On Sunday, the relatives gathered in the spacious living room of Tamara Viktorovna’s city apartment. The table was groaning under the weight of the food: Anya had been up since five in the morning, preparing everything for fifteen people down to the last detail. Casseroles, two main courses, pastries—she had put her all into it so that no one could find fault.
«Well, at least she’s capable of something,» drawled Igor’s sister, Vera, piling a second portion onto her plate. «And here I thought she only knew how to play with brushes.»
«Anya worked hard,» Aunt Lyuba said softly—the only one who greeted her with warmth. «It’s very delicious, dear.»
«She worked hard,» Tamara Viktorovna dismissed her with a wave of her hand. «It’s her duty now. Nothing to praise her for.»
Anya moved around the table serving plates, listening. She noticed how they looked right through her, as if she were a piece of furniture. Kostya, Vera’s husband, didn’t even bother to say hello; he just gestured toward an empty pitcher. «Refill the water. And bring some sliced bread.»
«Right away,» Anya said calmly, and she brought it.
«See, Igor? That’s how you should have set things straight from the start,» Tamara Viktorovna said, pleased. «You were always fussing over her: ‘Anechka this, Anechka that.’ A wife needs to know her place.»
«Mom, come on, that’s enough,» Igor muttered.
«What’s enough? I’m telling the truth. If she sets the table like this every Sunday, she might actually turn into a decent person.»
Anya set the kettle on the table and stood up straight. A heavy disappointment was growing inside her—dense and thick, like dough that refuses to rise. She had hoped that at least one person at the table would offer a word of support. But Igor remained silent.
«Tamara Viktorovna,» she said steadily. «I prepared everything you asked for. Fifteen people, all made from scratch since dawn, using my own time and money. I would like to hear a ‘thank you.'»
«What?» The mother-in-law even put down her fork. «You’re demanding gratitude? You’ve barely been in this family for a minute.»
«I am demanding respect. It’s not asking for much.»
«Respect!» Vera laughed. «Did you hear that? She made some borscht and now she thinks she’s someone special.»
«Anya, don’t start this in front of everyone,» Igor requested quietly.
«When should I start, Igor?» She turned to her husband. «In private, you say ‘we’ll talk about it later.’ In public, you stay silent. So, when?»
«See what she’s like?» Tamara Viktorovna said triumphantly. «A troublemaker. I warned you.»
Anya scanned the table. Fifteen people were chewing her food and looking at her like an annoying inconvenience. Only Aunt Lyuba looked down, as if she were ashamed of the others.
«Fine,» Anya said. «I’ve heard you. All of you.»
«That’s a good girl,» the mother-in-law nodded. «Next Sunday, we expect the same. And add fish—Kostya likes fish.»
«Noted,» Anya replied shortly, and went to the kitchen to wash the dishes.
At the sink, Aunt Lyuba approached her. She touched Anya’s elbow and whispered, «Don’t stay quiet for too long, dear. Tamara is the type who will take your whole arm if you give her a finger. I let them bend me like this for twenty years.»
«Thank you,» Anya squeezed her hand. «I’m not planning on staying quiet. I’m thinking.»
«About what?»
«The price of the matter,» Anya smiled. «In the most literal sense.»
On Monday, Anya met her friend Lera in a small café with round tables and vintage lamps. Lera listened, stirring her cocoa, her expression growing darker.
«So, they appointed you cook for fifteen mouths without your consent?» she asked. «And your husband says nothing?»
«Nothing,» Anya nodded. «He just tells me not to exaggerate.»
«And you?»
«I cooked. Once. Just to see what it looked like in reality.»
«And?»
«Worse than I thought,» Anya set her cup down. «They treat me like a servant, Lera. Not like a person. The mother-in-law gives orders, the sister-in-law giggles, her husband demands bread like he’s in a cafeteria. And Igor just sits there and stares at his plate.»
«That’s not just rudeness, that’s contempt,» Lera said. «They don’t value you at all.»
«I know,» Anya’s voice hardened. «And the worst part is they are sure they’ll get away with it. They think I’ll just swallow it.»
«And you won’t?»
«No,» Anya looked her friend in the eye. «But I won’t yell or slam doors either. That’s what they want. I’ll do it differently.»
«How?»
«Business-like,» Anya pulled out a notebook where she usually sketched fonts. «They want me to cook for the whole family? Wonderful. I will. But by the rules.»
«What rules?»
«If it’s my ‘duty,’ as they say, then it’s a job. And every job has a price.»
Lera slowly set aside her cocoa and smiled. «You want to send them an invoice?»
«I want to post a price list,» Anya said calmly. «On the refrigerator. So everyone can see what their Sunday feast actually costs. Groceries, time, labor. Every item listed.»
«They’re going to go ballistic.»
«Let them,» Anya shrugged. «They didn’t ask me when they assigned the duty. I won’t ask them, either.»
«And if Igor takes their side?»
Anya fell silent. That question was the hardest, and she didn’t shy away from it. «Then I’ll learn the truth about my own husband,» she said. «And that’s better than living in a fog. I’m not the type to wait around for years hoping for things to change. If there’s a problem, you solve it immediately.»
«Aren’t you afraid they’ll push you out?» Lera asked cautiously.
«I am,» Anya admitted. «But fear is a poor advisor. If I back down now, they’ll break me for the rest of my life. I don’t know how to bend. I draw straight lines.»
Lera laughed and raised her cup like a glass. «To straight lines.»
«To them,» Anya nodded, feeling the ground beneath her become firm.
At home that evening, she sat down and took a sheet of high-quality paper. The pen felt natural in her hand. She wrote the title in a beautiful, clear font—so that everyone entering the kitchen would see it.
«What are you drawing?» Igor asked, looking over.
«A menu,» Anya smiled. «With prices. Since cooking is now my duty, everything should be official.»
«Anya, are you serious?» he frowned. «My mother will lose her mind.»
«Then maybe she’ll finally start thinking,» she answered calmly, and neatly wrote down the first number.
The following Sunday, the relatives gathered out of town at Vera and Kostya’s large house with the long veranda and wide yard. Everyone arrived hungry, anticipating a feast. But a surprise awaited them in the kitchen.
On the refrigerator door, held by a magnet, hung the sheet. It was beautiful, like an ancient scroll, with gold lettering and precise lines. «Sunday Dinner Price List» read the header.
«What kind of stunt is this?» the mother-in-law snatched the paper and stared at it. » ‘First course—such and such. Pastries—such and such. Chef’s labor—hourly rate’? Are you out of your mind?»
«Perfectly sane,» Anya said, stepping out of the kitchen while wiping her hands. «You said cooking for the family is my duty. Any duty is paid. I simply made everything transparent.»
«How dare you!» the guest turned red. «I welcomed you into this family, and you’re giving me invoices?»
«You didn’t ask me when you appointed me your cook,» Anya replied levelly. «I’m not asking you either. You want a Sunday table for fifteen? Here is the price. If you don’t want to pay, then cook it yourself or chip in together.»
«Did you hear that?» Vera threw up her hands. «She’s trying to squeeze money out of us! Do you have a conscience?»
«Do you?» Anya turned to her. «Last time, I was at the stove from five in the morning, and you wouldn’t even pour your own water. ‘Refill, bring, slice.’ A conscience works both ways.»
«Igor!» Tamara Viktorovna barked. «Control your wife!»
Everyone turned to Igor. He stood in the doorway, pale, looking back and forth between his mother and Anya. The moment of truth hung over the veranda.
«Mom,» he forced out. «Maybe… maybe she’s right, we should have done this differently? Anya really is cooking from morning till night.»
«What?!» his mother gasped. «You’re against me? Against your own family? Because of this… brush-wielder?»
«I’m not against you,» Igor swallowed hard. «I’m just… she’s right. We didn’t thank her even once.»
«Thank her!» Tamara Viktorovna shook the price list. «She’s hanging price tags like a shopkeeper, and you want to thank her?!»
Anya stepped forward and calmly took the sheet out of the mother-in-law’s hands.
«Let’s stop yelling,» she said. «I’m offering a fair deal. Option one: everyone chips in for groceries, and we take turns cooking—me, Vera, Aunt Lyuba, in a rotation. Option two: I cook alone, but according to this price list. Option three: we just sit here and chew sunflower seeds. Your choice.»
«There are no options!» the mother-in-law snapped. «You will cook because I said so! For free and with a smile!»
«Then option three,» Anya’s voice became cold and straight as a ruler. «I am not cooking at all. Not today, not next Sunday. Period.»
«You wouldn’t dare leave the family without lunch!»
«I already have,» Anya gestured to the cold stove. «I didn’t cook anything today. I arrived as a guest. Just like all of you.»
The veranda went very quiet. Fifteen people looked at the cold stove and realized there was nothing to eat. Kostya coughed awkwardly.
«So… what are we going to eat?»
«Whatever you prepare yourself,» Anya shrugged. «Or whatever you order. I’m no longer working for you. You’ll slice your own bread and pour your own water. Is that too hard for you?»
Tamara Viktorovna sank into a chair. She was used to her word being law, and now her law was crumbling before her eyes. Anya didn’t scream, didn’t cry, didn’t slam the door—and that was exactly what pulled the rug out from under them.
«You… you are destroying this family,» she finally said.
«No,» Anya replied calmly. «A price list doesn’t destroy a family. What destroys a family is when one person is treated like a servant while they remain silent. I don’t intend to remain silent. Speaking honestly is what respect for a family really is.»
«Anya is right,» Aunt Lyuba suddenly spoke up. «Tamara, you did this to me for twenty years. I endured it all. And she managed to solve it in a week. Well done, dear.»
«You too, Lyuba?»
«Yes, me too,» the aunt nodded firmly. «Enough. We’ll take turns. I’ll even remember how to bake those pies.»
Vera looked at Kostya. The prospect of standing at the stove every Sunday clearly didn’t please her, but neither did paying the price list.
«Fine,» she muttered. «Let’s do it in turns. I don’t mind chipping in for the groceries.»
«It’s settled, then,» Anya said calmly. «Rotation. Everyone takes a turn once every month and a half. And no one is anyone’s servant.»
«That’s what I was saying,» Tamara Viktorovna muttered, trying to save face. «I’ve always been for family harmony.»
«Wonderful,» Anya didn’t push her further. «Then we’ll have harmony. Built on respect, not on orders.»
Igor walked up to his wife and said quietly, «I’m sorry. I really acted like… a pushover. I should have supported you from the start.»
«You should have,» Anya nodded. «But better late than never. The main thing is to never be silent again. Silence is expensive. More expensive than any price list. And yes, send me the money for the groceries I bought for your family today.»
«I will,» he promised. «Listen, but what about today? Everyone is hungry.»
«Today,» Anya smiled, «everyone takes out their phone and orders lunch. At their own expense. Consider it the first lesson in independence.»
«Are you mocking us?» Vera asked, offended.
«I’m learning from you,» Anya replied without malice. «You spent all week teaching me how it’s done.»
Aunt Lyuba laughed first, then Igor couldn’t help himself, and Kostya joined in. Even Vera snorted and looked away. Only Tamara Viktorovna sat with pursed lips, because for the first time in her life, she had lost—and she had no move left to make.
Anya folded the price list in half and put it in her bag. It wouldn’t be needed again: it had done its job. Sometimes, beautifully written numbers are weightier than the loudest words.
«Next Sunday, Aunt Lyuba is cooking,» Anya announced. «And I’ll come empty-handed. Well, with a pie made for the soul—but that will be out of love, not command.»
She took Igor’s arm and was the first to walk out into the yard. Behind them lay the cold stove and the mother-in-law, who for the first time realized that you can only command those who agree to obey. Anya hadn’t agreed—and that was why she had won.
«You know,» Igor said on the way home, «you’re a terrifying person.»
«Why?»
«You beat everyone. And no one even understood how.»
«I wasn’t at war,» Anya answered. «I was just doing my job.»
