We agreed to no gifts for Christmas—just a quiet morning with coffee and pancakes. But my husband kept glancing at the tree, clearly expecting something. Guilt ate at me.
When he finally opened the fridge to grab eggs, he froze, then turned around slowly and said, “Why is there a receipt in here for …”
“…a pair of golf clubs?” he finished, holding up the crumpled slip with a confused look. I bit my lip and shrugged, trying to play it cool, but I was caught.He walked toward me, shaking his head slowly but smiling. “You promised.
No gifts. We said just pancakes and quiet.”
I reached for his hand. “I know, but you’ve been eyeing those clubs for months.
You sold your old set to help pay for Emma’s braces. You deserve something nice.”
He looked down at the receipt again. “So, where are they?”
I nodded toward the coat closet.
“Check behind the coats.”