“Am I your maid who just happens to have her own apartment too? You haven’t even proposed to me!” Katya finally put an end to it.
— And the coffee still isn’t ready? — Denis snapped irritably, tapping his fingers against the empty mug. — A normal woman gets up earlier for her man, you know.
Katya stood sleepily in the kitchen at six in the morning, trying to force her eyes open after a late shift. Fried eggs hissed on the stove, while yesterday’s dishes were piled high in the sink—the dishes he had promised to wash the night before. Denis, already dressed for work in a fresh shirt with his hair neatly styled, looked like a customer dissatisfied with the service.
The noise of the hospital corridor was still echoing in Katya’s head, and dark circles beneath her eyes betrayed a sleepless night. Without saying a word, she removed the frying pan from the stove, walked over to the table, and placed empty dishes in front of him—no eggs, no coffee, no bread.
— What’s this? — he frowned.
— It’s the menu for people who confuse a wife with a maid, — Katya said quietly. — You haven’t even proposed to me, and you’ve already decided you’re entitled to free service?
Denis said nothing that morning. He merely snorted and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Katya remained in the kitchen, staring through the window.
How had she ended up playing this role in the first place?
They had met in winter at a café near her workplace. He had approached her carrying two cups of coffee and wearing a smile that made her want to believe in everything good.
— You look like someone who urgently needs a second cappuccino, — he had said. — My treat.
During the first few months, Denis seemed perfect. He met her after work, held an umbrella over her when it rained, and sent short “Good morning, sunshine” messages every morning. He knew how to listen, nod at the right moments, and hold doors open for her. Katya, exhausted by previous relationships with indifferent men, fell for him quickly.
At first, he stayed overnight “by accident.”
Then he stayed for the weekend.
Then one shelf in her wardrobe became his, his razor appeared in the bathroom, and a second pair of sneakers appeared in the hallway.
— Why should I keep paying rent for another apartment if I’m living with you anyway? — he shrugged. — It makes sense.
And to Katya, it really did seem reasonable. She enjoyed cooking dinners for two, buying beautiful dishes, and waiting in the evenings for the sound of the lock clicking.
Denis even praised her in front of his friends.
— Guys, look at this—she’s the perfect homemaker. She cooks, cleans, and still works her ass off at her job.
His friends clicked their tongues enviously, and Katya blushed with pleasure.
But about four months later, she suddenly realized that she was paying all the utility bills herself.
She was buying all the groceries herself.
She paid for the laundry detergent, shampoo, and even the gas whenever she drove Denis around in her own car.
Denis, meanwhile, spent money only on himself: new sneakers, a gym membership, Friday nights at the bar with his friends.
Every time Katya cautiously brought up expenses, he gave her the same answer.
— Come on, you understand. I’m saving for the future. For our future.
And once again, she fell silent.
That “future” never seemed to arrive, while the present became heavier and heavier.
Eventually Denis stopped even pretending that he intended to contribute around the apartment. His socks lay scattered beside the sofa. Mugs containing dried tea were abandoned on the windowsill. Sandwich crumbs covered the table.
In the evenings, he would silently walk past Katya carrying a bag of chips, collapse onto the sofa, and turn on his game console or scroll through his phone.
— Denis, are you going to wash the dishes? — Katya would ask.
— Yeah, later, — he replied without looking away from the screen.
“Later” meant “never.”
Katya came home exhausted from work and immediately started cooking, cleaning, or doing laundry.
Instead of gratitude, she heard:
— Pasta again? What am I, a student?
— Why isn’t my shirt ironed? I need it for the office tomorrow.
— You could get up a little earlier and make a proper breakfast.
She swallowed every remark without answering.
She kept making excuses for him: he was tired, his job was difficult, everyone had bad days.
The final blow came one evening when Denis invited his friends over.
Katya was cutting salad in the kitchen and could not help overhearing their conversation in the living room.
— Dan, you really hit the jackpot, — one of them laughed loudly. — You’ve got an apartment and a woman who does everything.
— What did I tell you? — Denis replied smugly. — I got lucky. Katya takes care of everything herself. I don’t even notice household chores. I live like I’m at a resort.
They all laughed.
Loudly.
Approvingly.
Katya froze with the knife in her hand.
Juice slowly ran out of the tomato and spread across the cutting board.
Inside her, it felt as though cold water were slowly sinking from her throat all the way down to her stomach.
“I don’t even notice.”
So he didn’t notice her.
Her exhaustion.
Her sleepless nights.
Her salary disappearing into the refrigerator they both used.
For the first time, she understood clearly: to him, she was not a beloved woman.
She was a maid who also happened to provide the apartment.
After that evening, something inside Katya began slowly breaking.
She still cooked.
She still did laundry.
But there was no feeling left in it. She moved automatically, as though she were working another shift.
Then, a week later, that particular day came.
Katya returned home late after working two consecutive shifts. Her legs ached, her back was stiff, and her mind was foggy with exhaustion.
Even before she reached the entrance to the building, she could hear shouting and laughter.
“Goal!”
She went upstairs and immediately realized Denis had invited his friends over again to watch football.
Other people’s jackets were scattered around the hallway.
The kitchen was filled with dirty plates, empty bottles, and an open refrigerator that was almost completely empty.
When Denis heard the lock click, he did not even come out to greet her.
He simply shouted from the living room:
— Oh, Katya, you’re home? Listen, can you make dinner? The guys are hungry.
Katya stood in the hallway for a moment without even taking off her coat.
Then she silently took out her phone and ordered pizza—using the last money remaining on her card before payday.
— It’ll be here in forty minutes, — she said dryly before walking into the bedroom.
She lay in the darkness without changing her clothes, listening to explosions of laughter through the wall.
When the guests finally began leaving, Denis stepped outside to see the last friend off.
He left the apartment door open behind him.
And Katya heard his voice—quiet, confidential, man-to-man.
— Listen, I’ll tell you something. You have to train a woman to understand her responsibilities right from the beginning. Otherwise, later she’ll climb onto your neck and you’ll never get her off.
— Look at you, philosopher, — his friend chuckled.
— Life taught me.
Katya lay there staring at the ceiling.
And something inside her finally snapped, slowly and completely—like an old thread that had been carrying too much weight for far too long.
She understood.
He was simply comfortable living at her expense.
The morning began exactly as Katya expected.
Denis walked out of the bedroom stretching, entered the kitchen, and stopped to look around.
No smell of coffee.
No frying pan sizzling.
No bread on the table.
Only Katya, sitting with a glass of water and looking out the window.
— What about breakfast? — he frowned. — I’m running late.
— There’s nothing on the stove, — she replied calmly.
— What do you mean? — he blinked in confusion. — Did you oversleep?
— No. I just didn’t cook anything.
Denis snorted, opened the refrigerator, then slammed the door shut.
— This is ridiculous. A normal woman gets up before her man and takes care of him. Is it really that difficult to fry a couple of eggs?
Katya silently stood up, opened a cabinet, took out his dirty mug covered in dried stains, and placed it in front of him.
Beside it, she set down the empty frying pan.
— Am I your maid who just happens to have her own apartment too? You haven’t even proposed to me, — she said evenly, — and you’ve already decided you’re entitled to free service?
— Ha! Are you kidding? — he tried to smile. — You think this is funny?
— I think it’s honest.
— All women cook for their men! That’s normal! It’s comfort, care, family!
Katya looked at him.
And for the first time, she did not see the man she loved.
She saw a stranger—a loud, demanding man standing in her kitchen.
By evening, Denis understood that breakfast had not been an accident.
There was no dinner either.
Katya calmly ate by herself and went into the room with a book.
That was when he exploded.
— What the hell are you doing?! — he stormed into the room, waving his arms. — I worked all day, and you couldn’t even make some soup!
— I worked all day too, — Katya replied without looking up.
— So what?! Have you suddenly become stingy? How much do I owe you for my dinner? Are you going to calculate it?
— Denis, maybe you should calculate something instead. Calculate how much I’ve paid for you over the past year.
— All normal couples live like this! It’s called sharing a household! It’s called family!
— When exactly did we become a family? — Katya finally looked up at him. — Where are our shared plans? Where are the conversations about the future? You kept saying you were saving—saving for what? For whom? Have you ever once said “we”?
He opened his mouth.
But nothing came out.
Katya stood, walked past him into the hallway, took his sports bag down from the upper storage shelf, and calmly began packing his belongings.
T-shirts.
Razor.
Phone charger.
Sneakers.
Denis stood in the doorway.
At first he shouted.
Then he cursed.
Then he fell silent.
When the bag was finally sitting beside the front door, he grabbed it, yanked the door open, and turned back toward her.
— You’ll regret this when you end up alone.
— I’ve been alone for a long time already, — Katya said quietly. — The only difference is that now I’ll be alone without you.
The door slammed shut.
And for the first time in many months, what Katya felt was not fear.
It was silence.
And relief.
The first few days felt strangely quiet.
Katya kept catching herself listening for the click of the lock or the hum of the game console.
But the apartment remained peacefully, beautifully silent.
There were no socks scattered across the floor.
No sticky mugs abandoned on the windowsill.
And somehow, the food in the refrigerator lasted twice as long.
On her day off, Katya went shopping and bought the delicate porcelain cups with gold rims that Denis had once dismissed as “girly nonsense.”
— They’re beautiful, — the saleswoman told her.
— They really are, — Katya smiled. — I’ve wanted them for a long time.
That evening, she ordered her favorite pasta, made tea in one of her new cups, opened a book, and for the first time in a very long while, she was not rushing anywhere.
Then she understood something simple.
Love is not when one person serves another.
Love is when someone values you.
Not when they use you as a convenient domestic bonus.