“Control?” The word cut through Anna like a knife. “You want to control me?”
“Yes,” Vladimir shouted, “and there’s nothing wrong with that! I’m your husband, I know what’s best for you.”
“You don’t know,” she raised her voice too. “You’re not a doctor. You just want me to be weak and dependent on you.”
Vladimir fell silent. His breathing was heavy, his hands clenched into fists. Then he exhaled and said more quietly, almost tenderly:
“Anya, you’re tired. You’re stressed. Let’s eat, rest, and everything will be fine. I don’t want to fight with you.”
“I’m not tired,” Anna shook her head. “I’ve just finally understood. You don’t care about me. You control me. The bracelet is just a tool. You wanted me to be sick. So I would be scared and dependent on you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Vladimir turned away. “You’re overthinking it. The doctors have filled your head with nonsense.”
Anna took the bracelet from her pocket and placed it on the table.
“I’m not wearing this anymore. And I won’t listen to your instructions. My health is my responsibility.”
Vladimir spun around abruptly, grabbed the bracelet, and clenched it in his hand.
“You’ll regret this. You’re nothing without me. Who will help you when you get sick? Who will take care of you?”
“I’ll take care of myself.” Her voice trembled, but she held her ground. “And if I need help, I’ll go to doctors. Real doctors, not a husband who gives me dangerous things.”
Vladimir stepped towards her, looming over her.
“You’re ungrateful. I’ve done so much for you. I married you, I provide for you, I take care of you. And this is how you treat me?”
Anna took a step back.
“Care is not control. Love is not manipulation. You have no right to decide about my health.”
“I do!” Vladimir roared. “I’m your husband.”
“For now,” Anna said quietly.
A heavy silence fell. Vladimir looked at her, and in his eyes, she saw something new—not anger, not irritation. Fear. The fear of losing control.
“What are you trying to say?” he said slowly.
“I’m saying I need time to think. I need to be alone.”
“Where are you going?” Vladimir’s voice became sharp.
“To a friend’s house. For a few days. I need to sort out my feelings.”
She turned and walked into the bedroom. Vladimir followed at her heels.
“You’re not going anywhere. We’ll sort this out right now.”
Anna took a sports bag from the closet and started packing—a few changes of underwear, jeans, a sweater, a makeup bag. Her hands were shaking, but she forced herself to move. Vladimir stood in the doorway, blocking her exit.
“Anna, stop it! You’re not going anywhere.”
“Move!” she looked at him.
“No.”
“Vladimir, I said move!” He didn’t budge. Anna felt a knot of fear tighten inside her, but she forced herself to take a step forward.
Vladimir grabbed her arm.
“You’re staying here. We’ll talk properly.”
“Let go of me!”
“No.”
Anna yanked her arm away, pushed him in the chest, and ran out of the bedroom. She grabbed her large bag and purse with her documents, the car keys, and bolted for the exit. Vladimir caught up with her at the door, but she had already thrown it open and dashed out onto the landing.
“Anna! Come back immediately!” his shout echoed through the stairwell.
She didn’t look back. She ran down the stairs, almost sprinting to her car, got behind the wheel, and started the engine. Vladimir ran out of the building, but she was already pulling out of the courtyard. Only when she was on the main road did Anna allow herself to exhale. Her hands were shaking. She pulled over, turned on her hazard lights, and just sat for a few minutes, trying to calm down and catch her breath.
The phone vibrated. A message from Vladimir:
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