— “I’m calling about something,” she said. “The girls and I talked it over…” She paused. “And we decided you need to chip in for our New Year’s presents.”
— “You… wanted money? It’s just… I already picked out gifts for everyone.”
— “I don’t need your junk,” her mother-in-law snapped. “Keep it. Let Andrey transfer thirty thousand to each of us. So we can have a more fun New Year.”
Yulia stood by the shop window, unable to make up her mind. On the display shelf, belts were arranged in neat rows—formal leather ones with heavy buckles. Next to them hung ties in every shade, something for every taste. She kept looking from one to the other, picturing Andrey in her head.
Last year her husband had been promoted. Since then, Yulia’s evenings all ended the same way: she laid out his clothes for work—shirt, trousers, jacket, and tie. With the new position he’d become different—more confident, more collected. And Yulia kept catching herself looking at him with pride.
She knew exactly how much strength that promotion had cost him. He had no connections, no lucky introductions. Only work, constant training, evenings spent at a laptop, and rare weekends without rest. Making something of yourself without support was almost impossible. But Andrey had always been stubborn. Leadership seemed to run in his blood: he knew how to negotiate, take responsibility, and make decisions. And now, at last, people had noticed.
His managers praised him. Sometimes Andrey even felt awkward, retelling to Yulia another thank-you from his superiors. He wasn’t used to having his efforts recognized. He always said the same thing:
“I’m just working. Doing it properly.”
“A belt is more practical,” Yulia muttered to herself, studying a dark-brown one with a neat buckle. “But the tie… that one would look so good on him.”
The moment she thought of her husband, she saw her mother-in-law in her mind.
“What does he need a belt for?” Elena Ivanovna would say about the gift. “Let him wear the old one.”
Yulia winced and shook her head, trying to shake off the unpleasant thought.
Elena Ivanovna had never believed in her son—neither when he was a child, nor later, when he grew up and got married. Andrey was the oldest, which meant he was supposed to help his parents with everything and never argue back. He had two younger sisters—Ira and Sveta—and the best always went to them.
And Andrey… Andrey got used to settling for less.
As Elena Ivanovna liked to say, “He should be happy we haven’t forgotten him completely.”
“You’re a strange one,” she would repeat. “Always dreaming about something, always sitting with your books. You’d be better off doing real work and helping your father in the workshop. Instead you sit at home all day.”
By “real work,” she meant her husband’s job—a repair shop where wages might be late for a month, or even two. To her, that was real men’s work. But offices, reports, negotiations—just nonsense.
When Andrey said he wanted to grow, that he wanted to be a manager someday, his mother only smirked:
“Don’t make things up. Who’s going to hire you? Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
Every time, Yulia pressed her lips together. She saw how those words hurt her husband, even though he acted like he didn’t care what others said. But those very words had made him who he was—stubborn and persistent. More than anything, he wanted to prove to himself that he could.
Yulia stood by the display a little longer, then smiled at the decision that suddenly came to her.
“I’ll take both,” she said quietly.
Andrey deserved it. He worked hard, didn’t complain, and now he truly earned well. Why not make him happy with a good gift?
As soon as she paid and stepped out of the store into the shopping mall, Yulia came across a counter where young women beautifully wrapped presents. She chose thick paper in a calm blue shade, with a matching ribbon. No extra frills—simple, strict, elegant. Just the way Andrey liked it.
“He’ll like it,” she thought, taking the neatly wrapped box from the hands of a pretty girl.
She still had one more present to buy—for the smallest, but no less important, member of the family: their daughter Anya.
At the beginning of December, Anya had written a letter to Grandfather Frost, folded it neatly, and ceremoniously put it into the freezer—“so it would definitely get there.” Ever since Yulia decorated the tree, Anya ran up to it every morning to check for a present and sighed:
“Still nothing… okay, I’ll wait.”
“Grandfather Frost brings children presents on New Year’s,” Yulia explained. “And it’s only the twentieth of December.”
“Mom, you don’t understand anything,” Anya said seriously. “Grandfather Frost is only one person and there are lots of kids. So he starts putting presents under the trees early so he’ll definitely make it in time. And we probably decorated our tree first. Which means our present will come earlier.”
Yulia smiled, listening to her seven-year-old’s sweet and perfectly logical reasoning. Anya had started first grade this year, and that alone made her feel very grown up.
Yulia left the mall with bags full of presents and a light heart. The New Year was getting closer—the best and warmest holiday of the year. Yulia loved it even more than her own birthday.
She came home a little before six in the evening. The apartment was quiet—Anya was still at dance class. Yulia set the bags on the entryway cabinet, took off her down coat, and paused for a moment, listening to the silence. At times like that, the home felt especially cozy.
She understood how lucky she was with her mother. Thanks to Olga Arnoldovna’s help, Yulia had been able to keep working even after Anya started school. There was no after-school program, and that could have become a serious problem. But Grandma picked Anya up without a word, fed her, did homework with her, and took her to clubs and lessons. Olga Arnoldovna never complained, never once said it was hard.
Yulia went into the room where, on the top shelf of the wardrobe, there was a neat box tied with a white satin ribbon. She took it down, ran her fingers across the lid, and smiled. She had ordered the thin, soft cashmere scarf back in November. A restrained cream color—exactly the shade her mother loved. Back then Yulia had thought: I’ll give it to her for New Year’s. But now she suddenly felt a sharp desire to make her mother happy today. Just because.
When Olga Arnoldovna returned with Anya, the hallway immediately filled with noise. Anya was excitedly chattering and waving her arms, while Yulia smiled tiredly as she helped her daughter out of her jacket.
“Yulia, I think I’m going to go,” Olga Arnoldovna said. “I’m tired today. It’s freezing out, and we walked so much…”
“Mom, wait a minute,” Yulia said quickly and disappeared into the room.
She came back with the box and handed it to her mother.
“This is for you… I can’t wait anymore, so I’m giving it to you now.”
Olga Arnoldovna looked startled.
“Yulia, why? It’s not New Year’s yet…”
“Just because, Mom. I really wanted to make you happy.”
Her mother carefully opened the box, took out the scarf, and froze. Then she slowly pressed it to her cheek.
“Oh God… it’s so soft,” she said quietly, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Thank you, my dear girl…”
She hugged Yulia tightly and kissed her on the cheek.
“I’ll wear it home,” Olga Arnoldovna smiled, draping the scarf over her shoulders.
Yulia watched her go and felt a warm, peaceful joy. It mattered to her that her mother liked it. It mattered a lot.
When the door closed behind Olga Arnoldovna, Yulia reheated dinner. She and Anya sat down to eat. Anya talked about a new combination they’d learned in dance class, and which poem she wanted to recite to Grandfather Frost at the school New Year party.
Anya finally finished sharing everything she’d been eager to tell, and they began eating. Yulia had barely brought her fork to her mouth when her phone rang. The screen showed: Elena Ivanovna. Yulia frowned. Her mother-in-law called her extremely rarely—almost never.
“Hello,” Yulia began cautiously.
“Well, hello there,” Elena Ivanovna started with a heavy sigh. “I was starting to think I wouldn’t get through to you today.”
— “You called?” Yulia asked, genuinely surprised. “I don’t have any missed calls.”
— “Not you—Andrey!” her mother-in-law snapped. “Why would I be calling you? He’s the one not answering.”
— “Right,” Yulia replied evenly. “They’re closing out the year at work. He’s been coming home very late, and things are chaotic at the office.”
— “I don’t care,” Elena Ivanovna cut her off. “Here’s why I’m calling. The girls and I talked it over…” She paused. “And we decided you need to chip in for our New Year’s gifts.”
Yulia went still.
— “You… want money? It’s just… I already prepared gifts for everyone.”
— “I don’t need your junk,” her mother-in-law shot back. “Keep it. Andrey can send thirty thousand to each of us. It’ll make New Year’s more fun.”
Before Yulia could answer, the line went dead—short beeps in her ear. Slowly, she lowered the phone and looked at Anya, who was eating happily and hadn’t heard a thing. Yulia set the phone down on the table and sat for a few seconds in silence, staring at her daughter.
— “Mom, why aren’t you eating?” Anya asked, lifting her eyes to her.
— “I am. I just… got lost in thought,” Yulia said, forcing a smile, and finally took a sip of tea.
After dinner she cleared the table, made up the beds, and went to tuck Anya in. A star-shaped nightlight glowed in the child’s room, casting a soft, muted yellow light. Anya lay under the blanket, hugging her plush bunny tight.
— “Mom… will Grandfather Frost really come?” she asked sleepily.
— “Of course,” Yulia said, sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking her hair. “He already knows you tried so hard this year—you studied well, you went to your classes, you listened to your parents, and you were such a good girl.”
They chatted a little longer—about school, dance lessons, what present Anya had wished for, and how they’d go to Grandma’s for the holidays. Then Yulia kissed her daughter’s forehead, switched off the light, and quietly closed the door.
In the kitchen she turned on the water and started washing dishes. Then she pulled out containers and began packing food for the next day so she wouldn’t waste time in the morning. Her movements were familiar, automatic. Somewhere deep inside, unease still lingered, but Yulia tried to push the bad thoughts away and simply wait for Andrey to come home.
She glanced at the clock—almost ten. The last few days her husband really had been getting back late. Tired. Sometimes even irritable. But Yulia knew he wasn’t doing it for nothing.
“If we hit the plan,” Andrey had said one evening, dropping into a chair with a weary sigh, “we can afford a trip to the sea. Can you imagine? Warmth, sunshine… and you’ll be on vacation in February.”
Yulia had only smiled and nodded then. In the icy days of December, the thought of the ocean felt like a small heater in her chest. So she didn’t interfere and didn’t tug at him during the day. She took all the household worries on herself for now—let him work in peace.
When the key finally clicked in the lock, Yulia flinched—and then immediately smiled. She went to the entryway to meet him.
— “Hi,” she said softly.
— “Hi…” Andrey managed a tired smile, shrugged off his jacket, and wrapped her in a quick hug. “I’m starving…”
Yulia led him into the kitchen, where food was already waiting. He ate fast, hungrily, like he hadn’t touched a bite all day. Yulia only kept refilling his plate, looking at him with warmth and worry at the same time.
When Andrey finally leaned back with a long exhale, she sat down across from him.
— “Your mom called me today,” Yulia began calmly.
Andrey’s brow tightened.
— “I saw the missed calls, but I absolutely didn’t have time to talk. And then it was already too late.”
Yulia repeated the conversation word for word—the money, the “junk,” the thirty thousand.
— “So that’s how it is…” Andrey’s jaw clenched.
He didn’t wait for morning. He grabbed his phone and dialed Elena Ivanovna right away.
— “Mom, what are you thinking?” he snapped. “You seriously think it’s normal to demand money from me?”
Her shrill voice came through the speaker, but Yulia only caught Andrey’s side—broken fragments, sharp and controlled.
— “No. And we’re not discussing it…”
— “Because it’s outrageous…”
— “What does Ira and Sveta have to do with it?! They’ve had their own husbands for ages.”
Then his voice rose.
— “Do you think money falls out of the sky?!”
A pause. Andrey’s face drained of color.
— “What do you mean, ‘share’?” His voice turned icy. “And one more thing… don’t you dare talk about my wife like that.”
Yulia understood—Elena Ivanovna had crossed the line.
— “That’s it,” Andrey said shortly. “We’re giving what we planned. Period. There won’t be any other gifts.”
He ended the call and sat for a few seconds, staring at the table.
— “She called you a mop,” he said hoarsely. “I won’t forgive her for that.”
Until New Year’s, Elena Ivanovna kept up a pointed silence. Andrey never sent them a single ruble.
On December thirty-first, as always, they went with the family to поздравить relatives. Andrey’s parents were first.
Elena Ivanovna opened the door wearing a sour, dissatisfied expression. She accepted the greetings, listened—and then, without saying a word, hurled the gift box out onto the landing and slammed the door in her son’s face, right in front of him, his wife, and their daughter.
Andrey’s sisters didn’t even open the door.
The festive mood drained away fast, and with every stop Andrey grew darker. But at Yulia’s parents’ house they were welcomed warmly. They were hugged, seated at the table, and poured tea with ginger cookies Olga Arnoldovna had baked the day before.
— “Andryusha,” her father said, clapping him on the shoulder, “we’re proud of you. You’re doing so well. You’ve accomplished so much!”
Andrey straightened and smiled. The heaviness of the day, which had started so badly, began to loosen its grip.
— “Me? Come on,” he said. “If it weren’t for Yulka, I wouldn’t have achieved anything. It’s all thanks to her.”
Yulia smiled shyly and lowered her eyes.
They got home around five in the evening. Anya ran straight to the tree—and squealed with joy.
— “Mom! Dad! Grandfather Frost came!”
A present was waiting under the branches—the same one Andrey had placed there the night before, right before they left to visit everyone.
Anya bounced with happiness as she tore the wrapping paper off, while Yulia and Andrey sat on the couch, arms around each other, watching their daughter. The apartment was quiet, warm, and peaceful. And in that moment they both knew for certain: the main thing was that they were together—and everything else didn’t matter.
