**The Tale of the Disobedient Dishes: Three Days of Patience Tested**
John washed the dishes. For three days he endured, yet not a single plate or mug was clean. Returning from work, he didnt even bother changingjust tied on an apron and got to work. He longed to make a proper soup, having forgotten what a homemade one even tasted like
Leftover food clung stubbornly to the plates, forcing him to soak them. Coffee mugsat least a dozen. Couldnt anyone rinse just one after themselves? A bitter lump rose in his throat. He was starving, but the fridge held only a few cucumbers and an empty shelf. Then, suddenly, the scent of Lucys baking drifted into his mind. Their home had always smelled of fresh pastrieshis wife adored cooking. The moment she returned from work, cinnamon or vanilla would fill the air. The mixer would hum, the oven warming the kitchen
Now, John remembered her fondly. Back then, hed assumed her world revolved around the kitchen and the children (work didnt count). She was always washing clothes, scrubbing windows, or straightening rugs. Come summer, their kitchen turned into a jam factoryJohn could hardly keep up carrying jars to the cellar.
One evening, he came home to find Lucy, as usual, stirring something on the stove while perched on the counters edgeher bad habitpeeling apples and half-watching a concert on TV.
Im leaving you, John said calmly, not even greeting her first.
Lucy startled but didnt turn.
Theres someone else, he explained. I love her. I cant lie to you anymore.
Lucy set down the knife, slowly turned her flushed face toward himsteam and shock coloring her cheeksand replied quietly,
Take a slice of cake. Well never finish it all.
John didnt take it, though hed always loved her walnut and raisin sponge. He packed only essentials and left for the woman who was nothing like Lucy. She never wore jeansonly short skirts and dresses. Never trainers, only stilettos. Shed announce a trip to the salon as if it were a board meeting, and the world had to wait.
Lucy never went to salons. Hated shopping. If she needed something, shed jot a list, dash out, and return with bags in minutes. She didnt read glossy magazines, drink coffee, dye her hair, or jog. Yet she was always lovelyslim, neat, in fitted jeans and blouses, her hair in a simple braid, looking like a schoolgirl.
John had wanted a real woman by his side. So he found himself Amanda. Now he irons shirts, cooks meals, scrubs dishes. And at night, he dreams of Lucys cakes and pastries. Dreams scented with vanilla, filled with her laughter
After restoring order in the kitchen, John walked into the living room. Amanda lounged elegantly on the sofa, flipping through a magazine. Three empty coffee cups sat on the side table.
Youre wonderful, darling, she trilled, stretching her arms toward him. What would I do without you? Just back from my manicureexhausted! Lookarent they divine? Come here, sweetheart, let me hug you
John felt a twinge of irritation. *Probably just hunger*, he thought, heading back to peel potatoes.
**Lesson:** Sometimes, what we chase blinds us to what we already haveuntil its gone, and all that remains is the ghost of its warmth.
