The Hidden Cost of Pretending Everything’s Fine
With his hands occupied, Andrey used his shoulder to push the apartment door open. A briefcase occupied one hand, while the other held a box containing a brand-new smartphone he’d purchased on the way home. A familiar pang of guilt tightened inside him, yet he straightened his posture stubbornly. After all, successful individuals invest in premium phones; it’s part of cultivating an image and securing their future.
“Lena, I’m home!” he announced, kicking off his shoes.
No response. The usual kitchen sounds—the sizzle of frying or the aroma of cooking—were absent. Andrey approached the living room, where Lena remained seated on the sofa, engrossed in a book without glancing up.
Attempting to sound casual, he asked, “What’s for dinner?”
“Nothing,” she replied quietly, eyes still fixed on the page.
“What do you mean, nothing?” Andrey asked incredulously.
“I simply didn’t cook,” was her calm response.
In ten years of marriage, Lena had never once failed to prepare a meal for him—even after a tiring day at work.
Concern crept in as Andrey inched closer and sat on the couch’s edge. “Are you feeling unwell?”
This time, she lifted her gaze. Rather than anger or frustration, her eyes reflected a strange resolve.
“No. I just didn’t have the money to buy groceries. So, there’s nothing to eat.”
“How can there be nothing?” he challenged.
Lena tucked a bookmark carefully, then looked at the phone box in Andrey’s hand.
“But you helped others and bought yourself a new phone,” she said evenly.
Heat flushed Andrey’s cheeks. The phone’s cost was indeed high—almost half his monthly pay. Yet didn’t she see? His old smartphone froze constantly, and carrying an outdated device felt awkward during business meetings.
“I needed it for work,” he muttered. “A good image matters.”
Unfazed, she continued, “I covered the rent, paid the utilities, sent money to your mother for her medicine, and your brother called asking to borrow for another one of his business ideas.”
Each statement struck him sharply. Andrey understood her points but struggled to admit it. He couldn’t articulate the turmoil he felt every time he looked at his paycheck.
“I’m trying,” he whispered. “Do you think it’s easy? I put in twelve-hour shifts every day.”
“I know,” Lena nodded. “That’s why it’s confusing why you hide how things really are.”
Key insight: Pretending to maintain appearances can deepen financial struggles and emotional isolation.
The word “pretending” lingered between them. Andrey turned toward the window where lights flickered on in surrounding apartments. Each lit window held stories, struggles, and families where the husband might earn more—families not forced to count every penny.
Without facing her, he suggested, “There’s pasta and other basics. You could make something from what we have.”
“You can,” Lena agreed softly. “But I refuse.”
Startled, Andrey spun around to meet her eyes, which bore exhaustion—not anger. A profound weariness of someone beaten by ongoing struggles.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“It means I’m tired of pretending all is well. I’m exhausted from constantly scrimping so you can play the role of a successful man.”
Her words felt like acid burning through his defenses. Andrey’s nerves knotted tighter. She didn’t understand the daily pressure he endured—the patronizing glances from coworkers earning twice as much, his mother’s sighs that echoed in phone calls about need, his brother’s reliance on him despite repeated disappointments.
“You don’t get it,” he said hoarsely. “I have responsibilities.”
“Whose?” she pressed, rising as her hands trembled. “Your mother who depends on you topping up her pension? Your brother, who at thirty hasn’t managed to stand on his own? Or your colleagues who don’t care if your phone is old or new?”
“It’s not that simple…” he tried to explain.
“It is!” she exclaimed louder than before. “We’re living beyond what we can afford. I work right beside you, but you control the finances. And when money’s tight, somehow I’m the one held responsible.”
Andrey remained silent, unable to confess the defeat that greeted him each morning—the internal voice deeming him a failure, his salary a sentence, every purchase a futile attempt to silence this self-doubt.
“I’m tired of maintaining this illusion of success,” he wanted to confess but couldn’t.
“Last week,” Lena added gently, “I ran into Katya Morozova — my old classmate. She mentioned her husband needs a skilled professional. The salary is one and a half times yours, plus benefits.”
Andrey recoiled internally. He remembered Morozova — confident and clear about her goals even back then.
“And what did you say?”
“That I’d think about it.”
“I don’t want a job just because of who I know,” he protested.
Closer now, Lena asked, “Why are you willing to stay stuck, earning little and complaining, rather than taking a chance on something new?”
The question hung heavy. Andrey knew the truth but couldn’t admit it aloud: he was scared. Scared of rejection, of failure, of confirming his deepest fears that he was simply not good enough.
“Changing jobs isn’t that simple,” he murmured.
“People do it all the time,” Lena remarked, sitting back down. “But first, you have to admit there’s a problem. Instead, you buy shiny gadgets and pretend everything’s fine.”
- Living paycheck to paycheck.
- Borrowing money each month.
- Spending beyond means to maintain appearances.
Silence stretched taut. Andrey looked down at the phone’s box—the newest model, loaded with features he’d never use. Twenty-eight thousand rubles, nearly half of his paycheck.
“Tomorrow, I’ll call Katya,” Lena declared. “Arrange a meeting.”
“Don’t.”
“Then make the call yourself.”
“Lena…”
“Or start searching for a new job. Draft a resume, send it out. You have strong experience and great references. You can get better.”
Closing his eyes, Andrey felt a wave of fear and shame. Imagining cold calls, interviews, and judgement made it hard to breathe. The risk of hearing “You’re not suitable” loomed large.
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“What if it does?” Lena sat beside him, taking his hands. “Andrey, this can’t go on. We’re drowning in debt while you spend on what we can’t afford.”
“I can’t admit to Mom I’m struggling financially.”
“Why not?”
He hesitated, then said, “Because she’s proud of me. She thinks I’m successful.”
“So you’d rather go into debt than accept being an average man with a normal salary?”
Andrey fell silent, knowing she spoke truth. His mother loved him beyond money. His brother was reliant by habit. Coworkers were indifferent to his phone. Yet, that truth stung like a thorn he couldn’t extract.
“Let’s plan,” Lena proposed. “List our expenses honestly. Decide what to cut. And start job hunting.”
“What if I can’t do it?” he asked quietly.
“You can,” she said firmly. “I believe in you. I always have. That’s why we married.”
Looking deeply into her eyes, Andrey finally saw what he’d overlooked: exhaustion. Not from daily labor or chores, but from himself — his fears, his denial, his attempts to be someone he was not.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For making you live this charade.”
She smiled, the first time that evening.
“I choose this life, but I’m tired of silence.”
Inside him, a shift began—painful, frightening, unavoidable.
“Alright,” he agreed. “Tomorrow you’ll call Katya. And I’ll prepare my resume.”
“And you’ll talk to Mom. Honestly.”
“And with my brother.”
Lena embraced him gently, her tension easing. Yet Andrey felt his own muscles tighten amid looming talks and decisions.
“What about dinner?” he asked into her shoulder.
She chuckled, “I’ll make something from what we have.”
Together they moved to the kitchen. Andrey placed the phone box on the table, contemplating. Tomorrow, he planned to return it—not because it was faulty, but because it symbolized the wrong choice.
“Maybe it’s better you didn’t cook,” he said while pulling out pasta.
“Why?”
“Because otherwise, we’d keep living as we have.”
Lena nodded quietly, igniting the stove and filling a pot with water. Simple pasta, whatever lay in the fridge—not a festive meal, but an honest one.
Within that honesty, there was a sense of freedom.
Andrey took out his old cracked phone and dialed his mother’s number. After several rings, a familiar voice answered:
“Andryusha! How are you, son?”
“Mom,” he said softly, watching Lena stir—“we need to talk.”
In times of hardship, sustaining appearances often worsens conflicts and pressures within families. Open conversations, acceptance of reality, and mutual support become vital steps toward overcoming financial and emotional struggles. Andrey and Lena’s story underscores the power found in honesty, the challenge of confronting fears, and the hope that arises when vulnerability replaces pretense.