“Why didn’t you put on your wig?” her husband asked, his voice laced with disgust — and his mother instantly echoed him in agreement.

“You’re really going to show up at the parent meeting like this?”

Sasha curled his lips in a grimace. “What’s wrong?” Vika adjusted her headscarf.

“Other parents will stare. Masha’s already self-conscious about your…” He waved vaguely. “Appearance.” “My appearance?”

Vika’s voice wavered. “You mean the fact that I survived cancer?” “You could at least wear a wig,” he muttered.

Vika glanced in the mirror: a thin face, high cheekbones, big, alert eyes. Femininity hadn’t left her. But what did he see?

“We’ve talked about this. The wig irritates my scalp. It hurts,” she said softly. “Then don’t go. Say you’re sick.”

“But it matters—for me and for Masha.” “Fine, go. Just don’t be upset if people… react.” At the table, the family chimed in.

Mother-in-law Nina Petrovna suggested a wig. Lena mentioned Sasha’s discomfort in public. “Everyone will be staring?”

Vika gripped her mug. “And what exactly are they seeing that’s so terrible?” “A man wants to be proud of his wife, not have to explain her appearance,” Sasha said.

“Explain? For surviving?” Vika’s voice rose. Masha lifted her eyes, and Vika realized her daughter sensed everything.

“Vika, don’t raise your voice in front of the child,” her mother-in-law cautioned. “Mom!” Vika snapped. “Maybe a compromise—pretty scarves or hats…”

Nina Petrovna whispered. “Like old Mrs. Zina,” Sasha scoffed. Vika stormed to the balcony. Her sister Olya followed. The August evening was soft; life moved quietly below.

“Vik, don’t listen to them. You’re beautiful,” Olya whispered. “I’m tired. It’s like I went bald just to spite them,” Vika said bitterly. Olya hugged her.

Warm, rare contact. “Remember your hair? Down to your waist, thick, everyone envied it,” she said. “I remember. Sasha said he fell in love with my hair.

Turns out, only with that,” Vika replied. Memories surged: twenty-year-old Vika with a cascade of chestnut hair, Sasha unable to pass without touching it.

Now he turned away when she removed her scarf. The door swung open abruptly. “Finished the drama?” Sasha slurred, swaying. “Olya, go home.”

“Sash, you’ve been drinking,” Olya tried to calm him. “I run my house! Maybe if my wife looked like a woman…” he faltered.

“Finish your sentence!” Vika spun around. “Like a sick woman! Everyone sees that!” The words hung in the air. Masha looked up.

“Mom, why is Daddy yelling?” “Daddy’s tired, sweetie,” Nina Petrovna soothed, patting her granddaughter. “Go to your room.” “Status?”

Vika sat on the couch. “I thought family, love, support mattered to a man.” “Don’t be naive,” Lena said. “Sasha always valued your beauty. What’s left to show now?”

“A strong woman who survived surgery and chemo!” Vika shouted. “Stop playing the heroine!” Sasha collapsed into a chair.

“Everyone gets sick, but not everyone goes around bald frightening people.” “Sasha!” Nina Petrovna scolded. “She didn’t even wear a wig in summer.

A waitress almost dropped a plate when her scarf slipped!” “So what?” Vika snapped. “You said you feared losing the woman you fell in love with.”

“You’re different now!” Sasha slammed his fist. “Bald. That’s all. I’m still the same inside.” “No!” Sasha shouted. “Broken. Always crying!”

“I cried a month after the operation! And you? Removed all mirrors so you wouldn’t see yourself!” “So you wouldn’t get upset!”

“Lies! So you wouldn’t see yourself!” “Enough!” Mother-in-law stood. “Vika, Sasha is right in one thing: you could have tried the wig.”

“I did! It hurts, my scalp can’t breathe!” Vika snapped. She had tried an expensive natural-hair wig. It itched, pressed, and in the mirror, she looked like someone else.

“Others manage!” Lena said. “I am me,” Vika replied. The family meeting turned into a tribunal: mother-in-law, sister-in-law, Vika’s mother, and Sasha with his glass of brandy.

Everyone advised her to wear a wig, “pull herself together.” “Enough!” Olya stood. “You’re tormenting someone for being sick?”

“Family business!” Sasha barked. “Family supports, it doesn’t humiliate!” Olya continued. “What about the children?” Lena said.

“Masha gets teased for having a bald mom!” Vika stood sharply. “What? Why didn’t I know?” “Did you ask?” Sasha snapped.

“You only think of yourself!” “I thought of Masha, smiled at her, cooked while I was sick,” Vika approached him.

“Others manage!” Sasha barked. “My mother, for example, cared for my paralyzed father for ten years.”

“I’m not asking for peace! I’m asking for support!” “I support! Buy scarves, take you to doctors!” Sasha said. “You’re ashamed of me!”

“What’s there to be proud of?” he spat. Vika ripped off her scarf. Her head, scarred, shone in the light. “Here I am! A survivor!”

“Put your scarf on, Masha can come in,” her mother-in-law muttered. “She will see her mother, not a monster,” Vika said.

“A monster throwing tantrums!” Sasha snapped. “I’m leaving. I’ll take Masha,” Vika walked toward the door. “Where?” Sasha blocked her.

“With my daughter. The court will decide,” Vika said. “You think the court will leave the child with a sick mother?” Sasha scoffed.

“I’ve been in remission for six months!” Vika shot back. “Always on meds,” he yelled. His words hung like a slap in the air.

“You turned away from me in bed for the first time. Disgusting to touch.” Masha stepped out holding a drawing: her mother in a pretty scarf, smiling.

“Beautiful, sweetheart,” Vika knelt. “Let’s go visit Grandma Galya for a few days.” Sasha stayed home with his brandy.

“She’ll come back, what else can she do?” he muttered. “You’re all monsters here,” Olya said.

“Vika will recover. You’ll just stay a petty selfish man.” Two years later.  Vika brushed out her regrown hair, Masha chattered about school.

“Hello?” a voice called. “Vika? It’s Lena. Sasha wants you back.” “Tell him: I’m happy. Work, friends, my daughter, hair grown back.

But I’m not coming back. Ever.” Vika hugged her daughter.  “Let’s go, sweetie. Uncle Igor promised the circus.”

“He said you’ve always been beautiful, even without hair.”

Vika smiled. Six months earlier, Igor had entered her life — a colleague who saw a strong woman, not a victim.

He didn’t pity her or try to “save” her, he simply loved calmly and reliably.

A knock at the door — Igor, with flowers and circus tickets. Masha ran to him; he lifted her and twirled, laughter spilling.

“How are my beauties?” he kissed Vika on the cheek. “Perfect,” she smiled, watching her daughter show her drawing.

Meanwhile, Sasha sat alone in the empty apartment, flipping through old photos:

Vika with long hair, laughing, hugging. Then he hadn’t appreciated happiness; now he realized what he lost forever.

He poured a glass of brandy and drank it in one gulp. Marina, his girlfriend after the divorce, had left a month ago.

Olya was right — he was alone with his ego. Vika, however, had blossomed anew.

Outside, the city lights sparkled. Somewhere out there, Vika and Masha laughed at the circus with a man who truly loved them, while he stared at fading photographs.