Two decades passed without a single gift for her, yet their life together remained smooth.
Sebastien Moreau had never given his wife a present, even after twenty years of uninterrupted marriage. It wasnt stinginess; the right moment simply never arrived. With Adèle everything moved quickly: a month after they met, they were already married.
Their dates had never involved gifts. He would walk to the little village where she lived, whistle under her window. She would rush out, and the two of them would settle on the bench by the gate, chatting softly until midnight.
He stole her first kiss on the day they got engaged. Then came the wedding, the routine, the everyday worries. Sebastien proved a shrewd businessman, making his pig farm thrive. Adèle, for her part, worked hard; her garden was the envy of the neighbours. Children followed, with diapers, lacetrimmed dresses, childhood illnesses Gifts? There was never time to think about them. Holidays were marked simply, with a good meal. Their existence flowed quietly, marked by labor but peaceful.
One morning, just before March8, Sebastien went to the market with his neighbour to sell potatoes and bacon. He had cleared his cellar, sorted the tubers, and decided to get rid of the excess. The bacon, too, needed to be sold before the new pig was slaughtered. The market was cool, already smelling of spring, and, against expectations, everything sold like hotcakes. The bacon disappeared in an instant, the potatoes vanished as if they were candy. Not bad, he thought, smiling. Adèle will be pleased.
He loaded the bags into his neighbours van and set off for a few errands. Adèle had handed him a short shopping list. Out of habit he stopped at the local bistro to celebrate the good sales. He wasnt a drinker, but he was convinced that skipping a toast would bring bad luck to his next deals. After downing a glass of wine, he left with a light step, scanning shop windows and the crowd. Thats when he literally stumbled onto an unexpected scene.
In front of a shop, a young couple stared at a dress displayed on a mannequin. The girl, fresh as a rose, exclaimed:
Sophie, come on, lets go, youre not going to stand there all day, are you?
Look, Antoine, its gorgeous! It would suit me perfectly.
Pff, its just a piece of fabric.
You idiot! Its the latest retro trend! Buy it for Mothers Day, will you?
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. Weve been married a year and youve never given me anything, not even for Christmas!
Sophie, youre driving me crazy
I love you, she whispered, then kissed him gently and pulled him inside the store.
The boy, catching Sebastiens eye, shrugged with a knowing grin, as if to say, Women, huh? Soon after, the couple emerged, Sophie laughing loudly, clutching the precious bag. Sebastien lingered, gazing at the window. The dress was simple, floral, the kind Adèle used to wear on their early dates. A longforgotten feeling stirred inside him. Was it nostalgia for their youth, or a mirror of who they once were? A sudden thought struck: Ive never given Adèle anything. I was too busy, thought it unnecessary. Yet this kid would tighten his belt just to please his wife, out of love. Do I love Adèle? Before we married I believed I did. Then routine erased everything. A life of toil, without memories what a miserable existence!
The stolen happiness hurt his heart. He wanted to feel it too.
With determination, he entered the shop. A saleswoman approached, smiling:
Can I help you?
Yes, dear. Id like the dress in the window.
Excellent choice! Its the newest vintage silk. Your wife will love it.
Its not for my wife, Sebastien muttered.
What luck shell have! the clerk chirped while wrapping the dress.
How much is it?
When she named the price, Sebastiens breath caught. It was a fortune to him.
Why so expensive? he growled.
Its a design by a renowned couturier, the clerk explained kindly.
He hesitated, then the image of Sophies beaming face returned. He decided.
Ill take it.
He counted his bills and left, proud of his boldness. His neighbour was already waiting. The ride back was cheerful; the neighbour bragged about his profits.
And you, how did it go?
What do you mean?
Did you make good deals?
Now youre counting other peoples money? Sebastien snapped.
Come on, calm down, the neighbour grumbled, surprised by the sudden sour mood.
When they arrived, Adèle had not yet returned from the farm. Sebastien tended the animals, cleaned the stable, fed the pigs. Yet, despite the good deeds, a weight pressed on his chest. Why this anxiety? He shrugged and went inside, poured a glass of wine, then another. It soothed him a little.
The door slammed. Adèle entered, her face as stern as usual.
Are you there? How did the market go?
Fine. Heres the money.
Adèle counted the notes.
Its short. Did you sell poorly?
No, its just that the rest is in this bag.
She pulled the dress out, suspicious.
Who is this for? Margot? It looks too big for her. Youre wasting our money
Its for you, he said timidly. For Mothers Day.
Silence.
For me? she asked, incredulous. Really?
Yes, for you! he blurted, relieved she didnt scold him. Who else would it be for?
Adèle burst into tears and rushed to the bedroom. She reappeared ten minutes later, eyes red.
It doesnt fit me anymore. Ive gained weight.
What do you mean? he stammered. I remember you wore a dress like this when we sat on the 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, but simply finding each other again, just as we did on day one.
