“You like to insult me in public and I will pay for it…”
Larisa woke up, as always, early, at six in the morning. The alarm was set for seven, but her body had long since adopted its own rules. Thirty years with Gennady had transformed her into someone with an internal clock: getting up early to finish everything, having breakfast on time, avoiding complaints, sighs, or irritated comments, seemingly in passing but always punctual.
She lay there for a minute, staring at the ceiling. Outside, the gray dawn was just breaking. Her head felt empty; only a familiar heaviness, as if someone had placed a rock under her ribs. That day was a special day. Thirty years of marriage. A pearl wedding. She'd once thought people celebrated such anniversaries with pride, affection, and gratitude. But inside, Larisa felt neither joy nor excitement. Only tiredness. Deep, ingrained, so intense that no amount of sleep could erase it.
She got up carefully, trying not to make the bed creak. Gennady was asleep, stretched out, breathing heavily. Before, he'd slept in silence, clinging to her, trying to reach her. Now, it was as if an invisible wall stood between them, both literally and figuratively.
Larisa put on her robe: old, faded, but soft and warm. The same one her husband had scornfully called "a sack." She passed the mirror in the hallway and couldn't help but pause. A fifty-two-year-old woman. Gray hair at the temples, wrinkles around her eyes, a figure that had long since ceased to fit into her old clothes. She remembered her differently: cheerful, slender, with lively eyes. She wondered where that woman had gone. And at what point had she stopped being herself, becoming a mere function?
The kitchen was cool. Larisa put the water on, took out the pan, and the eggs. Her movements were automatic, perfected over the years. She was cracking the first egg when Gennady appeared in the doorway.
“That robe again,” he muttered, stretching. “Can't you just buy something normal? She's a woman, after all.”
He didn't turn around.
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“Good morning, Gena. Would you like some scrambled eggs?”
“Yes. Just be careful not to overcook them, like last time. They were edible.”
“Okay,” he replied softly.
