Claire placed a plate of stewed fish in front of her husband and took the chair opposite him. Daniel ate without a word, his eyes fixed on the screen of his phone. Their daughter Sophie sat at the little table in the corner, working carefully on a drawing, while their youngest, Ethan, was already asleep in his crib.
“Dan, Mom called today,” Claire began quietly. “The pipes in her bathroom have broken again. The plumber says it will cost twelve thousand to fix.”
Daniel set his fork down on the edge of the plate. Slowly, with deliberate care. He placed it that way when he was trying to hold back an irritation that was already pressing against the surface.
“Twelve thousand,” he repeated heavily. “Last month, it was eight thousand for her medication. Before that, fifteen thousand for the overdue electricity bill. Claire, I don’t even keep track anymore. I’m just tired of counting.”
“I understand.” She reached out and touched his hand cautiously. “But she’s alone. Her pension is barely enough to live on. What is she supposed to do?”
“And what are we supposed to do?” Daniel pulled his hand away. “We have a mortgage and two children. We don’t even have a car. I haven’t bought myself a new pair of sneakers in a year and a half. A year and a half, Claire.”
Sophie lifted her head from the picture. Claire immediately smiled at her and waved gently.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. Keep drawing.”
The girl bent over her colored pencils again, though now she was listening to every word.
“I’m not asking you to choose between me and my mother,” Claire said almost in a whisper. “I’m only asking you to be patient a little longer. She’ll get the subsidy arranged, and things will become easier for us.”
“You’ve been saying that for three years.” Daniel pushed back from the table and stood abruptly. “Three years of the same promise.”
He walked into the bedroom. Claire cleared the dishes in silence, helped Sophie put away her pencils, and tucked her daughter into bed. Afterward, she remained alone in the kitchen for a long time, staring at the kettle as the tea inside grew cold.
Margaret arrived at the end of April.
“Just for a week, sweetheart,” she had said. “It’s so difficult being alone at home.”
But that week began stretching into something endless. By the third day, Claire noticed that Daniel had started leaving for work half an hour earlier than usual.
“Claire, why do you keep the spices right above the stove?” Margaret asked as she moved the jars around without waiting for permission. “They lose their flavor faster there. And why do you buy this milk? It costs forty cents more, and there’s no real difference.”
“Mom, Ethan will only drink that one. He refuses the other kind.”
“Nonsense. A child drinks whatever he’s given. You’ve spoiled him.”
That evening, Daniel came home later than usual. His mother-in-law was sitting in the living room with the television turned almost all the way up. Ethan had only just fallen asleep.
“Margaret, could you lower the volume?” Daniel stopped in the doorway. “The little guy just went to sleep.”
“I can hardly hear it as it is, Daniel. You’re imagining things. Your walls are simply too thin. You should have chosen a proper apartment.”
Claire stepped out of the kitchen and caught her husband’s gaze. The anger had disappeared from his eyes. What she saw instead was worse.
Emptiness.
It was as if everything inside him had burned away long ago, leaving nothing that could flare up again.
“Mom, please turn it down,” Claire said.
“All right, all right.” Margaret switched off the television with exaggerated offense. “I’ll sit here in silence and darkness. You invited me, but apparently I’m nothing but a burden to everyone.”
“No one is throwing you out, Mom.”
“There’s no talking to your husband. He looks at me as if I’m a stranger. I raised you by myself, you know. I stayed awake through countless nights. And now I’ve become a burden.”
Daniel said nothing. He went into the kitchen instead. Claire heard him open the refrigerator, take out some juice, and sit at the table. She knew he would not return to the living room until her mother had gone to bed. He would remain there, scrolling through his phone and feeling like an outsider in his own home.
The next day, Margaret moved Sophie’s clothes from one wardrobe to another.
“Mom, why did you do that?” Claire asked, stopping in the doorway of the children’s room. “Sophie knows where everything belongs.”
“It was arranged badly. Winter clothes should go on top and summer clothes below. That’s the sensible way.”
“This is her room. She’s used to keeping things the way she likes.”
“Oh, Claire, don’t be ridiculous. She’s ten years old. What does she know about having things her own way? You let her get away with far too much.”
When Sophie came home from school, she stood in front of the open wardrobe for a long while. Then she quietly closed the door and went to draw in the kitchen. Claire noticed the way her daughter pressed her lips together.
It was exactly the way Claire herself had once done whenever her mother made every decision for her.
Margaret finally left after three and a half weeks. On the day she departed, Daniel sat down to dinner with the family for the first time in a month. Yet conversation refused to begin. Their words hung between them like furniture in an empty apartment: everything appeared to be in its place, but no one could live comfortably there.
Daniel asked to talk two days after his mother-in-law left. It was Sunday. The children had gone outside with a neighbor who was taking her dog for a walk.
“Claire, sit down. We need to talk.”
She took the chair. Somewhere inside, she already knew what was coming. It felt like a storm drawing near. The sky was still clear, but the air had changed.
“I want a divorce,” Daniel said.
“All right,” Claire replied.
Silence settled over the room.
Daniel blinked. He had clearly expected something else—tears, pleading, promises that she would change and that everything could still be repaired.
“You’re not even going to ask why?” His voice trembled.