“No, your mother isn’t coming here for Christmas,” Emma said calmly to her husband. ” Lucas , I’m serious. Call her right now and tell her we’re spending Christmas alone, just you and me.”
Emma stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at him. Her hands clenched into fists on their own: it had been an exhausting day, the dental clinic was in absolute chaos—patients one after another, shouting, tears, panic attacks. And now, this.
Lucas turned toward the window. His shoulders tensed beneath his gray t-shirt.
— Emma, she’s already planned everything.
— No, your mother isn’t coming here for Christmas. What exactly has she planned without asking me?
— She’s bought food. She says she’s going to cook.
“Cook?” Emma felt something break inside her. “Lucas, look at me.”
He turned around slowly. His face was red, his gaze shifty: the same old Lucas when he knew he was in trouble.
“We talked about it a month ago,” Emma said slowly, enunciating each word. “Do you remember? We were sitting at this very table. I said, ‘Let’s spend Christmas quietly, just the two of us, without any rush or crowds.’ And you agreed. You said it was a great idea, that you were tired too.”
— I remember, but Mom called the day before yesterday…
*
— And you weren’t able to say no to him.
— Emma, how could I do it? Margarita is leaving with her daughter, my sister and the children are sick, my mother is left all alone!
Emma closed her eyes and counted to five. It always worked for her—she’d learned it in her first year as an administrator, when patients would throw tantrums over their turn.
“Your mother is a grown woman,” she said, opening her eyes and looking at him directly. “She can spend the holidays with her friends. Or your sister can host her; the grandchildren aren’t in intensive care, they just have a cold.”
— Emma, that’s my mother!
—And what am I?— the question hung in the air.
Lucas remained silent. Emma watched him hesitate, searching for words, for some argument that would fix everything. She wouldn’t find it. Because there wasn’t one.
“I’m your wife,” she continued. “We’ve been married for four years. I asked you for just one thing: to spend Christmas together, alone, for the first time in all this time. You agreed. And now it turns out your mother has already decided everything. And you, of course, didn’t dare say no.”
— Don’t talk like that…
— Like what? I’m just calling things by their names.
Emma turned and left the kitchen. The hallway was dark; only the nightlight by the door was still on. She took off her work clothes—the white blouse and black trousers—and threw them in the laundry basket. She changed into comfortable clothes: soft trousers and Lucas’s old sweater, which had long since become her favorite.
She sat on the bed and covered her face with her hands. Her head was throbbing. Eight hours in a stuffy office, a patient with panic attacks, fear of the dentist’s chair, then the traffic jams, an hour and a half on the bus. And now, this.
*
The phone vibrated. Sofia .
“Um, how are you? Shall we meet tomorrow?”
The fingers typed the answer themselves: “My mother-in-law is coming for Christmas. Lucas invited her without asking me.”
Ten seconds later, the phone rang.
“Emma, are you kidding me?!” Sofia didn’t even say hello. “Is he crazy or what?”
— No, I’m not joking.
— But you had talked about it! You yourself told me you wanted to be alone!
— We said so. But his mother called and he couldn’t say no.
“Oh my God…” Sofia exhaled sharply. “Um, what now?”
— I don’t know. I tell him to call and cancel it, and he replies: how am I going to do that if she’s alone?
“Alone?!” Sofia’s voice rose an octave. “She has half the neighborhood as friends, she has a sister! Um, listen, if you want you can come over to my house for Christmas. There’s plenty of room, my parents have gone to the countryside.”
— Thanks, Sofia. But this is my apartment. Why should I have to leave?
Emma looked out the dark window, where her weariness was reflected, and suddenly she understood: the conversation in the kitchen had only been the beginning. The real question would come later… and it would change everything.
*
Emma sat motionless for a long time. The phone went off, the room fell silent, broken only by the distant sound of cars. Muffled footsteps came from the kitchen—Lucas paced back and forth, as if searching for an exit that didn’t exist.
She got up slowly, as if her body weighed twice as much, and went back to the kitchen. Lucas turned around immediately, as if he had been expecting her.
“I don’t want to argue,” he said first. His voice was low, almost guilty. “It’s just… Christmas.”
—That’s precisely why— Emma replied. —Christmas. A home. The people you choose to be with.
She ran her hand through her hair and sat down.
— You’re putting me between a rock and a hard place.
“No,” she shook her head. “I’m just showing you that you’ve already chosen. Without me.”
— That’s not true.
“Yes, she is,” she said calmly. And that calmness was more terrifying than a scream. “You didn’t ask me. You presented me with a fait accompli. And now you expect me to accept it because ‘she’s your mother.’”
He was silent. For the first time all night—for real.
“I’m tired of being second best,” Emma continued. “Tired of adapting. Tired of knowing that our ‘we’ always comes after their ‘she.’”
— I didn’t know it hurt you so much…
*
“Exactly,” he interrupted. “You didn’t know. Because you didn’t think about it.”
The silence fell heavily. Long. Lucas slowly took out his phone and looked at it, as if he were weighing it in his hand.
— If I call her now… — he began, but didn’t finish the sentence.
“Call her not because I demand it,” Emma said. “But because it’s your decision. If you do it against your will, there’s no point.”
He nodded. He sat for a few more seconds and then pressed call.
Emma went into the room and closed the door. She didn’t eavesdrop. She sat on the bed counting her heartbeats. The conversation was short. Too short.
When Lucas entered, he was pale.
“She said she’d already booked a taxi for tomorrow,” he said in a subdued voice. “And that… if I’ve decided this, then she’s not welcome here.”
—And you? — Emma asked.
— I told her I love her. But that I have a family. And that this Christmas it’s just you and me.
She looked at him intently, as if she were seeing him for the first time.
— How are you feeling? — she asked in a low voice.
“Bad,” he answered honestly. “But… correct.”
Emma exhaled slowly. There was no triumph. No victory. Only exhaustion and a cautious relief.
“I don’t want you to hate me for this,” she said.
“Something else scares me,” she said, sitting down beside him. “If you had kept quiet today, I would have continued pretending everything was fine.”
She nodded.
Christmas is a good time to stop lying. Even when the truth is uncomfortable.
Lucas took her hand. Hesitantly, as if checking if he could.
— Let’s really try it — he said. — Not “any old way,” but together.
Emma looked at her intertwined fingers and, for the first time that night, felt warmth.
“Okay,” he replied. “But this was the last time I had to fight for my place in my own house.”
He nodded. No excuses. No objections.
Outside, the Christmas lights were coming on and the city was slowly preparing for the holidays. And in that apartment, for the first time in a long time, silence reigned—not the silence of tension, but of clarity.
