“Sorry about my cow! She’s eating again without measure!”

Arsen’s voice, usually soft and confident, cut through the room like a whip — sharp, abrupt, swinging without restraint. An immediate, ringing silence fell over the holiday table.

Anna froze, fork in hand. A slice of ham hung halfway to her plate. Fragile, almost translucent, she felt dozens of eyes burn right through her. Her cheeks flushed, her breath caught, and her heart seemed lodged in her throat, unwilling to stay inside.

Max, Arsen’s best friend, choked on his champagne. Veronica, his wife, stared at the floor, her gaze bouncing between glass and plate. No one dared speak. The air thickened with tension.

“Arsen, what are you doing?” Max finally broke the silence.

“What? Can’t tell the truth now?” Arsen leaned back lazily, smirking. “My little fool overate again. Embarrassing to show her face in public!”

Anna’s face burned, but this wasn’t just embarrassment — it was humiliation, sharp like a burn. Tears welled, but she swallowed them, as she had hundreds of times before. She knew tears only pleased a tyrant.

“Come on, Arsen,” Sergey intervened. “Anna’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” he snorted. “Look in the morning, without all this stuff on your face! I wake up and jump: who’s this lying next to me?”

Some laughed nervously. Others looked down.
Anna rose slowly, not looking at anyone.

“I… I’m going to the bathroom,” she whispered and left.

“He’s offended,” Arsen said, feigning indifference while pouring himself wine. “Usual thing. She’ll be back.”

Max sat silently. Before him was a man he’d known for fifteen years — a man he no longer recognized.

Arsen had once been the life of the party — generous, witty, charming. When he married Anna, everyone envied him: beautiful, kind, sincere. But over time, his jokes stopped being jokes. First “my little fool,” then “idiot,” then “fat cow.” And all — in public.

Veronica nudged her husband quietly.
“Max, do something.”

He stood.

Anna stood at the sink, curled like a beaten bird. Black streaks of mascara, trembling hands.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Just washing up, I’ll be back.”

“Anna,” he said softly, “why do you put up with this?”

“Where would I go?” Her voice carried exhaustion beyond her years. “I have nothing. Everything is his — the apartment, the things, even the clothes. A teacher’s salary barely covers food. My parents are in the village, they… wouldn’t understand. To them, I’m pride. How do I tell them I’m living in hell?”

She looked away.

“At first, he was different. Flowers, compliments, gifts. Then — as if someone flipped a switch. First the soup wasn’t right. Then I looked like a country girl. Then I was stupid. Now… he just enjoys my suffering.”

Loud laughter came from the living room.
“She’s a log in bed too!” Arsen shouted.

Anna flinched like struck.

“That’s enough.” Max’s voice became firm. “Let’s go.”

“He won’t let you…”

“We’ll handle that.”

They returned. Arsen was drunk, eyes shining.

“We’re leaving,” Max said calmly.

“Why? Anna, sit down!” Arsen frowned.

Anna took a step, but Max held her arm.

“Come on.”

“Are you insane? She’s my wife!”

“A wife isn’t property, Arsen.”

“Anna, I said — back in place!”

The chandelier clinked in the room. Everyone froze. Anna lifted her gaze. There was no fear. Only exhaustion and resolve.

“I’m leaving.”

“What? Where? You have nothing!”

“I have myself. And that’s enough.”

He stepped toward her, but she stepped back.

“You know, Arsen, in the village, cows are treated with more respect than you.”

She buttoned her coat. Each button — a step toward freedom.

“Don’t be foolish! I’ll change!” he almost yelled.

“No. You won’t change. This isn’t a mistake. This is you.”

The door slammed.

She never returned. Not the next day, not the next month.

He wrote, called, humiliated himself.
She — stayed silent.
And she just moved forward.

She rented a small apartment on the outskirts, taught children, learned to breathe again.
Learned not to flinch when someone raised their voice. Learned to look in the mirror and not see someone else’s words.

“I’m living again,” she told Max a year later. “Just living.”

And Arsen remained. Alone.
With empty glasses, sharpened “jokes” that weren’t funny to anyone.
He never understood what he had lost.

Because his “cow” turned out stronger than he imagined.
His “fool” — smarter than he ever was.
And while he hunted for a new victim, she simply learned to be happy.