A not so Fictional Christmas story. Enjoy
The silence in the house had texture now—thick, heavy, and often broken only by the faint, frustrated tap of Martin’s fingers on his laptop keyboard. Three months after the layoff, the savings were slowly bleeding, and his confidence was eroding faster. The festive Christmas decorations Clara had put up felt like a cheerful rebuke to his own inertia. His gaze fell, as it often did, onto the sagging cardboard box beside his desk. It was labelled, simply, “TAPES.” Inside, a jumble of VHS-C cassettes and full-sized VHS tapes held the early years of his children’s lives, recorded on a format as forgotten as the payphone. It was Clara who finally gave the silence a name. “You miss doing something,” she said softly one evening, her hand on his shoulder. “You miss making things. Why don’t you finally get those converted? For the kids. For Christmas.” She nodded to the box. “You can’t do it with that,” she added, tapping his laptop. He knew she was right. The technical hurdle...