She came home tired, arms aching from grocery bags, mind still busy with errands. The house was quiet—too quiet—but she didn’t think much of it until she walked into the bedroom.
There, in her bed, was her husband. And beside him, a young woman.
Shock stole her breath. Anger rushed in just as fast. She turned to leave.
“Wait,” her husband said. “Please—just listen.”
Against every instinct, she stopped.
“I saw her on the roadside,” he began. “She looked exhausted. Hungry. So I gave her a ride.”
Her wife crossed her arms.
“She hadn’t eaten, so I warmed up the roast you never used. Her shoes were falling apart, so I gave her a pair of yours you don’t wear anymore. She was cold, so I gave her that sweater you never liked. Her pants were torn, so I offered her a pair you haven’t fit into in years.”
The room felt heavy.
“She was about to leave,” he said quietly, “then she turned back and asked me something.”
“What?” his wife asked.
“‘Is there anything else your wife doesn’t use anymore?’”
Silence fell.
Then the wife laughed—not angrily, but knowingly.
“Oh,” she said. “I get it now.”
She stood, smoothing her coat. “If you feel unused, that’s a conversation we should’ve had years ago. But charity without honesty is just assumption.”
She walked out calmly, leaving him alone with the question that lingered long after the door closed:
Had he noticed what he’d been taking for granted?
