Kira stood at the doorway, her arms weighed down by heavy shopping bags. Her hands trembled slightly, her face a mix of shock and restrained irritation. Meanwhile, Valerij paced the living room, glancing at the clock, his steps restless, his tension palpable.

— Valera… you said the guests were coming on Saturday — Kira spoke quietly, her voice calm yet uncertain, as she carefully set the bags down.

— Saturday?! — Valerij shouted, his eyes flashing with anger. — It’s Friday! In two hours, Spartak and Ewdokiya will be here, my parents and your friend Vlada! Did you forget completely?!

Kira pulled out her phone to check the date. Friday. Yet the calendar held no reminder of tonight.

— Valerij, you didn’t say anything about this… I just got home from work, I had a presentation, I was exhausted…

— You didn’t tell me?! — he bellowed, his voice shaking the air. — You’re always in the clouds! All you think about is your work!

— First of all, my work isn’t “nothing.” And secondly… I really didn’t know. I would have noticed! — Kira felt tears welling up, her heart racing.

Valerij clutched his head in frustration:

— God, Kira! How can you be so IRRESPONSIBLE?!

His words cut through her like cold knives. Her mother-in-law had canceled her trip, Spartak and Ewdokiya had traveled from afar, and at home… not even a salad was ready.

— Okay… don’t panic — Kira tried to stay calm, though her voice trembled. — I’ll make something immediately… There’s meat and vegetables in the bags…

— “Something”? — Valerij stepped closer, almost pushing her into the kitchen. — My mother expects a full dinner! Appetizers, hot dishes, dessert! And you’re just offering “something”?

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Valerij went pale, his face losing all color.

— They’re here! — he shouted. — This is YOUR fault! Open the door and explain why nothing’s ready!

Kira took a deep breath and walked to the door. There stood Milolika—Valerij’s mother, perfect and arrogant, her hair blowing as if straight from a commercial, next to her calm, gentle husband, Swiatogor.

— Kiruška — Milolika’s icy voice cut through the air, her eyes measuring Kira. — We thought everything was ready. Valera said dinner would be at seven.

— Good evening… — Kira muttered, trying to smile. — There was a small problem, but I’ll fix everything immediately…

— Problem? — Milolika stepped inside dramatically, sniffing the air. — I don’t even smell any food. Valerij, my son, what’s going on?!

Valerij ran from the living room, trying to escape responsibility, his pleading eyes on his mother:

— Mom… I’m sorry… Kira FORGOT dinner. I reminded her… but apparently, her work is more important than the family.

— I see — Milolika shook her head with disgust. — Swiatogor, I told you, this girl isn’t right for my son. She can’t even manage a simple dinner.

Kira gritted her teeth, her heart torn between anger and hurt. This was supposed to be her life, her everyday routine, and now she was being judged for it.

— I feed your son every day — she said quietly, though inside she burned with rage — and I work no less than you!

— Oh, that “work” — Milolika scoffed. — Sitting at a computer, drawing pictures. That’s work? Valerij does real work!

The doorbell rang again—Spartak and Ewdokiya had arrived, and the tension skyrocketed. Valerij immediately tried to explain, piling more blame onto Kira.

When Vlada arrived with a cake, Kira felt tears sting her eyes. The constant judgment, the attacks on her work, her very being… it all hit her at once.

A few hours later, as the guests finally sat down and sushi and pizza were spread on the table, Kira felt something inside her snap — anger, resolve, self-respect.

When Valerij began to criticize again, something inside Kira broke:

— You know what, Valerij? Bring him. I’M LEAVING — she said quietly but firmly, her voice carrying unshakable strength.

Her words struck like lightning. She was no longer the girl who tolerated everything in silence. This was the moment she reclaimed herself.

The next morning, when Valerij woke up alone, with a headache and an empty apartment, he realized he had lost far more than his wife. Kira had found freedom—the freedom to finally breathe without constant judgment and anger pressing down on her.

A month later, stepping out of the courthouse with divorce papers in hand, Kira felt a calm she hadn’t known in years. Her life was finally hers.

Freedom had become the most precious meal she had ever prepared for herself.