December arrived surprisingly early in the city—at the beginning of the month, shopping mall windows were already ablaze with festive garlands, and the air smelled of spruce and tangerines. This glitter and rush seemed to mock them.
Klara walked down the aisle between office buildings, listening to the echoing footsteps and muffled conversations, and she had a strange feeling: the holidays were near, but not for her. In her purse lay the payroll, and the figures on it were surprisingly high—annual bonus, a thirteenth month’s salary, a bonus for a difficult project. Together, it amounted to something she should be proud of. If not for one “but.”
At home, in their two-room apartment, this “but” sat on the couch with a laptop on his lap, pretending to work.
Daniel—her husband, whom she had loved for eight years; with whom she had gone through the ordeal of a start-up, the birth and fall of several business ideas, the move to this city; with whom she had once shared one laptop and one dream.
Daniel, who had been carefully avoiding talking about money for three months.
“Hi,” Klara said, taking off her shoes in the hallway. “Are you going to have dinner?”
— Hello, Clara. Yes, something light. I’m finishing up my report.
She went into the kitchen, turned on the kettle, and took yesterday’s cutlets out of the fridge. A report. Always some report, a presentation, a meeting. Except there was no bonus anymore, and Daniel’s face grew more tense with each passing week—as if he harbored a secret that was burning him to death.
It all started in September. The company where Daniel worked—a major player in the logistics software market—was hit by a wave of “optimization.” First, the marketing department was laid off. Then half the programmers. Daniel came home pale, poured himself a whiskey—something he never did on a workday—and said:
— They fired Łukasz. And Alex. Our entire team, except for me and Piotr.
“They left you?” Klara breathed a sigh of relief.
“Yes. They just cut bonuses completely and froze my salary. But that’s okay—the most important thing is they didn’t fire me.”
She hugged him then and drank to the fact that it had worked. She truly believed it was temporary. That they would get through it, like they always did.
Only then—week after week, month after month—did she begin to notice the little details that added up to a disturbing whole. Daniel avoided discussing money. When she asked about work, he’d reply evasively: “As usual, a lot of work.” When she suggested saving up for vacation, he’d agree but quickly change the subject. He’d increasingly close his laptop when she approached.
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