“Honey, why not just throw it in the trash?” her husband said casually, watching her sort through a pile of old clothes. “That’s much easier.”
She didn’t look up. “Because there are poor, starving people who could really use these clothes.”
He smirked. “Honey, anyone who fits into your clothes is not starving…”
She felt the sting but chose silence. Years of marriage had taught her which battles weren’t worth fighting—at least not right away.
The real blow came later that day.
Pinned to the refrigerator with a bright red magnet was a neatly folded note, written in his familiar, confident handwriting. Her hands trembled as she read it.
My dear wife,
You will surely understand that I have certain needs that you, being 57 years old, can no longer satisfy. I am very happy with you and value you as a good wife.
Therefore, after reading this letter, I hope you will not wrongfully interpret the fact that I’ll be spending this evening with my 19-year-old secretary at the Comfort Inn hotel.
Please don’t be upset — I shall be home before midnight.
Love,
Your husband
Her blood boiled. Not just from the betrayal, but from the arrogance. The calm assumption that she would “understand.” The neatness of it all, like a grocery list instead of a confession.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t call a friend. She didn’t throw a plate.
Instead, she smiled.
That evening, he walked in just before midnight, humming cheerfully, jacket slung over his shoulder—until he noticed the envelope waiting for him on the dining table, addressed in her unmistakably precise handwriting.
He opened it.
My dear husband,
Thank you for your honesty. You’re right — I am 57. But you seem to have forgotten that you, too, are 57.
As you know, I’m a math teacher at the local college, so allow me to explain this in terms you’ll easily understand.
While you read this, I’ll be at Hotel Fiesta with Michael, one of my students, who also happens to be the assistant tennis coach. He’s young, energetic, attentive—and like your secretary, he’s 19 years old.
Now, as a successful businessman with a sharp grasp of numbers, I’m sure you’ll appreciate this simple fact:
19 goes into 57 far more times than 57 goes into 19.
So don’t wait up. I’ll be home sometime tomorrow.
Warm regards,
Your loving wife
The house was very quiet after that.
