Anna stood at the stove, stirring chicken fillet in a creamy sauce in the frying pan. Behind her, voices could be heard—her husband Viktor was greeting the guests in the hallway. Tonight his colleagues and their wives were coming over for dinner, and she had already been cooking for three hours straight.
“If only we could get through tonight without his stupid little jokes,” she thought, tasting the sauce. It had turned out excellent—delicate, fragrant, exactly the way all their guests liked it.
“Come in, come into the living room!” her husband’s voice rang out. “Anna is just finishing dinner. She’s quite the cook, though sometimes she overdoes it with the salt.”
Anna froze with the spoon in her hand.
“Again! God, why does he do this every single time?”
Four people entered the living room—Sergey with his wife Olga, and Dmitry with his wife Svetlana. Anna knew them only superficially; they had met a couple of times at company parties.
“How are you, Anna?” Olga peeked into the kitchen. “Something smells incredibly appetizing!”
“Thank you,” Anna forced a smile, casting a brief glance at her husband. “It’ll be ready soon.”
“Anna is making chicken in her special sauce,” Viktor joined in, pouring wine. “Though last time it came out a bit greasy, but hopefully she’s fixed that today.”
Anna clenched her teeth so hard her jaw began to ache.
“Greasy”? Last time everyone had asked for the recipe and seconds!
“Vitya, don’t pick on your wife,” Sergey laughed. “Our Olga can’t cook at all—we just order ready-made food.”
“But I have plenty of other talents,” Olga replied coquettishly, and everyone laughed.
Anna turned off the stove and began arranging the food on plates. Her hands were shaking with anger.
“Why does he do this every time? I asked him not to joke about my cooking in front of people!”
“Dinner is ready,” she announced, forcing herself to smile.
Everyone sat down at the table. Anna watched as the guests tasted her chicken. Their faces made it clear that the dish was a great success.
“Anna, this is fantastic!” Svetlana exclaimed. “Such an exquisite sauce! Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“Well, it’s not difficult,” Anna felt the tension ease a little. “The main thing is not to overcook the meat…”
“Yes, Anna likes experimenting with recipes,” Viktor interrupted with a smirk. “Sometimes it even turns out edible.”
An awkward silence fell. The guests exchanged confused glances, not knowing how to react to such a “joke” from a husband about his wife.
“Vitya, what are you saying?” Olga looked at him reproachfully. “It’s amazingly delicious!”
“I didn’t mean anything bad,” Viktor spread his hands with exaggerated innocence. “I’m just being honest. Anna knows I value honesty in the family.”
Anna looked at her husband, feeling rage boil inside her.
“He values honesty?” Then let him honestly admit that he can’t even boil dumplings himself!
“Do you cook yourself, Viktor?” Svetlana suddenly asked coldly.
“Me? No, of course not,” he waved his hand carelessly. “I have serious work. At home I want to rest. The kitchen is women’s territory.”
“I see,” Svetlana nodded, but icy notes appeared in her voice. “A very convenient position.”
The rest of the dinner passed in a tense atmosphere. Anna barely took part in the conversation, answering questions mechanically. One thought kept pounding in her head:
“How dare he treat me like this in front of people? I told him directly—not to do this!”
After the guests left, Anna noisily loaded the plates into the dishwasher. Viktor settled on the sofa with a beer and unceremoniously turned the football on at full volume.
“The evening went pretty well,” he said without taking his eyes off the screen. “Sergey praised your chicken.”
Anna slammed the dishwasher door so sharply that the dishes clinked.
“Yes, he did. Despite your constant digs.”
“What digs?” Viktor lazily glanced at his wife. “I didn’t say anything like that.”
“Seriously?” Anna turned to him, crossing her arms over her chest. “‘She overdoes it with the salt,’ ‘last time it came out greasy,’ ‘sometimes it even turns out edible’—those aren’t digs?”
“Anya, those are just ordinary jokes,” he shrugged, continuing to watch TV. “You take everything too personally.”
“Jokes? In front of guests? At my expense?” Anna’s voice trembled with indignation. “Vitya, I told you not to do that!”
“What’s wrong with honestly evaluating your cooking?” he finally tore himself away from the screen, looking at his wife with irritation. “You’re not a restaurant chef. You can make mistakes.”
Anna stared at her husband, unable to believe her ears. Fourteen years of marriage, and he still did not understand how much his “jokes” hurt her.
“Can you cook better than me?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” he grimaced. “We have a clear division of responsibilities—I earn money, you run the household.”
“Then don’t criticize what you can’t do yourself,” Anna said sharply. “Especially in front of outsiders.”
“Anna, why are you freaking out?” he got up from the sofa, shaking his head in irritation. “You’re throwing a tantrum over a few words?”
“A tantrum?” she threw up her hands. “Vitya, you constantly humiliate me in front of people! Every time guests come over, you always blurt out something dismissive about my cooking!”
“Oh, come on!” he waved his hand irritably. “You’re exaggerating everything! I don’t do it out of malice!”
“Then why do you do it? For laughs? To look witty?”
Viktor fell silent, clearly searching for words.
“It’s just… men talk like that. They tease each other, joke around. It’s normal.”
“But you’re not joking about a friend. You’re joking about me. Your wife.”
“God, Anna, why are you acting like a child?” he rubbed his face with his hands. “So what, I joked a little. You know I actually value your cooking.”
“How am I supposed to know that if, in front of people, you say the complete opposite?”
Silence hung in the room. Viktor paced around the living room, clearly not understanding what she wanted from him.
“Fine,” he finally muttered. “Next time I’ll try to be more tactful. Will that do?”
Anna looked at him for a long moment.
“I’ll try to be more tactful?” He still did not understand what the problem was.
“Vitya,” she said slowly. “One more time you so much as hint in front of someone that I cook badly, and you’ll cook for yourself. Forever.”
“What nonsense,” he snorted. “Destroying a family over such trifles?”
“They are not trifles to me,” Anna said firmly. “It’s disrespect. And I don’t intend to tolerate it anymore.”
Three months passed. Viktor behaved more cautiously, but Anna felt that he considered her complaints exaggerated.
“He just won’t joke in front of me,” she thought. “And as soon as the right opportunity appears, he’ll blurt something out again.”
On Saturday, they went to visit Anna’s best friend, Marina. A small group had gathered to celebrate her husband Igor’s birthday. Besides them, there were two other couples—mutual friends.
Anna brought her signature Napoleon cake—a cake that was always a huge success. She had spent four hours at the stove, rolling out dough and making the cream. As always, it turned out perfect—delicate, airy, melting in the mouth.
“Anechka, you’re a magician!” Marina admired as she cut the cake. “It’s so beautiful! And it smells divine!”
“Yes, it looks professional,” Igor agreed. “Anna, you have golden hands.”
Everyone tasted the cake and began praising it. Anna blossomed from the compliments, feeling proud of her work.
“Anna really does bake wonderfully,” Viktor said, putting another piece into his mouth. “Though this time the cream turned out a bit runny, but overall it’s not bad.”
Dead silence.
Everyone looked at Viktor in bewilderment. The cream had the perfect consistency—everyone could see that.
“Vitya,” Anna called quietly, feeling her face flush with shame. “The cream is fine.”
“Well, maybe it just seemed that way to me,” he shrugged. “Though compared to last time, it’s definitely runnier.”
Marina suddenly set her fork down sharply on the plate.
“Viktor, do you even understand what you’re saying?” her voice rang with outrage. “How can you humiliate your own wife like that?”
“What’s wrong?” he looked at his wife’s friend in confusion. “I’m not scolding her, I’m just being honest…”
“Honest?!” Marina rose from the table, her eyes flashing with fury. “Anna spent four hours at the stove and made a masterpiece, and you find something to pick at! In front of people! That’s just vile!”
“Marina, don’t,” Anna tried to intervene, but her friend would not listen.
“No, let him hear it!” Marina pointed a finger at Viktor. “You do this every time! Anna told me! She cooks like a goddess, and you criticize her in front of everyone! What kind of behavior is that?”
“I have the right to express my opinion,” Viktor muttered, red as a lobster.
“What opinion?!” Marina would not calm down. “Can you even cook anything yourself? Besides sausage sandwiches?”
The other guests were silent, staring down at their plates. The atmosphere had become unbearably awkward.
“You know what,” Anna stood up, maintaining outward calm. “It’s time for us to go. Thank you for the evening, Marina.”
“Anya, don’t leave because of this…” Marina began, but Anna shook her head.
“No, really, it’s time. Vitya, get ready.”
They drove home in grave silence. Viktor gripped the steering wheel with whitened knuckles, while Anna stared out the window, mentally replaying what had happened.
At home, Anna silently went into the bedroom and began changing clothes. Viktor hovered in the doorway, clearly expecting a scandal.
“Anya, what a mess that turned into,” he finally dared to say. “Marina went completely wild. Over such nonsense…”
Anna slowly turned to her husband.
“Over nonsense?”
“Well, yes. I really did notice that the cream was a little runny…”
“Viktor,” Anna interrupted him. “The cream had the perfect consistency. You know that perfectly well.”
“Maybe it seemed that way to me…”
“Nothing seemed that way to you,” she stepped closer. “You simply can’t stop yourself from making your stupid little jokes. Even when I directly asked you not to.”
Viktor looked away.
“It just slipped out somehow… I didn’t mean to.”
“Slipped out?” Anna gave a bitter smile. “For fourteen years it’s been ‘slipping out’? At every convenient opportunity?”
“Anna, enough with the drama! So what, I said something wrong! You know I value your cooking!”
“No,” she said calmly. “I don’t know. Because in front of people, you constantly say the opposite.”
Viktor walked around the bedroom, nervously tugging at the collar of his shirt.
“Fine, fine. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. You saw what an unpleasant situation it caused.”
“The unpleasant situation isn’t that Marina told you the truth,” Anna opened the wardrobe and took out her nightgown. “The unpleasant situation is that you have been humiliating your wife in front of people for fourteen years.”
“I am not humiliating you!” he raised his voice. “I just make comments sometimes! That’s normal in a family!”
“It’s not normal in front of guests,” Anna cut him off. “And you understand that perfectly well.”
“Fine, fine. I understand. I won’t do it again. I promise.”
Anna looked at her husband for a long moment. In his eyes, she did not see remorse—only irritation that he had been “caught.”
“Too late,” she said quietly.
“What do you mean, too late?”
“Too late to promise. I warned you three months ago. I said it clearly—one more time you blurt something out in front of people, and you cook for yourself.”
Viktor blinked in confusion.
“Are you serious? Over one phrase?”
“Over fourteen years of the same phrases,” Anna began removing her jewelry. “Starting tomorrow, you cook for yourself. I’m tired of being the object of your jokes.”
“Anna, that’s stupid! Destroying the family routine over some nonsense!”
“Not destroying. Changing,” she replied calmly. “You consider my cooking ‘nonsense,’ so you can live without it.”
“I don’t consider it nonsense! I’m telling you, I value it!”
“You say that to me. In front of people, you say something else.”
Viktor was silent for a moment, thinking over the situation.
“So what, forever? You won’t cook at all?”
“I will,” Anna nodded. “For myself. And you can manage on your own.”
“But I don’t know how to cook anything complicated!”
“Then you shouldn’t have criticized someone who does,” she got into bed, turning her back to him. “Good night.”
In the morning, Anna got up, made breakfast for herself, and calmly ate while reading the news on her phone. Viktor appeared in the kitchen disheveled, hoping to find ready-made coffee and sandwiches.
“What about breakfast?” he asked in confusion, looking at the empty stove.
“There’s bread on the shelf, butter and sausage in the fridge,” Anna replied without looking up from the screen. “Coffee is in the cupboard.”
“Anna, stop this foolishness,” he approached his wife. “Let’s forget yesterday. I apologized.”
“I’m not being foolish,” she stood up and rinsed her cup. “I said you cook for yourself. And this will last a long time.”
“How long is long?”
“We’ll see,” Anna left the kitchen, leaving her husband alone with an unfamiliar task.
Viktor tried to make fried eggs, but overcooked them until they were like rubber. The coffee turned out either too strong or too weak. The sandwiches fell apart in his hands.
“Nothing, I’ll get used to it,” he thought, chewing the burnt eggs. “Anna will cool down and everything will go back to normal.”
But Anna did not cool down. One week, then a second, then a third—she cooked only for herself. Viktor ate ready-made meals, ordered delivery, and sometimes went to cafés. They began spending three times as much money on food.
“Anna, this is stupid,” he tried to negotiate once again. “You spend the same amount of time cooking for one person. Why not just cook for two?”
“Because you don’t value my work,” she replied calmly, stirring fragrant vegetables in a frying pan.
“I do value it! How many times do I have to say it?”
“You don’t value it in front of people. That means you don’t value it at all.”
Viktor watched his wife prepare herself an exquisite dinner while he took another pizza out of the freezer. The smell of her dishes drove him crazy, and the taste of frozen food seemed more and more disgusting.
Two months later, Viktor’s parents came to visit. Anna made duck with apples for herself—his mother’s favorite dish. The aroma throughout the apartment was intoxicating.
“Annochka, what is that wonderful smell?” her mother-in-law exclaimed. “Are you making duck?”
“Yes, but only for myself,” Anna replied calmly. “Vitya eats separately.”
His parents exchanged bewildered glances.
“What do you mean, separately?” his father-in-law did not understand.
“Just that. I cook for myself, he cooks for himself,” Anna continued setting the table only for herself.
Viktor appeared in the kitchen with a bag of dumplings.
“Mom, Dad, sit down. I’ll quickly boil some dumplings,” he said cheerfully, but his parents looked at their son as if he had lost his mind.
“Vitya, what is going on?” his mother turned to him. “Why is Anna refusing to cook for the family?”
“Oh, just temporary disagreements,” Viktor mumbled uncertainly. “Everything will settle down soon.”
“It won’t settle down,” Anna intervened, elegantly slicing the duck. “For fourteen years, Vitya criticized my cooking in front of people. Now let him cook for himself.”
“Son, what nonsense is this?” his mother looked at Viktor reproachfully. “Why criticize Anna? She cooks wonderfully!”
“I didn’t really criticize her,” he blushed. “I just joked sometimes…”
“You joked in front of guests,” Anna clarified. “Every time, you found something to pick at.”
His father shook his head.
“Vitya, how could you? Your wife tries hard, and you shame her in front of people?”
“I didn’t shame her…”
“You did,” Anna cut him off. “And now deal with the consequences.”
His parents tried to persuade their daughter-in-law, but she was unshakable. They left upset, and Viktor spent the whole evening gloomily sitting over a plate of overboiled dumplings.
Another month and a half passed. Viktor lost weight, became gaunt, and grew irritable. Constantly eating frozen meals and café food affected his health and mood. And most importantly—his wallet.
“Anna, how much longer can this go on?” he pleaded one evening, watching his wife enjoy a fragrant roast. “I understood my mistake! I’ll never joke about your cooking again!”
“Too late,” she replied calmly. “I’ve gotten used to cooking only for myself. It’s calmer this way.”
“But this isn’t normal! We’re a family!”
“In a family, people respect each other,” Anna looked at her husband. “And you didn’t respect me for fourteen years.”
“I did respect you! I just expressed it badly!”
“You only expressed it badly in front of outsiders,” she noted. “With me, you always praised my cooking. That means you knew it was good. But in front of people, you wanted to be witty at my expense.”
Viktor was silent, realizing there was nothing to object to.
“So what now? Are we going to live like this?”
“We are,” Anna nodded. “You wanted to be witty in front of guests—you got what you wanted. Now you can joke as much as you like over your dumplings.”
She got up from the table, leaving her husband alone with his thoughts. Viktor looked at the half-eaten fried eggs and thought that some jokes cost far too much.
But it was too late. Words could not be taken back, and he had lost his wife’s trust forever.
“I brought it on myself,” he thought bitterly, throwing yet another burnt meal into the trash can.
And that was the most honest thought he had had in all those months.