To Be Continued: The Next Chapter

Adrian lingered on old Edwards words for a long time. *”You need a woman in the house.”* Yes, he knew it was true. In the evenings, when he returned to his empty flat, the silence pressed down on him. The cold walls and the scent of untouched clothes in Sophies wardrobe reminded him of his loss more than the graveyard itself.

After a few months, the neighbours began dropping hints. *”Adrian, theres a young widow at the marketperhaps you should speak to her”* *”A quiet girl comes to churchI could put in a word”* But nothing moved him. Until one day, when Edward took him by the arm and led him to the home of a distant cousin, Margaret.

Margaret wasnt beautiful by the villages standards. Her face was round, her nose too large, her eyes a faded grey, and her movements slow. The women whispered, *”Poor Adrian, after Sophie, look what hes ended up with.”* And so, she was cruelly nicknamed*”the homely wife.”*

What people didnt see was her kindness. Margaret cooked patiently, drew water from the well without complaint, and, above all, knew how to listen. Adrian, who had gone months with no one to share his grief, found in her a rare peace.

Their wedding was simpletwo witnesses, a vicar, and a few candles. Adrian didnt feel the spark of passion, but he felt something elsean anchor. And after years of storms, an anchor is worth more than any beauty.

At first, people looked at him with pity. *”He only chose her so he wouldnt be alone.”* *”No luck with women.”* But gradually, the whispers faded. Adrians house, once echoing with emptiness, now smelled of warm bread and dried herbs. On long winter evenings, Margaret read softly from Sophies old books, and Adrian closed his eyes, feeling the pain grow duller.

One day, Edward, his old friend, stopped by. He stood in the doorway, watching Margaret sew by the window while Adrian brought in firewood. Smiling beneath his white moustache, he murmured, *”Pretty or plainit doesnt matter. What matters is youve found each other.”*

Adrian turned to him and, for the first time since the funeral, truly smiled. The village might always call her *”the homely wife,”* but to him, Margaret was lifes unexpected giftproof that true beauty lies not in the face, but in the quiet it brings to the soul.

And in that quiet, Adrian felt, at last, he was truly living again.