Where Are You?! My Parents Are Here and There’s No Dinner! Get Home Immediately! – Roared My Husband Down the Phone Svetlana slipped on her shoes only by the lift, having walked barefoot across the cold tiles. Decency could wait—her feet mattered more. As she reached the bus stop, her phone buzzed. “Sveta!” Andrej barked so loudly she pulled the phone away. “Where on earth are you?” “Just finished work, Andy.” “Don’t care about your work! We’ve got guests! My parents arrived! The table is empty!” Svetlana closed her eyes. He hadn’t said a word yesterday. Nothing at all. “When did they get here?” “Two hours ago! They’re waiting for dinner! Mum’s already hinting I made a bad match!” “Andrej, maybe…” “What maybe? You don’t get it? Family matters more than your patients!” Just a dial tone. He’d hung up. Svetlana sat on the bench, thinking. The bus would arrive in twenty minutes. At home: strangers she had to feed, a shouting husband. And herself, stuck in between as always. “What can I cook fast?” Ideas spun: pasta, sausages, canned salad. The simplest, the quickest. “Or…I could just not go.” The thought came unbidden. Terrifying. What if she simply…didn’t go? No, of course she would. Where else? At home, voices from the lounge greeted her. Andrej told some joke, his parents laughed. “Oh! Svetlana’s home!” her father-in-law announced. “At last!” She entered. Her mother-in-law—plump, bright scarf—gave her a critical once-over. “Oh, dear, you look so thin! Don’t they feed you at work?” “Hello,” Svetlana managed. “Sorry I’m late.” “Oh, don’t worry!” waved her mother-in-law. “We understand. But now you’re home! Andy says you make fantastic pies!” Svetlana glanced at her husband. He sat in his chair, grinning like a proud owner showing off a trained pet. “Sveta,” he said sweetly, “set the table. People are hungry.” “Of course.” And she headed to the kitchen. To cook dinner for people she’d only met a handful of times. By nine, Svetlana placed the last dish on the table—potatoes with meat. Her mother-in-law’s favourite, or was it her father-in-law’s? She couldn’t remember. “Oh, Sveta!” her mother-in-law clapped. “We thought we’d starve!” “Sorry,” Svetlana muttered. “Took longer than I thought.” “Oh, never mind! The food’s what matters.” Andrej poured vodka. “Well, here’s to family! And to this reunion!” Svetlana perched on the edge of her chair. She wanted just one thing—to lie down and not move until morning. “Sveta, could we have some bread please?” asked her mother-in-law between mouthfuls. Svetlana got up, fetched bread. “And the pickled cucumbers!” shouted her father-in-law. “Saw some in the fridge!” “And mustard!” Andrej added. She scurried back and forth, bringing whatever was asked. No one said “thank you.” They expected it—a wife serves. Conversations drifted: work, children, prices. No one asked Svetlana anything. She was just the staff. “Remember, Andy,” chuckled his mum, “the cottage holidays as kids? Grandma’s pies were legendary!” “Yes, those were good times,” he agreed. “By the way,” her mother-in-law looked at Svetlana, “Andy’s lucky—good housewives are rare now.” Svetlana forced a smile. Inside, something shrivelled. That’s all they thought of her. At one, the guests left. More hugs and farewells. “Thanks for dinner!” her mother-in-law shouted. “Delicious! Especially the coffee—real Brazilian!” Door closed. Andrej stretched. “That was nice. Haven’t seen them in ages.” Svetlana quietly started clearing dishes. So many plates, glasses, salad bowls. “Andrej,” she asked softly, “can you help?” “What?” He was undressing. “Oh, the dishes. You’ll manage. I’ve got an early start.” “So do I.” “Sveta, don’t start,” he frowned. “My job’s important. And really, you find washing up hard?” She stood in the kitchen with a greasy pan in hand. Tears slid down her cheeks. “Wash the dishes.” Twelve hours at the hospital, saving lives. Then three hours cooking. Now scrubbing until two in the morning. “Wash the dishes.” In the morning, Andrej left without saying goodbye. Svetlana drifted to work, sleepwalking. “You okay, Svetlana?” asked her colleague, Marina. “You look tired.” “I’m fine. Had guests last night.” “Ah,” Marina nodded sympathetically. “Know all about those family get-togethers.” All day, Svetlana worked on autopilot. Injections, rounds, procedures. “Sveta,” Dr. Petrov called, “are you going to the conference? They’re discussing new treatments tomorrow.” “Not sure. Got things at home.” “Shame, really. Looks good. And it’s nice to get out of the routine sometimes.” That evening, Andrej was talkative. “Mum rang. Said thanks for yesterday. Reckons you’re a brilliant cook.” “Uh-huh.” “And she said I’m lucky to have you,” he announced proudly. “Andrej,” Svetlana said suddenly, “there’s a conference at the medical centre tomorrow. Can I go?” “What conference?” “New treatment techniques.” “So who’s making dinner?” “You can, just this once.” “Sveta, stop being silly. What conferences? Isn’t your work enough? There’s plenty to do at home.” “But it’s my field!” “What else is left to learn?” Andrej scoffed. “You’ve been giving injections for twenty years. Enough with the conferences.” Svetlana fell silent. She got up and cleared the table. “Enough with the conferences.” Once she’d dreamed of being a doctor. Got into med school. Then met Andrej, fell in love, married. “Why be a doctor?” he said then. “Nurse is good enough. Gives you time at home, too.” She’d listened. Marina went to the conference the next day. Came back inspired. “Sveta, did you hear the local clinic does free yoga for medical staff? Evenings!” “Yoga?” “Yep! They say it helps with stress. Fancy it?” Svetlana looked at the bright flyer. “Yoga for your soul. Find your balance.” “Not sure…” “Oh, come on!” Marina hooked her arm. “Just try it. We’ve got nothing to lose!” So Svetlana went. Just because she was tired of always explaining why she couldn’t, didn’t, didn’t have time. Fifteen people in the room. Women unrolling mats. The instructor—soft-spoken, gentle—asked everyone to lie down, close their eyes. “Feel your body. Hear your breath.” For the first time in years, Svetlana felt her body. Her aching shoulders, stiff neck, clenched jaw. And—for the first time in years—her mind was quiet. “Did you enjoy it?” Marina asked after. “Yes. Very much.” “We’ll go again Thursday?” “I’ll come.” At home, Andrej was irritated. “Where have you been? I’ve waited half an hour for dinner!” “I was at yoga.” “Yoga?” he scoffed. “At your age? Sveta, are you mad?” Two weeks went by. She kept going, claiming overtime. Every Thursday, she felt alive. Then came that phone call. Svetlana was balancing—tree pose—when her phone rang. “Don’t answer,” said the instructor. “This is your time.” But voicemail clicked on. “Where are you?! My parents turned up unannounced and dinner’s not ready! Get home now!” her husband bellowed. Everyone looked round. Svetlana was bright red. “You can call back later,” the instructor said quietly. Svetlana saw five missed calls. And suddenly—something snapped. “No,” she said. “I won’t.” She switched off her phone. “Let’s continue,” the instructor encouraged. She walked home slowly, braced for a fight. “Where have you been?!” Andrej fumed. “My parents left without eating! Humiliation!” “I was at yoga.” “At yoga?! Why didn’t you answer your phone?!” “Yoga is my time. And I turned it off on purpose.” “What?!” he yelled. “When I call, a wife is supposed to answer!” “Supposed to,” Svetlana nodded. “A wife. Not a servant.” “What are you on about?” “If you get guests—make something yourself. Or order food.” “I don’t know how to cook!” “I didn’t know how to give injections, once. I learned. You can learn too.” “Sveta, are you crazy?” “On the contrary,” she smiled. “I’ve finally come to my senses.” Andrej stared, confused. This calm woman was nothing like his subservient Sveta. “Do you not love me anymore?” he asked. “I do,” she replied honestly. “But now, I love myself too.” A month later, Svetlana applied for holiday leave. “Sveta,” Andrej said at breakfast, “are you sure? Work’s frantic for me, you could stay home.” “I’ve already booked it.” “Booked what? Where?” “A hotel. Ten days by the English seaside.” “Alone?!” “Alone.” “But that’s not right! Wives don’t do that!” “They do,” smiled Svetlana. “I checked.” At the hotel, for the first time in thirty years, she woke without an alarm. The sea murmured outside. Her phone lay switched off on the bedside table. At breakfast—buffet style—she picked up a croissant with jam. The sort she never bought at home. At the next table, a woman her age read a book. “Is it good?” Svetlana asked. “Fantastic!” the woman smiled. “About a lady who, at forty-five, decides to change her life.” “And does she?” “Still reading. But I think—yes.” After breakfast, Svetlana walked to the beach. Sat in a deckchair, closed her eyes. “What if I just didn’t go back?” The thought was scary. Also tempting. Of course she’d go—her job, her flat, her life. But now she knew: she could choose not to, if she wanted. She returned home sun-kissed, with a new haircut. “Well, well!” Andrej greeted. “I missed you!” He hugged her. She didn’t push him away, but didn’t melt into him either. “How are you?” she asked. “Okay, though I lost a little weight. Been living on sandwiches.” “Didn’t try making soup?” “How was I supposed to do that?!” “The same way I learned thirty years ago. By following a recipe.” She went to the kitchen. Sink piled with dirty dishes. Table littered with takeaway cartons. “Andrej,” she said calmly, “I’m back to work tomorrow. And yoga every Thursday.” “But—” “No buts. That’s my time.” Andrej watched, realising—something fundamental had changed. This woman would no longer jump at the first summons. “What about dinner?” he asked uncertainly. “We’ll cook together. Or take turns. Like grown-ups.” She poured herself tea and looked at her husband. “Well then? Ready to learn? Or stick with takeout?” Andrej sighed. “Guess I’d better learn.” “Great,” Svetlana nodded. “Let’s start with the classic—chicken casserole. And later—who knows.” Who knows what else might change in her new life? In this life, where she’d finally found the strength to say: “I have the right to be happy, too.” And you know what? It turned out she really does.