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Why Should I Cook for Everyone? Just for Me and Annie from Now On!” – Nikita Fumed. “Because in This Family, It’s Every Man for Himself. So Live with It!
“Im not cooking for everyone anymore! Just for myself and Annie.” “Why on earth not?” snapped Nicholas. “Because in this family, Ive realised its every man for himself. So live with it!”
“Mum, wheres my breakfast?” Yvonne barged into the bedroom without knocking. “Im going to be late for school!”
Nina tried to sit up, but her head spun. The thermometer read thirty-eight point seven. Her throat burned, and her chest rattled with every breath.
“Yvonne, Im ill Grab something from the fridge.”
“Theres nothing in there! Just yoghurts for the little one!” Her daughter crossed her arms in the doorway. “Its always about her with you!”
A wail came from the nursery. Annie was awake. Nina forced herself up. Her legs wobbled, her vision blurred.
“Nina, wheres my shirt?” Nicholas called from the bathroom. “The blue striped one?”
“Should be in the wardrobe”
“Its not! Did you iron it yesterday?”
Nina leaned against the wall. Shed spent all day yesterday with a fever, trying to care for the baby.
“No, I didnt get round to it.”
“For Gods sake! Ive got a meeting!” He slammed the bathroom door in frustration.
Annies cries grew louder. Nina shuffled to the nursery and scooped her up. The little girl buried her face in her shoulder, sniffling.
“Mum!” Yvonne shouted from the kitchen. “Theres literally nothing to eat! Not even bread!”
“Moneys on the table. Buy something on your way.”
“Im not stopping at the shop! Ive got an exam! And anyway, its your job to feed us!”
Nina silently walked to the kitchen, Annie in her arms. She pulled some frozen burgers from the freezer and slapped a pan on the hob.
“And make pasta!” Yvonne ordered, glued to her phone.
While breakfast cooked, Nicholas emerged from the bedroom in a crumpled shirt.
“Had to wear this one. I look like a tramp. Thanks for that!”
Nina said nothing. Speaking hurt, and she had no energy left for explanations.
“Its Sophies birthday today,” Yvonne announced, piling pasta onto her plate. “Im going round after school. Ill be back late.”
“Yvonne, I feel awful. Could you stay and help with your sister?”
“Yeah, right! Ive been waiting months for this party! And anyway, I didnt ask for a sister. Thats your problem!”
She grabbed her bag and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Nicholas scrolled through his phone as he finished breakfast.
“Nick, could you come home early today? I really cant cope.”
“Cant. Work drinks after. You know how it is.”
“But Im ill”
“Take something. Paracetamol or whatever. Youre not bedridden. Just tough it out.”
He pecked her sweaty forehead and left.
Nina was alone with their three-year-old. Annie demanded attention, food, playtime. Nina moved on autopilot, her strength draining away.
By lunch, her fever had hit thirty-nine. She managed to feed Annie, put her down for a nap, and collapsed on the sofa. Her head pounded, her heart raced.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Yvonne: “Mum, send money for Sophies present. Now!”
Nina didnt reply. She couldnt even lift the phone.
Nicholas returned first that evening, tipsy and cheerful, carrying a bag from Tesco.
“Got some beer and crisps! Big match tonight!” He flopped onto the sofa and turned on the telly.
“Nick, please feed Annie. I cant get up.”
“That bad?” He finally looked at her. “Youre bright red!”
“High fever. All day”
“Well, call an ambulance if its serious. Wheres Annie?”
“In her cot. Shell wake soon.”
“Fine, Ill feed her. Just let her wake up first.”
Annie stirred half an hour later, crying for her mum. Nicholas grudgingly tore himself away from the TV and picked her up.
“Why are you crying? Come to Daddy!”
But the toddler squirmed, wailing louder. Nicholas floundered.
“Nina, she wants you!”
“Give her a biscuit from the cupboard. And some juice.”
“Where? I cant find anything!”
She forced herself up. The room swayed as she gripped the wall. Nina fetched a biscuit, poured juice into a sippy cup. Annie calmed slightly.
Yvonne came home after midnight. Nina was still awake, her fever keeping her up.
“Why didnt you reply?” Yvonne snapped the moment she walked in. “I had to borrow money from Sophies mum! So embarrassing!”
“Yvonne, Ive had a fever all day”
“So? Couldnt pick up your phone? Two seconds!”
The next morning, Nicholas shook her awake.
“Nina, get up! Ive got work, and Annies screaming!”
Her fever had broken, but exhaustion lingered. Nina dragged herself up, dressed Annie, and started breakfast.
“What about my food?” Nicholas asked.
“Make it yourself. Im taking Annie to nursery.”
“Make it? I dont know how! And Im late!”
“Youll learn.”
Something in her tone silenced him. He muttered under his breath and stomped to the kitchen.
When Nina returned, the house was a mess. Dirty dishes, scattered clothes, rumpled sheets. Normally, shed clean straight away. Not today.
She showered, drank tea, and went back to bed.
That evening, the family gathered for dinneror rather, around an empty table.
“Mum, whats for dinner?” Yvonne asked.
“No idea. Whatever you cook.”
“What?” Her daughter gaped.
“Exactly. Im not cooking for everyone anymore. Just me and Annie.”
“Why the hell not?” Nicholas exploded.
“Because in this family, its every man for himself. So live with it!”
“Nina, whats got into you?” He reached for her, but she stepped back.
“Im done being a servant! Yesterday proved Im just unpaid staff to you lot.”
“Mum, I said sorry!” Yvonne lied.
“No, you didnt. Neither did your dad. No one even asked how I was.”
“Fine, sorry!” Yvonne huffed. “So we all starve now?”
“The fridge is full. Youve got hands. Cook.”
The first week was chaos. Yvonne threw tantrums, Nicholas grumbled and slammed doors. Nina held firm. She cooked only for herself and Annie, washed only their clothes, cleaned only the nursery.
“Mum, my jeans are filthy!” Yvonne wailed.
“The washing machines right there. Detergents under the sink.”
“I dont know how!”
“Youll learn. Instructions are on the lid.”
Nicholas went to work in wrinkled shirts, ate at cafés. Their savings dwindled.
“Nina, this is madness! Eating out every day!”
“Cook at home. Cheaper.”
“I dont know how!”
“Watch YouTube. Millions of recipes.”
The house descended into squalor. Dirty dishes, grimy floors, dust. Nina saw it all but didnt intervene. She kept only the nursery tidy.
After two weeks, Yvonne attempted pasta. She forgot salt, overcooked itended up with mush.
“Mum, help!”
“No. Learn.”
“Youre my mum! Youre supposed to!”
“My job is to care for minors. Cooking you gourmet meals isnt in my contract. Bread, milk, cerealyou wont starve.”
Nicholas tried scrambled eggs. Burnt them. Tried againedible this time.
“Look, Nina! I made eggs!”
She nodded and turned back to her book. No praise, no fuss.
By week three, the flat was a tip. Yvonne sobbed over a mountain of laundry.
“Mum, please! Just this once! Ive got nothing clean for school!”
“You were home all yesterday. Couldve washed them.”
“I was doing homework!”
“I work from home, cook, clean up after Annie, take her to the park. And I manage.”
“Youre an adult!”
“And you want adult privileges? Late nights, pocket money? Then act like one.”
By months end, their resistance crumbled. Yvonne learned to wash clothes, cook basics, tidy up. Nicholas mastered not just eggs but pasta and even simple soups.
One evening, Nina returned from the park with Annie. The table was set, dinner smelled ready. Nicholas and Yvonne stood with guilty faces.
“Mum, we made dinner,” Yvonne mumbled. “I did salad, Dad roasted a chicken.”
“Thanks,” Nina said calmly.
“Mum
“Oh, You Drive Me Mad!… I Eat Wrong, I Dress Wrong, I Do Everything Wrong!”—Pavel’s Voice Broke Into a Shout. “You Can’t Do Anything Right!… Can’t Even Earn a Decent Living… And You’re No Help Around the House, Ever!”—Marina Sobbed, “…And There Are No Children…” She Whispered. Belka, the Ten-Year-Old Ginger-and-White Cat, Watched Silently from Atop the Cupboard as Another Family “Tragedy” Unfolded. She Knew, Even Felt, That Mum and Dad Loved Each Other Dearly—So Why Say Such Hurtful Things? Mum Ran Off Crying, Dad Chain-Smoked by the Window, and Belka Thought to Herself: “What This Home Needs Is Happiness, And Happiness Means Kids… Somehow, We Need to Find Children…” Belka Herself Couldn’t Have Kittens—She’d Been Neutered Long Ago. As for Mum, The Doctors Said It Was Possible, But Something Never Quite Worked Out… The Next Morning, After Mum and Dad Left for Work, Belka Squeezed Out the Window and Went to See Her Neighbour, Whiskers, for Advice. “Why On Earth Would You Want Kids?” Sniffed Whiskers. “Ours Always Come Over—Hide From Them If You Can! They Smear My Muzzle With Lipstick Or Squeeze Me ‘Til I Can’t Breathe!” Belka Sighed, “We Need Proper Children… But Where On Earth Do We Get Them?” “Well… That Stray Molly on the Street Just Had Five… Take Your Pick…” Whiskers Shrugged. On Her Own Daring, Belka Tiptoed Balcony to Balcony Down to the Street, Squeezed Through The Bars of a Basement Window, and Called Out, “Molly, Could You Come Here for Just a Moment?” From Deep Within the Cellar Came the Desperate Squeaking of Kittens. Belka Cautiously Approached. Underneath the Heater, Five Blind, Mismatched Kittens Searched The Air, Wailing Hungrily. Molly Hadn’t Been There for At Least Three Days. The Babies Were Starving… Feeling She Might Cry, Belka Carefully Carried Each Kitten to the Entrance of Her Building. Lying Beside the Screeching, Hungry Bunch, She Waited Anxiously for Mum and Dad to Come Home. When Pavel and Marina Returned from Work, They Were Astonished—There Was Belka, Never Before Out Alone, Being Nursed by Five Noisy Kittens. “How on Earth Did This Happen?” Pavel Stammered. “It’s a Miracle…” Whispered Marina. They Scooped Up Belka and the Kittens and Rushed Inside. As Pavel Watched Their Purring Cat in a Box Full of Babies, He Asked, “So… What Are We Going To Do With Them?” “I’ll Hand-Feed Them… When They’re Grown, We’ll Find Them Homes… I’ll Call My Friends,” Whispered Marina. Three Months Later, Still Stunned By The Miracle, Marina Sat Stroking Her Feline Clan, Repeating to Herself, “This Can’t Be Real… This Can’t Happen…” And Soon After, She and Pavel Wept for Joy, Laughing and Embracing, “I’m So Glad We Finished Building This House!” “Yes! Perfect for a Child to Play Outside!” “And the Kittens Can All Run Around!” “There’s Room for Everyone!” “I Love You!” “Oh, I Love You Even More!” Wise Old Belka Wiped Away a Tear—Life Was Finally Coming Together…
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Igor Never Came Back from Holiday: “Why hasn’t your husband written or called?” “No word, Vera—not after nine days, not after forty,” Lyuda would joke, adjusting her work apron over her broad waist. “So he’s gone off the rails, or worse, then,” her neighbour nodded sympathetically. “Well, wait and see. Have the police said anything?” “Everyone’s silent, Vera—quiet as fish in that sea of his.” “Life, eh… fate.” That conversation weighed heavy on Lyudmila as she swept the autumn leaves from her doorstep in the dreary fall of 1988. Three years into her well-earned retirement, she’d had to take up work as a council cleaner to make ends meet. Life had always been simple—she and her husband, both dutiful workers, had raised a son, no scandal, no sorrow. Then Igor went on a seaside holiday and never returned. She’d phoned every hospital, every police station, even the morgue. Her son, stationed with the military, helped with inquiries—it was discovered Igor checked out of his hotel but never boarded the train home. Lyudmila wanted to go search for her husband, but her son insisted he’d handle it. Weeks passed, and she kept herself busy to stifle her fears. Then, as suddenly as he’d vanished, Igor reappeared—no suitcase, just the same navy suit and a weary silence. As she fussed to feed him and her son, the truth unravelled: Igor had been living with another woman by the sea, seeking “freedom.” The shock, the ache of betrayal—Lyudmila couldn’t bear it. Igor, shamed and lost, tried to return weeks later, but Lyudmila stood firm. It wasn’t just heartbreak—it was the pain of not knowing, of years shared and suddenly made strange. She swept her pathway, watching leaves collect and blow away, knowing sometimes those who hurt us most have already gone with the wind. (Original Title Adapted for English Culture: Igor Never Came Back from Holiday: The Disappearance, the Heartbreak, and the Road Swept Clean)
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