Twenty years without a gift for her: a tranquil cohabitation.
Sébastien Moreau had never given a present to his wife, despite having spent two decades of marriage without a hitch. It wasnt that he was miserly; the moment simply never arrived. With Adèle, everything moved quickly: a month after they met, they were married.
Their dates had never involved any gifts. He would visit her in the tiny village where she lived, whistling at her window. She would dash out, and the two of them would settle on the bench by the gate, chatting softly until midnight.
He stole their first kiss on the day they became engaged. Then came the wedding, the routine life and its worries. Sébastien turned out to be a shrewd businessman, making his pig farm thrive. Adèle, meanwhile, worked hard; her garden was the envy of the neighbours. Children followed, with diapers, lacetrimmed dresses, childhood illnesses Gifts? There was no time for them. Celebrations were modest, centred around a good meal. Their existence flowed quietly, marked by labour but peaceful.
One day, just before March8, Sébastien went to the market with his neighbour to sell potatoes and bacon. He had emptied his cellar, sorted the spuds, and decided to get rid of the excess. As for the bacon, better to sell it now before the new pig was slaughtered. The market was chilly yet already scented with spring. Against all odds, everything sold like hotcakes. The bacon vanished in an instant, the potatoes disappeared as if they were treats. Not bad, Sébastien thought, pleased. Adèle will be happy.
He stowed the bags in his neighbours van and set off to run a few errands. Adèle had given him a short shopping list. Out of habit, he first stopped at the local bistro to toast his good sale. He wasnt a drinker, but he firmly believed that refusing a toast would bring bad luck to future sales. After draining a glass of wine, he left with a light step, eyeing shop windows and the bustling crowd. Thats when he literally stumbled upon an unexpected scene.
In front of a shop, a young couple was gazing at a dress displayed on a mannequin. The girl, fresh as a rose, exclaimed:
Sophie, come on, lets go, youre not going to stay here all day, are you?
Look, Antoine, its gorgeous! It would fit me perfectly.
Pff, its just a piece of fabric.
You fool! Its the latest retro style! Buy it for Mothers Day, okay?
Sophie, you know were broke. If I buy it, well be eating pasta until the end of the month
Well manage, darling! I want it so much. Its been a year since we married and youve never given me anything, not even for Christmas!
Sophie, youre driving me mad
I love you, she whispered, then kissed him gently and pulled him into the store.
The boy, noticing Sébastiens stare, shrugged with a knowing grin, as if to say, Women, huh? Shortly after, the couple emerged, Sophie laughing loudly, clutching the precious bag. Sébastien lingered, staring at the window. The dress was simple, floral, much like the one Adèle used to wear on their early outings. A longsuppressed feeling stirred inside him. Was it nostalgia for their youth? A mirror of who they once were? A sudden thought struck him: Ive never given Adèle anything. I was always too busy, thinking it unnecessary. Yet that kid would tighten his belt just to please his wifeout of love. Do I still love Adèle? Before we married I thought I did, but routine erased everything. A life of work, no memories what a miserable existence!
That stolen happiness pained him. He wanted to feel it too.
With a determined step, he entered the shop. A smiling saleswoman approached:
Can I help you?
Yes, dear. Id like the dress in the window.
Excellent choice! Its the latest, pure silk, vintage style. Your daughter will love it.
Its not for my daughter, its for my wife, Sébastien muttered.
What luck shell have! the clerk chirped while wrapping the dress.
How much?
When she quoted the price, Sébastiens breath caught. It was a fortune, in his eyes.
Why so expensive? he growled.
Its a creation by a renowned designer, the clerk explained kindly.
He hesitated, but the image of Sophies beaming face returned. He decided.
Ill take it.
He counted the bills, handed them over, proud of his boldness. His neighbour was already waiting. The ride back felt jubilant; the neighbour bragged about his profits.
And you, did you do well?
What do you mean?
Did you make good deals?
Now youre counting other peoples money? Sébastien snapped.
Whoa, calm down, the neighbour grumbled, surprised by the sudden irritability.
When they arrived, Adèle hadnt yet returned from the farm. Sébastien tended the animals, cleaned the stable, fed the pigs. Yet, despite his good deeds, a weight pressed on his chest. Why this unease? He shrugged and went inside, poured himself a glass of winethen another. It soothed him a little.
The door slammed. Adèle entered, her face as stern as usual.
You there? How did the market go?
Fine. Heres the money.
Adèle counted the notes.
Some are missing. Did you sell poorly?
No, its just the rest is in this bag.
She pulled out the dress, eyeing it warily.
Whos this for? Margot? It looks too big for her. Youre wasting our money
Its for you, he said, shyly. For Mothers Day.
Silence fell.
For me? she asked, incredulous. Really?
Yes, for you! he blurted, relieved she didnt scold him. Who else?
Adèle broke into tears and fled to the bedroom. She returned ten minutes later, eyes red.
It doesnt fit me anymore. Ive put on weight.
What do you mean? he stammered. I remember you wearing a dress like this when we sat on that bench
My poor old man, she sighed with a trembling laugh. Its been twenty years! Things change.
He looked her straight in the eyes.
Seeing those flowers made me think perhaps after all these years, the greatest gift isnt the dress at all, but simply finding each other again, just as we did on day one.
