Adrian lingered on old man Edwards words for a long time. “You need a woman in the house.” Yes, he knew there was truth in it. Each evening, returning to his empty flat, the silence pressed down on him. The cold walls and the scent of untouched clothes in Sophies wardrobe haunted him more than the graveyard itself.
Months passed, and neighbours began dropping hints. “Adrian, theres a young widow at the marketperhaps you might meet her?” “A quiet girl comes to church; I could put in a word” But nothing stirred him. Until one day, Edward took him by the arm and led him to the home of a distant cousin, Eleanor.
Eleanor was not beautiful by village standards. Her face was round, her nose too large, her eyes a dull shade, and her movements slow. The women whispered, “Poor Adrian, after Sophie, look what hes settled for.” And so, the cruel nickname stuckthe plain wife.
What they didnt see was her gentleness. Eleanor cooked with patience, drew water from the well without complaint, and above all, she listened. Adrian, who had spent months with no one to share his grief, found in her a rare peace.
Their wedding was simpleno fuss, just two witnesses, a vicar, and a handful of candles. Adrian felt no spark of passion, but something elsean anchor. And after years of storms, an anchor is worth more than any fleeting beauty.
At first, people pitied him. “He only chose her so he wouldnt be alone.” “No luck with women.” But gradually, the whispers faded. Adrians home, once echoing with emptiness, now smelled of warm bread and dried herbs. On long winter evenings, Eleanor read softly from old books left by Sophie, and Adrian closed his eyes, feeling the pain grow less sharp.
One day, old Edward stopped by. He stood in the doorway, watching Eleanor sew by the window while Adrian brought in firewood. Smiling under his white moustache, he murmured, “Pretty or plain, it doesnt matter. What matters is youve found each other.”
Adrian turned to him and, for the first time since the funeral, truly smiled. Perhaps the village would always call her “the plain wife,” but to him, Eleanor was lifes unexpected giftproof that true beauty lies not in the face, but in the quiet comfort it brings to the soul.
And in that quiet, Adrian felt, at last, alive again.
**Life teaches us that what heals the heart isnt perfection, but presence.**