*
She pretended not to notice. She was used to being strong. To bearing burdens. To calculating and planning.
But that evening, with the payroll in her purse and the Christmas lights outside the window, something inside her snapped.
“By the way,” she said, setting the plates on the table and trying to speak calmly. “Your mom called. She asked what gifts we were planning for Christmas.”
Daniel froze for a moment, then too quickly began to pretend to write.
“Oh, yeah… I was just about to talk about that. I think we should buy something more substantial this year. Things aren’t easy for them right now.”
Klara slowly sat down. The words “more decent” and “it’s not easy for them” echoed in her head, overlapping with the numbers on the payroll.
“’At their place’ — meaning who?” she asked.
“Well… at my mom’s, my sister’s. Maybe for my nephew too. I’ve already roughly counted: equipment, vouchers, some cash.”
She looked at him and saw that familiar confidence—the same confidence with which he had once given her his first large earnings without hesitation, calling it an “investment in the family.”
“And did you even earn enough to give such gifts to your family?” She was surprised by her own directness and the silence that fell after these words.
Daniel slowly closed his laptop. His face darkened.
— What do you mean by that?
“I want to understand,” she replied, clasping her hands under the table. “Is that you talking about… or my money?”
Christmas lights twinkled outside the window, and Klara suddenly realized: this conversation was just beginning.
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