Yana LEO
Compensation Mode

Nadya woke up at 3:16 a.m.

No reason. No noise. No disturbing dream. Her eyes simply opened.

She lay in her bed in an ordinary apartment on the outskirts of the city. She and Ilya had been building their life here for twenty years now. Twenty years of marriage. Two children – Ksyusha, the eldest, and Matvey. Ilya was lying beside her, breathing evenly. He almost always slept soundly. Even when their bank accounts were frozen. Even when she had a fever and fed baby Ksyusha through the night. He was kind. Gentle. Faithful. A homebody. Not a single bad habit except for sweets. But…

Nadya turned in bed and felt a dull ache spreading inside her – shoulders, neck, lower back. Her intestines were churning again, the same intestines doctors had long ago called “a reaction to stress.” She turned onto the other side and closed her eyes. Sleep did not come.

This was no longer months. It had been years.

When Ksyusha was born, Nadya thought, Well, she’s a baby – of course. Then came teething. Then the three-year crisis. Then another baby – Matvey – and the same reasons repeated all over again. Then the business they tried to keep afloat together. Then “just age.” And eventually it became clear: it wasn’t age. It was tension. Chronic tension. As if she had been holding a load-bearing beam of the house on her shoulders her entire life – and the beam had long since grown used to resting there.

For many years, on nights like these, she cried bitterly into her pillow. From pain. From humiliation. From the impossibility of getting through to him.Now the tears were gone. What remained was dryness.

And a quiet, adult clarity.

The distance between them hadn’t appeared overnight.

It was like water after a flood slowly receding: first waist-deep, then knee-deep, then only ankle-deep – and now just damp ground underfoot, without real water anymore. She no longer felt that sharp pity.

Not for him. Not for herself. Instead, she began asking a different question:

What is happening to me?

She slowly placed her hand on her stomach.

What am I doing to myself? To my body?

Sleep – in fragments.

Food – “later.”

Medical tests – “no time.”

Back pain – “I’ll endure it.”

Headaches – “it will pass.”

… compensation mode.

If Ilya didn’t take something on – she would.

If he couldn’t cope – she would back him up.

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