It started as an ordinary evening — the kind of quiet comfort that comes with 23 years of marriage. The TV murmured in the background, the smell of roasted chicken lingered in the air, and the steady tick of the clock filled the silence they had long since learned to share.
Tom and his wife had perfected this kind of peace — the language of glances, sighs, and half-smiles that said everything words didn’t need to.
And then, he decided to make a joke.
A harmless one, he thought.
“The guys at the club were saying the mailman’s slept with every woman on our street,” he said with a smirk, “except one.”
He waited for the usual eye roll.
Instead, his wife took a slow sip of wine and said, perfectly calm, “Well, it must be that stuck-up Linda at number 14.”
Silence.
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