Adrien carried the old man Williams words in his mind long after they were spoken. *”You need a woman in your home.”* Yes, he knew it was true. Evenings, when he returned to his empty flat, the silence crushed him. The cold walls and the lingering scent of unworn clothes in Sophies wardrobe cut deeper than any grave ever could.
Months passed, and the neighbours began dropping hints. *”Adrien, theres a young widow at the marketperhaps youve seen her?”* *”A quiet girl comes to churchI could put in a word”* Nothing moved him. Until the day William took his arm and led him to the cottage of a distant cousin, Eleanor.
Eleanor was not beautiful by the villages standards. Her face was round, her nose too broad, her eyes a faded hazel, and her gait heavy. The women whispered behind their hands: *”Poor Adrien, after Sophie, look who hes settled for.”* And so the cruel nickname stuck*the plain wife.*
But what they didnt see was her gentleness. Eleanor cooked with patience, drew water from the well without complaint, andabove allknew how to listen. Adrien, who had gone months with no one to share his grief, found in her a rare kind of peace.
Their wedding was simpletwo witnesses, a vicar, a handful of candles. Adrien felt no spark of passion, but something else insteadan anchor. And after years of storms, an anchor is worth more than any beauty.
At first, the villagers pitied him. *”He only chose her so he wouldnt be alone.”* *”No luck with women, that one.”* But gradually, the whispers faded. Adriens house, once hollow with echoes, now smelled of warm bread and dried lavender. On long winter evenings, Eleanor read softly from the old books Sophie had left behind, and Adrien closed his eyes, feeling the edges of his pain grow dull.
One day, William, the old friend, stopped by. He lingered in the doorway, watching as Eleanor sewed by the window and Adrien brought in firewood. Beneath his white moustache, he smiled. *”Pretty or plain, it doesnt matter. What matters is youve found each other.”*
Adrien turned to him andfor the first time since the funeraltruly smiled. The village might always call her *the plain wife,* but to him, Eleanor was lifes unexpected giftproof that true beauty lies not in a face, but in the quiet it brings to the soul.
And in that quiet, Adrien finally felt alive again.
