— Sorry about my cow! She’s overeating again!
Arseniy’s voice, usually soft and confident, this time sounded like a sharp blow—short, sharp, and sweeping. A ringing silence instantly fell over the festive table.
Anna froze, fork in hand. The slice of ham froze halfway to her plate. Fragile, almost translucent, she felt dozens of gazes burning through her. Her cheeks flushed, her breathing became labored, and her heart began to pound somewhere in her throat, as if it refused to stay inside.
Maxim, Arseniy’s best friend, choked on his champagne. Veronica, his wife, looked at the floor, her gaze flickering between her glass and her plate. No one dared say a word. The air thickened with awkwardness.
“Arseniy, what are you doing?” Maxim finally broke the silence.
“What? Can’t we tell the truth now?” Arseniy leaned back in his chair with a lazy gesture and grinned. “My little fool has overeaten again. It’s embarrassing to show her face in public!”
Anna blushed. It wasn’t embarrassment—humiliation, sharp as a burn. Tears welled up, but she swallowed them back, as she had done hundreds of times before. Tears only pleased a tyrant—she knew that.
“Come on, Arseniy,” Sergey intervened. “Your Anechka is a beauty.”
“A beauty?” he chuckled. “Look in the morning, without all that stuff on your face! I wake up and shudder: who’s that lying next to me?”
Someone chuckled nervously. Someone looked down.
Anna stood up. Slowly, without looking at anyone.
“I… go to the restroom,” she whispered and left.
“She’s offended,” Arseny drew, pouring himself some wine with feigned indifference. “It’s business as usual. He’ll be back in a moment.”
Maxim sat silently. Before him stood a man he had known for fifteen years—and whom he now didn’t recognize.
Arseniy used to be the life of the party—generous, witty, charming. When he married Anna, everyone was jealous: she was beautiful, kind, and sincere. But over time, his jokes stopped being jokes. First, “my little fool,” then “the idiot,” then “the fat cow.” And all in public.
Veronica quietly nudged her husband with her elbow.
“Max, do something.”
He stood up.
Anna stood at the sink, covering like a wounded bird. Black mascara streaks, trembling hands.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll just wash up and be back.”
“Anya,” he said quietly, “why do you put up with this?”
“Where should I go?” Her voice was thick with fatigue, older than she was. “I have nothing. Everything is his—the apartment, the things, even the clothes. A teacher’s salary barely covers food. My parents are in the village, they… won’t understand. I’m their pride. How can I tell them I’m living in hell?”
She looked away.
– At first, he was different. Flowers, compliments, gifts. And then—it was like someone turned off the lights. First, he said the borscht wasn’t right. Then—that I looked like a country bumpkin. Then—that I was stupid. Now… he just enjoys it when I suffer.
A loud laugh came from the living room.
“She’s a log in my bed!” Arseny thundered.
Anna winced as if she had been slapped.
“That’s it.” Maxim’s voice became firm. “Let’s go.”
– He won’t let go…
— It’s not him who will decide.
They came back in. Arseniy was drunk, his eyes were shining.
“We’re leaving,” Maxim said calmly.
“Why is that?” Arseniy frowned. “Anna, sit down!”
Anna took a step, but Maxim held her by the elbow.
– Let’s go.
— Are you crazy? This is my wife!
– A wife is not a thing, Arseniy.
– Anna, I said – get back to your place!
The chandelier rang in the room. Everyone froze. Anna looked up. There was no fear in her eyes. Only weariness and determination.
– I’m leaving.
— What? Where to? You don’t have anything!
— I have me. And that’s enough.
He took a step towards her, but she retreated.
– You know, Arseniy, there in the village, the cows treat people with more respect than you do.
She buttoned her coat. Each button was a step towards freedom.
“Don’t do anything stupid! I’ll improve!” he almost shouted.
– No. You won’t change. This is not a mistake. This is you.
The door slammed.
She didn’t come back. Not after a day, not after a month.
He wrote, called, humiliated himself.
She remained silent.
And only moved on.
I rented a room on the outskirts, taught my children, and learned to breathe again.
I learned not to flinch when someone spoke loudly. I learned to look in the mirror and not see other people’s words reflected back at me.
“I’m living again,” she told Maxim a year later. “I’m just living.”
And Arseniy was left. Alone.
With empty glasses, with his polished “jokes” that no one found funny.
He never fully understood what he’d lost.
Because his “cow” turned out to be stronger than he could have imagined.
His “fool” was smarter than he ever was.
And while he was looking for a new victim, she simply learned to be happy.
