December had arrived in the city this year unusually early. Already in the first days of the month, the shopping mall windows sparkled with strings of lights, and the air carried the mingled scent of pine and sweet mandarin.
Marina hurried through the passage between office buildings, and the pre-Christmas bustle seemed more mocking than joyful to her.
In her bag lay her pay statement, the numbers unusually generous: annual bonus, thirteenth-month salary, a special allowance for a complex project.
A sum that should have brought happiness. If only it weren’t for a single, all-ruining “but.”
At home, in their two-room apartment, this “but” was sitting on the couch with a laptop on his lap, pretending to work. Andreas – her husband.
They had loved each other for eight years, weathering failed startups, fledgling and collapsing business ideas, a move to this city. Andreas had, for the past three months, carefully avoided conversations about money.
“Hi,” Marina said, kicking off her shoes in the entryway. “Are you having dinner?”
“Hi, Marinka,” Andreas replied without looking up. “Yes, something light. Just finishing a report.”
A report. There was always some report, presentation, or meeting. But the bonuses had vanished, and Andreas’s expression had grown increasingly tense week by week.
It all began in September. Andreas’s company, a major player in logistics software, underwent restructuring. First the marketing department was cut. Then half of the developers.
That evening, Andreas came home pale, poured himself a glass of whiskey—something he never did on weekdays—and said:
“Slava was let go. And Lesa. The whole team, except for Panos and me.”
“They left you?” Marina sighed with relief.
“Yes. Although the bonuses were completely removed, and the base salary frozen. But the point is, I wasn’t fired.”
Marina hugged him, and they had a glass to celebrate escaping the worst. But after a week, two weeks, a month, she noticed that Andreas increasingly sidestepped financial discussions.
If she asked about work, he replied vaguely: “Lots of tasks.” If she brought up saving for a vacation, he nodded but quickly changed the subject.
Then came the calls from his mother.
“Andrikas—” the ringtone chimed when Marina was nearby.
“I saw a wonderful coffee machine in the store, Delonghi, just like our neighbor’s. Dad has dreamed of one for years. You’ll get it for us for Christmas, right?”
Marina said nothing, but something tightened inside her. A Delonghi cost at least twenty thousand, more likely more.
Now, in mid-December, with barely two weeks until the holidays, they were sitting in a newly opened shopping gallery.
Marina suggested Saturday for gift shopping, and Andreas agreed with unusual relief—as if glad to leave the house.
“Let’s start with my parents,” Marina said, turning toward a home textiles store. “I want to get Mom a warm blanket; she always complains the vacation house is cold in winter. For Dad, a sauna set—he loves it.”
Andreas walked beside her, hands buried in his coat pockets, his gaze distant.
“Okay,” he muttered.
Marina lingered over her choices, feeling the fabrics, examining colors and prices. Finally, she picked a warm wool blanket in a chocolate hue—four thousand.
“Perfect,” she smiled. “For Dad, I saw a set: cap, sponge, eucalyptus oil. About a thousand something.”
Andreas nodded, but his mind clearly wandered elsewhere.
When they stepped out of the shop with the neatly wrapped packages, Marina asked:
“And now your parents?”
“Yes,” Andreas raised his eyebrows. “By the way, I was thinking…”
“The coffee machine?” Marina interjected, tension in her voice.
Andreas hesitated.
“Mom really wants it. Dad loves fresh coffee. It would be practical.”
Marina stopped in the middle of the gallery.
“Andreas, we’ve talked about this. Forty thousand for a coffee machine is too much.”
“Why too much?” Andreas tried to smile. “We can afford it.”
“With what money?” Marina’s voice was quiet but sharp. “With what money, Andreas?”
“Our money. We’re not struggling.”
“Your salary is now a third less than in summer,” Marina reminded him.
“So? I still earn well. And they are my parents.”
“And that’s why you’d spend ten times more on them than I do on mine?” Marina felt the tension she had held back rise. “Tell me honestly: how much do you earn now?”
Andreas turned away.
“Enough.”
“How much?”
A long silence followed. From above, cheerful, tinny Christmas music played.
“Ninety thousand,” Andreas finally said.
Marina blinked.
“Ninety? You said one fifty, and only the bonuses were cut…”
“They cut the base salary in October too. I didn’t want to worry you.”
“So you kept quiet for two months that you earn less than me?”
“You’re making it a competition again!” Andreas snapped. “It’s not about that!”
“It is,” Marina’s voice trembled. “In a family, we plan together.”
“I am planning!”
“How, if you don’t tell the truth?”
Andreas looked at the Christmas-decorated window displays.
“I’m ashamed,” he whispered. “Ashamed that I earn less. That I stayed, but at such a cost.”
Marina touched his arm.
“Andreas…”
“No,” he shook his head. “I know what you’d say. But it’s not easier that way.”
“Do your parents know?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want them to. Mom is proud of me. She thinks I’m successful. I don’t want to disappoint them.”
Marina exhaled heavily.
“Let’s sit somewhere,” she suggested.
They found a spot in a café. Andreas fiddled with a napkin nervously.
“I understand how you feel,” Marina began. “But we can’t keep living a facade.”
“Why not?”
“Because it puts us in debt.”
“What debt?”
“The credit cards are negative. You spend as if everything is fine.”
Andreas fell silent.
“What does your sister want?” Marina asked.
“A Coach bag. Around thirty thousand.”
Marina closed her eyes.
“Eighty thousand in gifts. Almost your whole salary.”
“I want to give my family gifts!” Andreas shouted.
“The problem is the lie,” Marina said calmly. “Not the gifts.”
The conversation went on—long, honest, exhausting, painful. In the end, Andreas understood.
That evening, he called his mother. Told her the truth. It wasn’t easy, but he did it.
When he hung up, he felt relief.
“She said she understands,” he said quietly.
“See?” Marina smiled.
A week later, they went shopping again. This time they chose realistic gifts: blanket, thermos, a small gift card.
“Is this better?” Andreas asked.
“Perfect,” Marina replied.
Hand in hand, they walked into the falling snow. They knew challenges remained. But they were together, honestly.
And that mattered more than anything else.
