It began as an ordinary evening — quiet, predictable, comfortably dull in that long-married kind of way.
The TV murmured in the corner, replaying some sitcom they’d both seen a dozen times. The smell of roasted chicken lingered in the air. The kitchen clock ticked in steady rhythm, counting out another unremarkable day.Tom stirred his coffee out of habit — black, no sugar — a ritual more about rhythm than need. Across the table, his wife was scrolling through her tablet, half-smiling at something on the screen. She looked relaxed, content.
And that’s when he decided to make a joke.
A small one. Harmless. The kind of throwaway remark that’s meant to tease, not sting.
He leaned back, watching her over the rim of his mug, and said casually, “You know, the guys at the club were saying the mailman’s slept with every woman on our street…”
He paused, savoring the setup.
“…except one.”
He expected the usual — an eye roll, maybe a sarcastic quip about how men gossip more than women. But she didn’t roll her eyes. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t even look up.
Leave a Reply