By morning, Tom couldn’t shake the thought. For the first time in years, he noticed the mailman. Jerry. Cheerful, middle-aged, always smiling. “Morning, Tom! Tell your lovely wife I said hello!” he called, winking as he passed.
Tom’s stomach dropped. Was it innocent? Probably. But once doubt sneaks in, it’s hard to shut the door.
Over the next few days, Tom replayed everything — every smile, every wave, every “thank you” at the door. He hated how easily his mind twisted the ordinary into something suspicious. Yet beneath the paranoia was something deeper: the realization that he’d stopped really seeing his wife.
She wasn’t just “his wife” anymore — she was still sharp, clever, mysterious. And maybe, just maybe, that sly comment wasn’t about the mailman at all. Maybe it was a reminder: Don’t take me for granted.
Weeks later, the tension faded, replaced by something warmer. Tom started noticing her again — the way she laughed, the way she hummed while cooking, the way she still had a spark he’d forgotten was there.
It became their inside joke. Whenever the mailman waved, she’d grin and say, “Still thinking about Linda at number 14?”
He’d laugh. “Always.”
Years later, Tom would tell that story at dinner parties. Everyone would laugh and say, “You married a clever woman.”
And he’d nod, smiling quietly, because they were right.
That one offhand joke didn’t break them — it woke them up.
Love, he realized, isn’t about never doubting. It’s about staying curious — still finding mystery in someone you’ve known half your life. Because when you stop wondering, you stop seeing.
And every time the mailman waved from the end of the driveway, Tom couldn’t help but grin.
Because in their house, like the mail, the best lessons — and the best jokes — always delivered.
What do you think?
Would you have laughed, or asked what your partner really meant? Share your thoughts below — let’s see how many of us could handle that kind of joke!