Ksenia’s Stand

“Ksenia! Where have you been? The guests have been waiting for coffee for half an hour already! And cut the cake into bigger pieces—Vasily Timofeevich has a sweet tooth!” Elena Petrovna’s commanding voice echoed through the apartment like a military order.

Ksenia took a long breath, biting back the frustration bubbling in her chest. The living room was full—at least ten of Sergey’s relatives had gathered, chatting and laughing as if they owned the place. Meanwhile, Sergey, her husband, reclined in an armchair, comfortably holding court like a king in his domain, spinning stories while Ksenia rushed between the kitchen and dining area.

“I’m coming, Elena Petrovna! Just a moment, everything will be ready,” she called, reaching up to pull cups from the cabinet, her fingers trembling with suppressed annoyance.

For the past six months, their spacious three-bedroom apartment had morphed into a family canteen. Every weekend brought a fresh round of visitors—always Sergey’s family, never hers. And these weren’t friendly pop-ins. They were full-fledged feasts that she alone was expected to host.

She carried the tray out carefully, setting it down on the coffee table. Conversations dulled briefly, just long enough for a fresh round of judgment.

“Finally!” Elena Petrovna raised a penciled brow. “We thought you’d forgotten how to make coffee.”

Laughter bubbled around the room like fizzy resentment, and Ksenia smiled stiffly.

“And the cake?” asked Vasily Timofeevich, patting his round belly with theatrical expectation. “Can’t just sip on coffee without sweets.”

“I’ll bring it now,” Ksenia murmured, retreating.

Back in the kitchen, she was followed—of course—by Sergey.

“What’s that look for?” he frowned. “You look like someone died.”

“I’m just tired, Sergey,” Ksenia said as she cut the cake into exaggeratedly generous slices. “Every weekend, it’s the same circus.”

“What circus? It’s family, Ksyusha! They come to visit, and you act like it’s some big burden.”

“I’m not against seeing them. But why does it always have to be here? Why not a café once in a while? Or your mom’s place? Her apartment is big enough too.”

Sergey sighed and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “You know how important family gatherings are to Mom. Ever since my dad passed…”

“I know, Sergey. But I spend every Saturday cleaning, cooking, hosting—and all I get are nitpicks and complaints.”

“She just wants everything to be perfect,” Sergey shrugged. “Try not to take it personally.”

“In my apartment,” Ksenia added quietly.

“Our apartment,” Sergey corrected without hesitation. “Now, come on—bring the cake before Mom starts again.”

A week passed, and on Thursday evening, the pattern repeated itself.

Elena Petrovna called cheerily to announce they would be celebrating Katya’s eighteenth birthday that Saturday—naturally, at Ksenia’s place.

“Elena Petrovna, we already have plans,” Ksenia said firmly. “Sergey and I were going to visit my parents.”

“What plans?” her mother-in-law scoffed. “Sergey didn’t mention anything. I’ve already invited everyone. Just make something festive.”

Ksenia gripped the phone.

“I’m not planning anything. We won’t be hosting this time.”

“You’re being selfish!” Elena Petrovna exclaimed. “It’s Katya’s eighteenth! No space in your heart for family?”

That evening, Ksenia waited for Sergey at the door, the frustration already simmering.

“Your mom decided everything again without even asking us!” she snapped the moment he stepped inside.

“Why are you so worked up?” he said, sighing as he removed his jacket. “It’s Katya’s birthday. It’s one day.”

“We were finally going to see my parents! For the first time in months!”

“We’ll go next week. Don’t make a scene over this.”

Saturday arrived. The same routine followed. Ksenia was on her feet from dawn: cooking, setting the table, tidying. Her back throbbed, her legs ached—but nobody offered help.

“Ksenia, your salad’s too salty,” Natalia, her sister-in-law, said with a frown. “Last time it was bland. Pick a direction.”

“Your sister-in-law’s quite the critic!” laughed Elena Petrovna. “Ksyusha, bring mineral water. And ice! Don’t forget the ice!”

Ksenia responded with a practiced smile, but each request felt like a stone added to her chest.

Late into the evening, when the guests finally left, Ksenia stood in the kitchen up to her elbows in dishes.

“Mom said you weren’t very welcoming today,” Sergey remarked as he passed through.

“Serezha, I’ve been working like a dog since six in the morning. I’m tired of feeling like a servant in my own home.”

“What do you expect me to do? Ban my family?”

“No. But they could help. Or bring food. Your mom never even brings dessert—just criticism.”

“She has a bad back, Ksyusha. It’s hard for her to cook.”

“And it’s easy for me?” Ksenia raised her voice. “I’m not twenty anymore.”

Two days later, the phone rang again. Elena Petrovna informed her that she would be arriving Saturday with five friends—for tea.

“Okay,” Ksenia said flatly. “See you then.”

“And make those honey pastries again,” her mother-in-law chirped. “Galina Stepanovna loved them.”

But Saturday came, and Ksenia didn’t clean. Didn’t bake. She slept in for the first time in months. She drank her coffee slowly, flipped through a book, let the silence embrace her.

Around noon, Sergey noticed the silence.

“Why aren’t you getting ready? Mom’s coming.”

“I know,” Ksenia said, not looking up.

“So…?”

“Nothing,” she said simply.

Sergey stared at her. “Are you serious?”

She didn’t respond.

When the doorbell rang, Ksenia opened it with the calmness of a hostess who’d already served her decision. Elena Petrovna, flanked by five overdressed women, stepped inside.

“Ksyusha, are you sick?” her mother-in-law asked, suspicious. “You look pale.”

“I feel fine,” Ksenia replied with a soft smile.

As the guests settled in, Elena Petrovna stormed into the kitchen.

“Where’s the table? Where are the treats?”

“There are none,” Ksenia answered calmly, arms crossed.

“What do you mean? We’re guests!”

“I’m not serving anymore,” Ksenia said. “This is my home. Not a restaurant.”

Elena Petrovna gasped. “How dare you?”

“I’ve dared to endure for too long. That ends today.”

“You ungrateful girl! Sergey pulled you out of the mud!”

“No. This is my apartment. Bought with my money—before I even met Sergey.”

“You’ve humiliated me in front of my friends!”

“No. I’ve just finally spoken the truth. From now on, visits are by invitation. And with respect.”

The women gathered their things awkwardly. As Elena Petrovna stormed out, she shouted, “Sergey will hear of this!”

Later that afternoon, Sergey burst in, enraged.

“Are you insane? Mom was humiliated!”

“She wasn’t humiliated. She was told the truth.”

“This is our home!”

“No. It’s mine. You live here because I let you.”

“So now my family can’t visit?”

“They can. If they’re invited. If they respect me.”

“You’re selfish!”

“And you’ve taken me for granted for too long.”

“You will apologize to my mother.”

“I won’t.”

“Then I’m leaving!”

Ksenia opened the closet. “Pack your bags.”

Sergey stood frozen. “You’re kicking me out?”

“Yes. And honestly, it’s long overdue.”

Thirty minutes later, he was gone. Ksenia locked the door, leaned against it, and breathed in a kind of peace she hadn’t felt in ages.

She walked through her apartment—hers again. She turned on her favorite music. Made another cup of coffee. Sat by the window and watched the light pour in.

Tomorrow would be different. Quieter. Lighter. Entirely hers.

And she would never go back.