– Mom said we have to dig up the potatoes today. So get up, take a pill, and let’s go.– Are you crazy, or have you gone deaf?Olga felt the words pounding at her temples, as if Vitalik’s voice wasn’t just sound but a hammer driving into her brain.
The light filtering through the blinds burned her eyes like molten lead. Her throat ached like sandpaper, her mouth dry as a desert, filled with grit and fire. Her body shivered, yet her skin burned with fever.
Vitalik stood there like a military general ready to declare war… on potatoes. He wore old, loose camouflage pants, and his flannel shirt smelled of damp cellar air. Olga could almost see in her mind that the man she loved had become someone foreign, hard, and threatening.
– Vita… – she tried to put her weakness into words, her voice hoarse and unfamiliar. – I’m sick… I have a fever… the thermometer…Vitalik didn’t even glance at the thermometer lying on the nightstand.
– I don’t care about your thirty-nine degrees! – he shouted. – Mom said you have to get up and dig up the potatoes! Do you understand? Or I’ll make your life miserable!Olga closed her eyes, and suddenly her bed became a carousel of terror.
Every movement hurt, every word felt like a new blow. She clenched her teeth under two wool blankets, her fever and weakness leaving her completely powerless.– I can’t… – she whispered, barely able to breathe. – My legs feel like cotton, I feel nauseous, my heart is racing… What potatoes? Vital, it’s going to rain…
– Exactly! – Vitalik yelled as Olga curled into herself. – Before it starts raining! Or everything will rot! Do you want Mom to starve in winter? To buy some chemical-laden crap from Pyaterochka?
He paced the room, his boots drumming on the floor like war drums. Olga tried to speak rationally, about money, reasonable solutions, but Vitalik heard nothing. His “respect” and “sense of duty” were worth more than anything—even Olga’s life.
– Get dressed! – he ordered, throwing the pants in her face. – Five minutes. If not, I’ll dress you, and believe me, it won’t be pleasant.Every word was a blow, every gesture a tool of torture. Olga’s fear began to melt, turning into a chilling, cold rage.
The man she loved was now only a mask reflecting dominance and oppression. Her anger, crystal-clear and cold, surged stronger than her fever.When Vitalik lunged for her belongings, something clicked in Olga’s head. Her trembling hands, her fever, her exhausted body became weapons.
She grabbed the bags, tore them apart, threw everything that symbolized Vitalik’s power—sweaters, pants, gadgets, fishing rods—into the black bags.Vitalik screamed in shock, trying to intervene. In her fevered haze, Olga repelled every attack. Her voice became icy calm:
– Don’t touch me. It’s over.She pushed the bags onto the balcony. The rain started falling, the mud awaiting them. The clattering crash of the objects was the sound of burying years of submission.
Vitalik, in his rage, tried to save his treasures, slipped, and sank into the mud. Olga remained standing, motionless, ruler of her own life and territory.– Your respect? – she whispered. – Your authority? You never loved. It’s over.
Slowly, she closed the door behind her, collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavily, but her heart was finally free. The fever gradually subsided, and the anger turned into peace. The virus that had tormented her for years was no longer her husband—it was the illness itself.
– Mom said… – Olga whispered, a faint smile on her lips. – So dig them up, Vitalik… dig them up by noon. I’m going to sleep.And for the first time in years, she truly slept.
