Linda sat on the edge of the sofa in the dim living room light, listening to the washing machine hum softly on the other side of the wall. The night dragged on, like so many nights in the past two years. David was in no hurry to get home.
She knew he would come in soon without even looking at her, leave his briefcase by the door, and head straight for the bathroom. They would eat dinner in silence—if he wanted to. Then he would sit at his laptop, and if she tried to make conversation, he would just say, “I’m tired.
Talk to you later.”
It hadn’t been like this before. When they first moved in together, they would spend hours in the kitchen, talking about movies and planning trips. David would compliment her on her new dresses, gently caressing her back as he walked, and his voice sounded lively, not tired or irritable.
Now the house was quiet, even with the radio on. There was a click of the lock, followed by footsteps in the hallway. “In the dark again?” he asked, his voice flat and emotionless.
“Thinking,” she replied. He didn’t ask what she was thinking. He took off his shoes and coat, walked around her without looking at her, and headed for the bedroom.
The sound of water running into the tub was immediately audible. Linda closed her eyes. She didn’t need to look at him to imagine his displeased expression if she dared to speak about his “nonsense.” It had been a long time since he had asked her how her day had been.
She had loved that she wasn’t fussy or demanding; now she was annoyed that she no longer fit his image of “the wife of a successful man.”
She got up, went into the kitchen, and turned on the light. Dinner was in the refrigerator, but she hadn’t even warmed it up. “We’re having dinner at my parents’ house tomorrow,” David said, entering the kitchen as he buttoned his shirtsleeves.
“And please don’t wear… that.” He vaguely gestured to his old cardigan. “You know, the image, right?”
“What’s wrong with it?” she asked. “I can’t seem to buy you decent clothes,” he blurted out bluntly.
For the first time in a long time, Linda wanted to respond with something hurtful, something cutting… but the words wouldn’t come out. She just nodded. “Okay,” she murmured.
Satisfied, David grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and returned to the bedroom. She stood there, the weight of his words spreading like a dense fog. The next morning they left the house together.
In the elevator, David was engrossed in his phone, answering emails, while Linda stared at her reflection in the mirror. She hadn’t updated her wardrobe in years, not because she couldn’t, but because she couldn’t find a reason to. Comfortable and practical clothes were enough for her.
But that morning, remembering the night before, she took a dress out of her closet that she hadn’t worn in a while. When David looked at her, for a moment he seemed to approve of her choice. But, as always, he said nothing.
When they got to the car, he said:
“Come on, I’ll take you.”
“I prefer the subway,” she replied. He looked at her, confused. “But you hate the subway.”
“Today I want to walk.”
She didn’t insist.
That evening they arrived at David’s parents’ house. A spacious living room, expensive curtains, and photos of David everywhere: as a child, at professional events, at awards shows… None of them showed Linda. “Oh, Linda, finally you’re wearing something decent!” her mother-in-law commented, examining her with a fake smile.
Linda didn’t respond. During dinner, they talked about business, about David’s achievements. Linda felt like a tolerated guest, not part of the family.
“Are you still working in that little office?” David’s sister asked as she poured herself some wine. “Yes,” Linda said calmly. “Don’t you think it’s time you joined a “real” company?
With a husband like David, you shouldn’t have to worry about money.”
She looked at her husband. He said nothing. He didn’t defend her, he didn’t even look at her.
“I like where I am,” she said, barely audible. “Well… if you’re content with being a little gray mouse,” her sister-in-law murmured, shrugging. Linda remained silent.
And then David said it. Without affection. Without looking at her.
In a mocking tone. “You’re nothing to me.”
The table fell silent. But no one seemed surprised.
Her mother continued cutting the meat. Her sister sipped the wine. Her father was on his cell phone.
Linda understood: to all of them, she had never been more than that. Nothing. He calmly put down his cutlery and stood up.
“Everything okay?” David’s mother asked distractedly, without looking up. Linda didn’t answer. She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
“Linda?” David finally looked up. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” he said. “But we haven’t finished dinner.”
She looked at him.
“For a ‘nothing,’ dinner’s over.”
He frowned, surprised. That night, she walked aimlessly. She just moved forward, without thinking, without feeling.
The city hummed around her, but everything sounded muffled, distant… as if she were moving inside an invisible cocoon that isolated her from the world. Somehow, she ended up in front of a modest building, familiar since her childhood: the apartment of her aunt, the only one who had ever been kind to her. “Linda?” her aunt asked, coming out into the hallway in her bathrobe.
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