!
Alexei tensed inside, but his face remained fixed in a smile — unnatural, like a mask.
He already had an idea of what was coming. It was inevitable.
“Maybe not now?” he asked quietly, but Marina seemed not to hear him.
“And his salary!” Her voice rang sharper, her cheeks flushed with an unhealthy blush.
“It’s just laughable! Head of a department, earning less than a cleaning lady!”
A heavy silence hung over the table.
Olga Petrovna, Alexei’s mother, whose name day they were celebrating in the gazebo at the country house, turned pale.
Raindrops drummed on the roof as if foretelling a storm.
“Enough,” Alexei stood up. “Mom, forgive us, please. Marina needs to rest.”
“Don’t boss me around!” she snapped, but he was already wrapping his arm around her shoulders, gently lifting her from the chair.
“Excuse us,” he said to the guests. “We’ll be right back.”
A few steps from the gazebo, Marina suddenly went limp, as if all her strength had drained away.
Now they walked side by side — he tense and composed, she unsteady, as if on autopilot.
“You did it again,” Alexei said, not looking at his wife.
“What exactly?” Her voice carried a strange, almost triumphant anticipation.
“You know very well. You humiliate me in public. You bait me.”
They entered the house. The old floorboards creaked underfoot.
Alexei flicked the switch — a dim light lit up the hallway.
On the wall hung their wedding photo: two lovers, happy.
Now the image felt like a part of a distant, almost foreign life.
“So what are you going to do now?” Marina suddenly turned to him, her eyes feverishly shining. “Will you stay silent again? Endure? Or finally grow a spine?”
Alexei wearily ran his hand down his face.
“I’m not discussing this. You’re drunk. Tomorrow you’ll regret everything you said.”
“I won’t!” she nearly screamed. “Because it’s the truth! You’re a coward, Lyosha. Always were. Always will be. Even now, you can’t just put me in my place!”
She pushed him in the chest — not hard, but enough to make him step back.
“That’s enough, Marina.”
“Or what?” she pushed him again. “What are you going to do to me? Hit me? Go on! I know you’ve been wanting to for a long time!”
Her look, her smile — it was all painfully familiar.
A wave of déjà vu washed over Alexei: it kept repeating, celebration after celebration, year after year.
The first time it happened was at a work party three years ago.
Back then, Marina was still cheerful and open, but at some point, she began making snide comments about her husband’s behavior.
At first, everyone took it as a joke — just a wife teasing her husband, nothing unusual.
But her words grew sharper, her voice louder.
By the end of the evening, she’d driven Alexei to the brink with remarks about his career, appearance, even their sex life.
At home, he lost it. He didn’t hit her — no.
He just grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her, and yelled everything he’d been holding in.
And for the first time, he noticed something in her eyes — not fear, but… satisfaction? Relief?
From that night on, everything began to change.
Her mockery became regular — as did his responses at home.
A slap. A shove. A fist slamming the wall beside her head.
The boundaries kept shifting.
Then came that night after her father’s birthday, when she called him impotent in front of the entire family.
At home, Alexei snapped — he hit her. Hard.
She fell, hitting the coffee table, cutting her eyebrow.
Blood, tears, horror at what he had done…
And her whisper: “Finally. Now you’re a real man.”
That’s when he first realized — this wasn’t just domestic conflict.
This was something else. Sick and dangerous.
But they never went to a therapist — Marina refused, and he was too ashamed to tell anyone he’d raised a hand to his wife.
“I’m not doing it,” Alexei said firmly, looking her in the eye. “Not today. Not with you. Not ever again.”
Marina let out a short, hysterical laugh.
“Sure! We both know how this ends. You’ll hit me, then apologize, and then we’ll have that magical make-up night. Like always.”
“No,” Alexei shook his head. “I’m done playing this… whatever it is.”
She stepped in close.
“Coward.”
“I’m not a coward,” he said calmly. “In fact, this might be the first time I’m truly showing courage.”
“Courage?” she scoffed. “What kind of courage?”
“The courage to say no. The courage to admit that we’re sick, Marina. Both of us.
Me — because I hit you.
And you — because it’s like you pushed me to it.”
Her face twisted.
“Nonsense! I never—”
“Enough,” he gently interrupted. “I get it now. Not right away, but I do.
You provoke me — so I snap, hit you.
Then I feel guilty, try to make it up to you. And you use it. You gain control.”
Marina turned pale. Her hands trembled.
“You’re insane! You’re the abuser!”
“Yes, I hit you,” Alexei nodded. “And it’s vile. But tonight it ends.”
He walked into the living room and sank into a chair.
The old springs creaked under his weight.
“I’ve thought about this a lot,” he said, looking out the window where rain still poured.
“I couldn’t figure out why you constantly humiliate me in front of others.
Why after each scene, it’s like you want me to lose control.
And why after I explode, you seem almost happy.”
Marina stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself.
“What nonsense are you talking about?”
“I’ve been reading a lot,” Alexei continued, as if not hearing her.
“About toxic relationships. Codependency.
People who grew up in homes where violence was the norm.”
He looked at his wife.
“Your father hit your mother. She endured it.
He’d apologize, bring gifts, and it would all repeat.
Was that your idea of love?”
Marina tensed sharply.
“Shut up! Don’t you dare talk about my parents!”
“That’s why you created the same thing with me,” he said calmly.
“Because for you, a ‘real man’ is one who rules through fear.
Who hits, then begs forgiveness.”
Alexei gave a bitter smile.
“But strength isn’t cruelty. And love isn’t pain.
But you chose differently.”
Silence filled the room.
Only the rain tapping against the windowsill and the ticking of the old wall clock could be heard.
“You don’t understand anything,” Marina whispered. “Not a thing.”
“Maybe not,” Alexei agreed. “But I know one thing for sure: this can’t go on.
I won’t let you humiliate me in public anymore.
And I will never hit you again — not today, not ever.”
He stood.
“We have two options: either we go to therapy together and work through this nightmare… or we part ways.”
Marina laughed again, but this time there was a crack in her voice.
“So you’re leaving me? Because I supposedly made you hit me? Brilliant! Blaming the victim — how typical of you!”
“There are no victims and no villains here,” he said quietly.
“Only two people hurting each other. And I want to stop.”
He gently touched her shoulder.
“I love you, Marina. Truly. But I can’t live in this circle of pain anymore.”
She flinched.
Something flickered in her eyes — fear, pain, realization…
But within seconds, her defiant mask was back.
“Love me? You’re not even a real man! A real man—”
“Hits women?” he cut her off. “If that’s your standard — fine. Then I’d rather not be ‘real.’”
He stepped back.
“No more provocations. No more shouting. No more pain.
Because I finally understand what we’re doing to each other.
And I want it to stop.”
Marina suddenly slumped, as if all her strength left her.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
They stood in silence for several minutes.
“We should go back,” Alexei finally said. “The guests are waiting.”
Marina nodded and silently headed for the door.
They stepped out onto the porch.
The rain had stopped, and the air smelled of wet grass.
“It’s going to be okay,” Alexei said, though he didn’t quite believe it himself.
Marina didn’t respond.
Silently, they walked back to the gazebo.
At the table, the guests pretended nothing had happened.
Only Olga Petrovna gave them a worried glance.
“So, lovebirds, all made up?” Uncle Valera chuckled as they sat.
Marina suddenly straightened and looked around at everyone.
“You know what’s the deal with my husband?” her voice rang out.
“He’s just not a man.
A real man knows how to put his woman in her place, and he…”
Alexei quietly stood up from the table.
He didn’t look at his wife — he didn’t need to.
Everything was clear now.
He walked out of the gazebo and headed toward the gate.
Behind him came the guests’ confused muttering, someone called his name, but he didn’t turn back.
Sometimes the only way to stay human is to leave.
Even if some think that’s weakness.
