Every Day After Work, She Had to Cook Dinner for Her Husband’s Entire Family
“Isn’t there anything else?” Oleg grimaced when a plate of buckwheat porridge and two sausages was placed in front of him. “I don’t eat buckwheat. You know that, brother.”
“And what exactly would you like me to cook for you?” Inna’s voice became dangerously calm.
“Well… I’d prefer meat, of course. But chicken would do too.”
Inna had just come home from work, carrying a bag of groceries, and immediately went into the kitchen. The day had been exhausting—clients had been constantly pestering her, her boss had spent the whole day picking on tiny details, and, to make matters worse, the air conditioner had apparently decided it was nothing more than a decorative object.
All she wanted was to collapse onto the sofa, close her eyes, and disappear into silence.
But no.
She changed her clothes, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and turned on the stove. Potatoes with chicken, salad, soup for tomorrow—everything according to schedule.
There always had to be a freshly cooked dinner in the house. Somehow, that unspoken rule had quietly turned into an obligation.
And Lesha?
He had come home earlier, but he hadn’t stayed long. As usual, he had gone to help his brother.
Oleg had recently become a permanent fixture in their lives. He had bought an apartment in the neighboring building and was renovating it himself. His wife and children were temporarily staying with her parents, and Lesha had practically moved into Oleg’s place.
One day he was helping hold a nail, the next he was carrying a wardrobe up to the seventh floor, then laying tiles so Oleg could save money on hiring a professional.
“He’s my brother!” Lesha would say before disappearing for the entire evening.
Meanwhile, the household chores apparently completed themselves.
When dinner was ready, Inna called Lesha.
“Everything’s ready. Come eat while it’s still hot. And it’s already getting late…”
“We’re coming,” he replied briefly.
The word “we” immediately made Inna suspicious.
Fifteen minutes later, footsteps and voices sounded in the hallway.
Lesha had indeed returned—but he wasn’t alone.
Oleg stood behind him, wearing construction trousers and a dusty T-shirt with a fresh smear of plaster across it.
“Oh, that smells amazing!” Oleg exclaimed as he walked straight into the kitchen and sat down at the table. “It’s like I could sense I’d make it here in time for dinner!”
Inna froze with the ladle in her hand.
Lesha was smiling as though nothing unusual had happened and was already pulling plates out of the cupboard.
“Well, why are you just standing there? Serve us something.”
Inna looked at her husband, but he pretended not to understand the expression on her face.
This was already the third or fourth time Oleg had supposedly “dropped by,” only to end up staying for dinner.
Inna sighed heavily, bit her lip, and began spooning potatoes and chicken onto the plates. Without even the hint of a smile, she silently placed the food in front of the two men.
Oleg settled comfortably at the table, loudly inhaled the aroma of the food, and then, already chewing, mumbled:
“Listen, Inn, don’t you have any soup? I haven’t eaten anything all day. Just had coffee this morning, and that was it.”
“What am I to you, a cafeteria? Would you like some compote too?” flashed through her mind.
But aloud she merely said flatly:
“There is. I’ll get you some.”
She walked over to the stove, pulled the pot closer, poured soup into a deep bowl, and placed it in front of Oleg.
He didn’t even thank her.
He simply started eating, as though this was exactly how things were supposed to be.
After dinner, the men pushed their empty plates toward the edge of the table, and Lesha stretched lazily.
“Ohhh, that hit the spot… Inn, you’re an amazing cook, as always.”
Meanwhile, Oleg stood up, stretched his whole body until his back cracked, and headed toward the living room.
He approached the sofa and was about to drop onto it in his filthy construction clothes when a loud, almost piercing voice rang out behind him.
“Nooo!”
Oleg flinched and turned around.
Inna was standing in the kitchen doorway with her arms pressed against her chest, staring at him as though he were an unexploded bomb.
“Don’t you dare sit on the sofa in those clothes! It’s brand-new, by the way.”
Oleg raised his eyebrows and glanced at Lesha as if asking, What’s wrong with her?
But Lesha merely shrugged and went back to looking at his phone.
Inna wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out of the kitchen.
Her voice was calm, but icy.
“If you’re hungry, I’ll feed you. But unlimited hospitality is not my specialty, sorry. This is a home, not a relaxation area at a construction site. Oleg, you have your own apartment. Please relax there. Or at least clean yourself up before making yourself comfortable on our sofa. And Lesha, you may be the man of the house, but I am not the maid.”
With those words, she walked away and locked herself in the bathroom.
Behind the closed door, the sound of running water could be heard.
Oleg remained standing in the middle of the room, scratching the back of his head, while Lesha frowned.
“What made her so angry?” he asked his brother.
After that evening, Oleg stopped coming over.
Not the next day.
Not two days later.
Not even on Sunday—which in itself was surprising.
Inna was quietly pleased.
Inside, she felt a mixture of relief and mild anxiety.
What if he’s just waiting for things to cool down?
A week passed.
Inna had almost begun to believe that her words had worked and that Oleg had finally realized he shouldn’t treat someone else’s home like a cafeteria.
But on Friday evening, just after she had kicked off her shoes and placed a pot of buckwheat on the stove, a key turned in the lock.
Lesha came in, sneezed loudly, then turned around and called toward the hallway:
“Come in! Why are you just standing there?”
Inna froze.
Oleg appeared first, wearing a surprisingly clean T-shirt and a satisfied expression.
Behind him came his wife, Lenka, with her hair pinned high and a confident look on her face.
Then came their two boys—one carrying a backpack, the other holding a plastic sword, with chocolate smeared around his mouth.
“Hi, Inn!” Lenka said cheerfully. “Hope we’re not too early? Oleg is finishing up with the last few boxes, so we thought we’d drop by. After all, we’re neighbors now!”
Inna silently nodded, slowly turned toward the stove, and switched off the burner.
The buckwheat boiled over and hissed, much like her own irritation.
She wiped her hands on a towel and turned around.
“You’ll have to excuse me, but I’ve only just come home from work.”
“Oh, come on, we’re only staying for a minute!” Lenka fussed, seating the children at the kitchen table. “Grishka, don’t touch the knife! Anton, get your hands out of the salad! Lesha, why are you standing there? Give the boys some spoons.”
“Inn, maybe I could run out and get pizza?” Lesha suddenly suggested, sensing the growing tension.
“No need. I’ll boil some sausages. Take the pastries from the top shelf,” Inna said calmly, looking directly into her husband’s eyes.
Oleg scratched his nose and spoke up.
“Oh, come on, Inn. We’re family! Why are you acting like we’re strangers? We’re practically neighbors now…”
Inna took a deep breath and silently began removing the wrappers from the sausages.
“Isn’t there anything else?” Oleg grimaced when a plate of buckwheat porridge and two sausages was placed in front of him. “I don’t eat buckwheat. You know that, brother.”
Silence fell across the room.
Only Grishka continued poking his fork into the salt shaker.
“And what exactly would you like me to cook for you?” Inna’s voice became dangerous.
She placed both hands on the table and leaned toward her brother-in-law.
“Well… I’d prefer meat, of course. But chicken would do too.”
“Yes, Oleg is used to homemade food,” Lenka added. “We hardly ever eat things like this.”
“Oh, really?” Inna gave a short laugh. “Remind me, Lena—do you work?”
“No. But what does that have to do with anything?” Lena replied indignantly.
“Everything! I only just walked through the door. When exactly do you think I was supposed to prepare dinner for six people?”
Lena and Oleg exchanged glances.
“Inna, what are you doing?” Lesha whispered.
“Don’t tell me what to do. Her husband has been eating at our house practically every day, and now she’s going to lecture me about what he does and doesn’t eat?”
Inna threw her apron down beside the sink and went into the bedroom.
“Well, if that’s how it is, we’d better leave!” Lena said sarcastically while trying to take a sausage away from her older son. “Come on, let’s go home. We have our own kitchen!”
Oleg sighed, muttered something like, “All right, all right,” and started gathering the children.
A couple of minutes later, the front door closed.
Inna was still sitting on the bed when her husband entered the bedroom.
“You could have been a little gentler,” Lesha said quietly as he approached her from behind.
“And you could occasionally ask me before bringing guests home.”
“I didn’t realize it was that difficult for you…”
“That difficult? I don’t want to cook at all when I get home from work. I don’t want to cook, clean, or even vacuum. I just want to lie down and stare at the wall. I need rest. But time after time, you bring your brother into our home. I don’t remember us ever barging into their apartment like that. Lena always tells us to let them know in advance before visiting, and she only invites us over for major holidays. So what holiday is it today? Their housewarming party that they decided to celebrate in our apartment? How can you not understand that Oleg takes advantage of your kindness and your inability to say no—and you happily let him!”
Lesha scratched the back of his head after listening to his wife’s speech.
He silently sat down on the edge of the bed and clasped his hands together.
His face was tense, as though a battle were taking place inside his mind.
“I really… didn’t realize it was so hard for you,” he finally said. “You’re always so organized and good at taking care of the house. I thought it didn’t bother you.”
Inna sat down beside him, tilting her head slightly.
“That’s exactly the problem. You ‘thought.’ It never occurred to you to ask me. You have no idea how much I sometimes wish you would simply say, ‘Inna, relax. I’ll take care of my own dinner.’”
Lesha sighed and lowered his eyes.
“I’m sorry…”
Inna looked at him with quiet exhaustion in her eyes.
From that point on, everything changed.
Lesha began warning Inna in advance whenever someone planned to visit.
But in truth, those occasions became increasingly rare.
After the incident with the “buckwheat and sausages,” Oleg came around less and less.
His pride had been wounded.
He really did disappear from their apartment for quite a while.
For several weeks, Inna didn’t hear his booming voice or catch Lena giving her sideways looks, as though Inna personally owed them homemade pies with whatever filling they chose.
At last, peace returned to the apartment.
But one evening after work, Inna found Lesha in the kitchen talking on the phone.
He was nodding and saying into the receiver:
“Yeah… okay, got it. I’ll ask her now.”
When he noticed his wife, he went silent and immediately said:
“Inn, Oleg wants to come over. Alone. Would you mind?”
Inna silently opened the refrigerator.
Inside, neatly arranged on a plate, were yesterday’s pork chops.
Perfectly cooked, with a beautiful browned crust—but still yesterday’s leftovers.
She closed the refrigerator, turned around, and shrugged.
“Let him come.”
Lesha nodded and quickly called his brother back.
Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.
By then, Inna was already lying in the bathtub with a book, bubbles resting on her shoulders.
She heard Oleg come inside, shuffle his sneakers across the floor, and ask from the kitchen doorway:
“So, what are you having for dinner?”
“Pork chops. I’ll heat them up,” Lesha replied calmly.
Oleg went silent.
Then Inna heard him click his tongue.
“Ah… no. I’m not really into yesterday’s food. Maybe just coffee instead?”
“Okay.”
Lesha switched on the kettle.
“I’ll have some éclairs,” Oleg said, crossing one leg over the other.
“But there aren’t any pastries…” Even Lesha sounded surprised by his brother’s audacity. “There’s a chocolate bar and some cookies. Want those?”
“Seriously… I’m shocked by your wife. Not only did she not even come out to say hello, but she didn’t prepare any food either.”
By the time Inna came out of the bathroom, Oleg was already getting ready to leave.
He gave her an unenthusiastic goodbye and never came over alone again.
Sometimes Inna saw him outside carrying supermarket bags or walking with the children, but he never attempted to visit anymore.
Lena stopped calling too.
Apparently, Oleg was no longer satisfied with the level of “service,” so before long he started taking his entire family to his parents’ house instead.
“It’s cozier there, and Grandma will make pancakes.”
Meanwhile, peace finally settled over Inna and Lesha’s apartment.
One day, Lesha even decided to make soup himself.
Admittedly, he put in a little too much salt.
Inna merely laughed and suggested diluting it with some broth.
And one evening, while Inna was lying in the bathtub with a book, Lesha gently knocked on the door.
“Inn, I ordered sushi. How about we just spend the evening together?”
Inna closed her eyes.
For the first time in a very long while, she felt genuinely happy.