Adrian lingered on the old man Edwins words for a long time. “You need a woman in the house.” Yes, he knew Edwin was right. In the evenings, when he returned to his empty flat, the silence weighed heavily on him. The cold walls and the lingering 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 moved to the market, perhaps youd like to meet her…” “A quiet girl comes to churchshall I put in a word?” But nothing stirred him. Until one day, when Edwin took him by the arm and led him to the home of a distant cousin, Jane.
Jane wasnt beautiful by the villages standards. Her face was round, her nose too large, and her eyes a faded colour. Her walk was slow and heavy. The village women whispered, “Poor Adrian, after Sophie, look what hes ended up with.” And so the cruel nickname stuckthe plain wife.
What people didnt see was her gentleness. Jane cooked patiently, fetched 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 calm.
Their wedding was simple, without fuss. Two 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 more precious than any beauty.
At first, people watched him with pity. “He only chose her so he wouldnt be alone.” “No luck with women, that one.” But gradually, the whispers faded. Adrians house, once echoing with emptiness, now smelled of warm bread and dried herbs. On long winter evenings, Jane read softly from old books left by Sophie, and Adrian closed his eyes, feeling the pain grow less sharp.
One day, old Edwin stopped by. He stood in the doorway, watching Jane sew by the window while Adrian brought in firewood. He smiled beneath his white moustache and murmured, “Pretty or plain, it doesnt matter. What matters is youve found each other.”
Adrian turned to him and, for the first time since the funeral, smiled genuinely. Perhaps the village would always call her “the plain wife,” but to him, Jane was lifes unexpected giftproof that true beauty lies not in a face, but in the peace it brings to ones soul.
And in that peace, Adrian felt he was finally living again.
