Vika was pulling a hot baking tray from the oven when her husband’s voice echoed from the living room:
«Mom, Aunt Lyuba and Oleg with his wife are coming tonight. You don’t mind, do you?»
Frozen in place, Vika held the heated tray tightly. Her hands were wrapped in oven mitts, her apron dusted with flour, and her hair had escaped her ponytail. The day had started early at six: cleaning, laundry, a trip to the store, and now preparing the dough. This was already the third family «gathering» this month. She wiped her hands on the apron and forced a smile, responding, «Of course not.»
Sergey didn’t even glance at her, absorbed by his phone.
«Great. I knew you’d be okay with it. They’ll arrive around six,» he said.
Although unseen, Vika nodded before returning to the stove, where a pot of potatoes simmered for mashed potatoes. Her mind cycled through resentful thoughts: «Again. Them again. I’ll be on my feet, while they sit, eat, and joke.» Yet, she pushed those feelings away. “This is family,” she repeated like a mantra. Family – that was her motivation.
She chopped vegetables, put meat in the oven, and wiped down the table. The house smelled of cleanliness and food, but Vika barely noticed. Her thoughts were fixed on finishing before six, so she could tidy up and freshen herself. A glance in the mirror caught tired eyes and pale skin. Her recovery from illness hadn’t restored her former weight, which frustrated her—yet there was no spare time for self-care.
By five, the table was set: salads, hot dishes, and pie. Vika changed into a simple dress and arranged her hair in a bun. Looking at her reflection, she thought, “This will have to do.”
The guests arrived promptly at six. The door swung open, and Vika’s mother-in-law Nina Petrovna, Aunt Lyuba, Oleg, and his wife Katya flooded in. From the threshold, the comments began:
«Vika, haven’t you changed yet?» Nina Petrovna eyed her dress. «We arrived on time, and you’re not ready.»
«I’ve already changed,» Vika replied with a strained smile, feeling a pang inside. She took their coats to hang in the wardrobe.
«Oh, it smells like potatoes!» Aunt Lyuba entered the kitchen without washing her hands. «You should have made it more filling; everything here is so… dietetic.»
Loud and boisterous, Oleg laughed:
«Come on, Vika, feed us properly! Katya only subsists on water and leaves at home.»
Katya giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear.
«Don’t exaggerate,» she said. «But Vika, I see you’ve gained a little weight lately. Maybe it’s normal, though.»
Vika felt her cheeks flush hot. She wanted to reply but Sergey, now on the sofa, waved dismissively:
«Enough joking. Vika, don’t mind them.»
She nodded and retreated to the kitchen. Her chest tightened. She had heard those remarks—about her figure, the potatoes, the dress—dozens of times before. Every visit, every celebration. And she always stayed silent, smiling, cooking, and cleaning. Because that’s what was expected. Because it was family.
Conversations at the table continued in their usual fashion. Nina Petrovna gossiped about a neighbor who «still wasn’t married, can you believe it?» Aunt Lyuba complained about soaring store prices. Oleg bragged about his new car.
Vika ran back and forth between the kitchen and table—serving salad, clearing plates, topping up the compote. Not once did anyone offer to help or say thank you.
«Vika, isn’t the meat too dry?» Nina Petrovna questioned, cutting a piece. «It was juicier last time.»
«It’s fine,» Sergey mumbled between bites. «You tried, didn’t you, Vika?»
She nodded silently, keeping her gaze down. Inside, a storm brewed, but her smile persisted.
Her mind wandered to the first visit from her mother-in-law after the wedding. At 25, in love with Sergey, she had wanted to prove she could be a good wife. Nina Petrovna had come for the weekend, and Vika prepared Olivier salad and cake. “A good daughter-in-law must be a good homemaker,” her mother-in-law had stated sternly while watching her efforts. Vika believed her. She thought that if she worked hard, acceptance and respect would follow.
Yet, that respect never arrived. At her father-in-law’s birthday, she washed dishes for three hours while guests sang karaoke. At her nephew’s army farewell, she ran with trays while others danced. New Year’s Eve was the same. She was always on her feet while they reclined at the table, and every time she hoped, “Maybe next time. They’ll appreciate me then.”
But that “next time” never came. Instead, they cracked jokes—at her cooking, her looks, her inability to relax. Sergey always laughed along. “They don’t mean harm,” he rationalized. And she remained silent, wanting to be the good wife. Afraid that complaint would label her as difficult or quarrelsome.
The evening dragged on. Vika was still in the kitchen—cutting pie, washing glasses, tidying leftovers. Laughter and the clink of forks rang from the table. No one invited her to sit. No one noticed she hadn’t eaten.
Suddenly, Aunt Lyuba, sipping compote, declared loudly:
«Vika, you’re so domestic, it’s like you have no education – you’re only fit for the kitchen!»
Oleg laughed uproariously while Katya giggled. Vika froze, knife in hand. Something inside shattered. Her eyes locked on Aunt Lyuba’s smirk, her gleaming earrings, her assured stare. Then, shockingly, Vika realized: this was not a joke. It wasn’t harmless. It was their true belief. They always thought this way.
Sergey, sitting at the table, looked up:
«Vik, don’t listen to her. Lyuba’s just… joking.»
Setting the knife down, her hands trembling yet voice steady, Vika knew outbursts would only invite mockery.
Placing the pie plate on the table, the room fell silent as all eyes turned to her. Standing tall, Vika faced Aunt Lyuba directly.
«I am not your servant,» she declared firmly, «and I will no longer keep silent.»
Quiet filled the room. Oleg coughed. Katya stared at her plate. Nina Petrovna squinted but said nothing. Vika continued, addressing everyone in turn:
«You come here as if this is a restaurant. You eat, drink, then mock me. You never ask how I’m doing, whether I’m tired, or if I want to do any of this. Enough. This celebration is without me.»
She turned silently and walked to the bedroom, closing the door softly, without a slam. There was no need to shout; she had said all that was necessary.
After a minute, Sergey found her, standing nervously at the door with a glass in hand.
«Vik, what’s wrong?» he asked. «They’re just guests. They didn’t mean to hurt you.»
«Didn’t mean?» she looked up from the bed. «Then what did they intend? To mock me? To show how worthless I am?»
«Come on, you’re overreacting,» Sergey sat beside her. «Mom’s jokes are always like that. You know it.»
«I do,» Vika replied. «And I’m tired of tolerating it. You laugh along with them. But I’m not decoration. I’m a person.»
Sergey fell silent, staring at her as if seeing her anew.
Finally, he said, «I’ll talk to them. I promise.»
Vika shook her head.
«Don’t bother. Just don’t invite them anymore if you can’t protect me.»
Two days later, Vika was sitting in the living room reading a book when Sergey arrived carrying a tray with coffee, toast, and some cheese. He placed it before her and sat opposite, asking softly:
«Are you really not going to cook for them anymore?»
Looking at him calmly, without anger, she answered,
«No. I’m fed up with these gatherings.»
Sergey nodded, silent and serious.
- «I’ll speak with Mom and Aunt Lyuba. I never noticed how much this was hurting you,» he promised.
Taking a sip of coffee, Vika didn’t feel triumphant or victorious, just relieved, as if a heavy burden had finally been lifted from her shoulders.
A week later, Nina Petrovna called. Vika overheard Sergey’s voice from another room:
«Mom, you were wrong. Vika is not obligated to serve you. I won’t let her feel like a servant in her own home anymore.»
Sitting on the couch flipping through a magazine, Vika felt warmth inside for the first time in a long time. She had been heard.
Aunt Lyuba didn’t call again. Oleg and Katya ceased their visits. When Nina Petrovna returned a month later, alone, she brought a store-bought cake and said:
«Vika, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m used to speaking like that; I thought everyone was fine with it.»
Vika nodded.
«I understand. But I won’t be silent anymore.»
Her mother-in-law looked at her long and then smiled for the first time without any hidden meaning.
«Alright. I will watch my words,» she promised.
This wasn’t a perfect ending, nor filled with grand apologies or tearful reconciliations—but it was a beginning. Vika knew she would no longer be invisible, and that was what mattered most.
