It had been the kind of ordinary, exhausting day that felt longer than it should have, when Marina came through the front door of their condo carrying two heavy grocery bags and found her husband in the hallway. “How was your day?” he asked, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before taking the bags from her. Her fingers still ached from hauling them up five flights of stairs herself. The elevator had been out for over a week, and management clearly wasn’t in any hurry to fix it.
The young woman watched her husband hurry into the kitchen. Kicking off her tight work shoes, Marina let out a long breath and sank onto the cushioned bench by the door. The overhead light flickered again, reminding her that Mike still hadn’t found time to deal with one simple household repair. He worked remotely as a software developer and spent nearly every waking hour at home.
If there had been more than twenty-four hours in a day, he probably would have given them all to the glow of his monitor. In the rare moments he wasn’t working, he either slept or ate. Whatever attention he gave his wife came as an afterthought, usually only after she pushed for it. Just about every part of daily life at home had landed squarely on Marina’s shoulders.
Marina, meanwhile, had a standard office job. She left early every morning and came home only to start a second shift in the kitchen. Saturdays and Sundays disappeared into cleaning, meal prep, laundry, and catching up on everything that had piled up during the week. On top of that, they had a dog, and the evening walks had somehow become her responsibility too.
It had been Mike’s idea to get a dog in the first place. He had promised—more than once—that he’d be the one taking Chuck out every day. That enthusiasm lasted about a month. Before long, his walks became every other day, then less than that, and eventually stopped altogether. Now Marina dragged herself outside with the dog every evening while her always-busy husband stayed glued to his code.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a wet nose against her hand. Of course it was Chuck, staring up at her with those mournful eyes that made resistance impossible. It was time for his evening walk. It was Thursday, she was dead tired, and all she wanted was to collapse on the couch. “Mike, could you take Chuck out tonight?” she called into the apartment, trying to sound hopeful.
The answer came back exactly as expected. “Honey, I’ve got a deadline. I’ll take him tomorrow, I promise.” Marina had heard versions of that promise yesterday, the day before, and most of the week before that, so she quietly got ready and took the dog out herself. When she got back, she moved automatically to the stove, trying to figure out what to make for dinner. Scrolling through recipe blogs didn’t help much. Nothing felt appealing.
In the end, she made rice and baked chicken. Even the menu felt like a rerun. Her whole life seemed to be stuck in the same loop, with no clear exit. At dinner, Mike barely looked up from his phone while Marina tried to remember the last time they’d actually had a real conversation…
