The Disobedient Plates: Three Days of Patience Tested
William washed the dishes. For three days he endured, yet not a single plate or mug was clean. Coming home 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 truly tasted like.
Leftover food clung stubbornly to the plates, forcing him to soak them. Coffee mugsat least ten. Couldnt anyone rinse just one for themselves? A bitter lump rose in his throat. He was starving, but the fridge held only a few cucumbers and bare shelves. Suddenly, the scent of Sarahs baking filled his nose. Their home had always smelled of fresh cakes because his wife adored cooking. Shed return from work, and the kitchen would hum with cinnamon or vanilla. The mixer would whir, the oven would glow
Now, William remembered her fondly. Back then, he had assumed she saw nothing beyond the kitchen and the children (her job didnt count). Always washing, scrubbing, tidying. In summer, the kitchen turned into a canning factoryhe could hardly keep up carrying jars to the cellar.
One evening, he arrived home to find Sarah, as usual, stirring something by the stove. She sat on the counters edgea bad habit of herspeeling apples while watching some concert on telly.
“I want a divorce,” William said, eerily calm, not even greeting her.
She flinched but didnt turn.
“Theres another woman,” he explained. “I love her, and I cant lie to you anymore.”
Sarah set down the knife, slowly turned her flushed, steam-damp face to him, and replied obediently:
“Take a slice of the cake. We wont finish it all.”
Of course, William didntthough hed always loved her walnut and raisin sponge. He packed only the essentials and left for the woman who was nothing like Sarah. She never wore jeans, only short skirts and dresses. Never trainers, only stilettos. Shed announce a salon visit as if it were a board meeting, and the world had to wait.
Sarah never went to salons. Hated shopping. If she needed something, shed jot a list, dash out, and return with bags in no time. She didnt read glossy magazines, drink coffee, dye her hair, or work out. Yet she was always lovelyneat, slender. In her skinny jeans and tucked-in blouses, her hair in a braid, she looked like a schoolgirl.
William had wanted a “real woman” by his side. So he found himself with Victoria. Now he irons shirts, cooks meals, and scrubs dishes. At night, he dreams of Sarahs cakes and pastries. Dreams scented with vanilla, ringing with her laughter
After tidying the kitchen, William walked into the living room. Victoria lay elegantly on the sofa, propped on her elbows. A magazine sprawled before her, three coffee cups cluttering the side table.
“Youre such a darling, my sweet bunny. What would I do without you?” she trilled, stretching her arms toward him. “I just got my nails done. So exhausting! Lookarent they perfect? My own, right? Come here, love, let me hug you”
William felt a surge of irritation. “Must be hunger,” he thought, retreating to peel potatoes alone.
Sometimes what we chase isnt what we truly needuntil we lose what we already had.
