Zoe was weeding the flowerbeds in her garden when her neighbor Lucy approached. With feigned nonchalance, Lucy remarked,
“Zoe, don’t you feed that husband of yours? Seems he’s been having his supper at Mrs. Evelyn’s place lately…”
Zoe froze. Her hands went slack.
“Lucy, what nonsense are you spinning?”
“Only what I’ve seen with my own eyes,” Lucy smirked, narrowing her gaze. “Yesterday, I went to discuss my boy with the teacher. Peeked through the window, and there was your Jonathan, cozy as you please at her table. I knocked—he ducked under it like a guilty dog.”
“I don’t believe you. You’ve made this up,” Zoe retorted, but a shiver traced her spine.
“Why would I lie? Suit yourself. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Zoe pretended disbelief, but the words lingered. Lately, Jonathan had been avoiding meals. Three days running, he’d come home from work claiming exhaustion, pushing away stew and roast alike.
That night, as her husband slept early, Zoe lay awake, studying his face in the moonlight. “It can’t be,” she whispered. “It just can’t…”
Two days later, Jonathan didn’t come home for supper. The food grew cold. Unable to bear it, Zoe threw on her coat and marched to Mrs. Evelyn’s cottage.
At the gate, she hesitated. The house was silent, only the hallway light aglow. But—was that his jacket hanging in the corridor? Her stomach twisted. Their daughter Rosie had recently taken up embroidery, stitching tiny daisies into the lining of his coat. Zoe turned the jacket inside out. The flowers glared back at her like accusations. Her legs buckled. She sank to the floor, tears streaming.
A minute later, Jonathan stumbled into the hallway, rumpled and flushed.
“Zoe—it’s not what you think—”
“What, anatomy lessons? Late-night maths tutoring?” Her voice trembled more with hurt than anger. “I believed you were tired. But you—dining with her. Hiding under tables like a rat!”
He chased after her, but she was already sprinting down the lane.
“Zoe! For God’s sake, people are watching!”
“Let them! I’m not the one sneaking into strange beds. Shame on you—and her!”
Mrs. Evelyn had always carried herself like London aristocracy, treating the village as beneath her. She’d rented a room in a shared cottage, counting the days until her return to the city. Neighbors, chores, even her students—none mattered. Until the porch step broke. She’d wept on the doorstep, and Jonathan, passing by, fixed it. Then stayed for tea.
That’s how it began.
First, shop-bought biscuits. Then homemade shepherd’s pie. Then long evenings at her kitchen table. Evelyn felt no love for him, but loneliness gnawed at her. And he—he was flattered. A schoolteacher, sharing his company!
Now the truth was out.
Zoe wept into her pillow. Rosie and little Lily crept to her side, crying because Mummy was. Divorce? Where would she go? No family nearby. The village would buzz with gossip. Work was scarce.
Jonathan drowned in guilt. For days, he kept his distance—washing his own clothes, cooking his own meals. He begged forgiveness, swore oaths, but Zoe remained stone.
“Go back to your teacher. I’m not good enough for you.”
“Zoe… think of the girls—”
“Don’t hide behind them! You’ve lost that right!”
Two months passed. School ended. Evelyn packed her bags and vanished. The house settled into frosty silence.
August. The summer’s last week. The girls played in the yard.
“Rosie! Lily!” Zoe called from the window. They scampered inside. She handed them a bundle. “Take this to your father in the field.”
They raced off, waving like mad. Jonathan’s tractor stood idle amid the furrows.
“Dad! Mummy sent lunch!”
He climbed down as if waking from a dream. “Mummy? She sent this?”
“Here!” Rosie thrust the bundle at him. “There’s roast and bread.”
He spread the meal on a cloth, breathing in the scent of fresh-baked loaf. His eyes stung.
“Dad, are you crying?”
“No… just dust in my eyes.”
Returning home with a fistful of wildflowers, Jonathan approached Zoe.
“Forgive me. And thank you.”
She smiled for the first time in months. “Suppose I have. Wouldn’t feed you otherwise.”
Nine months later, baby Andrew arrived—pink-cheeked, with his father’s eyes.
And Jonathan? He never so much as borrowed salt from another woman again.
He knew now: home was everything.
