It was a peaceful Sunday evening.
The golden sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the garden. Birds chirped faintly in the distance. The couple—married for over 20 years—sat side by side on a worn wooden bench outside their home, sipping cardamom tea and watching the world slow down.
Comfortably silent for a while, the husband suddenly spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.
“Hey… can I ask you something?”
The wife glanced at him. “Of course.”
He hesitated for a moment, then said,
“Will you… get married again after I die?”
She blinked in surprise, caught off guard. “What kind of question is that?”
“Just wondering,” he mumbled. “You know… hypothetically.”
The wife chuckled gently, stirred her tea, and replied,
“No, I wouldn’t. I’d move in with my sister. We’d live together, take care of each other. We’ve always had a close bond. No need for another husband.”
The man smiled, slightly relieved.
Then, curiosity struck her.
She turned to him and said with a mischievous grin,
“Okay, now it’s my turn. What about you? If I were the one to go first… would you get married again?”
The husband paused. He took a long sip of tea, staring off into the garden as if deep in thought.
A leaf blew past.
The cat stretched on the windowsill.
He slowly turned to her and replied, deadpan,
“No, I’ll also live with your sister.”
Silence.
Her smile vanished.
She turned to him fully, one eyebrow arched. “I’m sorry—what?”
“I said,” he repeated calmly, “I’ll live with your sister.”
She blinked. “My sister?”
He nodded. “Yeah, you know… she’s fun. Great cook. We get along well. Always had a certain spark, don’t you think?”
The wife stared at him, speechless.
A vein on her forehead began to twitch.
He continued, as if oblivious, “I mean, you always said if anything ever happened to you, she’d take care of me. I’m just following that advice.”
She put her teacup down very slowly.
“I was thinking I’d move into that guest room she has. You know, the one with the big window?”
“The one I decorated?” she asked sharply.
“Exactly! See, you’re already part of the plan.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You do realize I meant she’d take care of you, like… send food or check in occasionally. Not share pillowcases.”
“Well,” he said, stretching his arms with a yawn, “details, details…”
The wife stared at him for a few more moments.
Then she picked up the teacup again, took a small, polite sip, and smiled.
A little too politely.
“Great,” she said sweetly. “I’ll make sure to leave very specific instructions in my will.”
The husband laughed nervously. “Haha… you’re joking, right?”
She didn’t reply.
The sun had set. The birds had stopped chirping.
Only the sound of a sharpening knife echoed faintly from the kitchen.
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