HUSBAND'S POV
I swung my keys loosely in my fingers as I made my way back home. Ahead, two dogs were pressed close together, their tails wagging in perfect rhythm as they nuzzled and rubbed against each other with deep affection.
The sight pulled me into a distant memory of her and myself. How cute, I thought, smiling to myself. I crouched down to pat them, running my fingers over their soft fur. They looked so content, lost in their own little world. For a moment, I felt myself disappearing in that simple moment, peaceful and undisturbed until a voice slipped into the air behind me.
I turned my head quickly, an uneasy chill crawling along my neck. It was the old man, standing with the usual expression on his face, as disgusting as ever.
"Hmm, these dogs are cute," he said.
"Yeah," I replied, slowly standing. I tried to keep my tone polite as I asked, "How's your back?"
He shifted slightly and rubbed at his lower back. "So-so," he said with a faint squint. "Hurts now and then, but I'm fine most days. Only when I stretch too much, it gives me a little stab."
Watching him closely, I realized it might be true, his posture did seem a little off. It must hurt a lot at that age.
I was kinda glad when he got hurt, but now I do feel… kinda bad. He lives alone, no one to look after him. It must feel terrible. "I should have been more careful that day," I said with a guilty tone. "I am so-"
Before I could complete the sentence, he stepped closer and placed his hand on my shoulder.
"It's fine, it's fine. No need to beat yourself up over it. Everything…" He paused, smiling subtly, "…happens for a reason."
He turned and walked away, one hand holding the other behind his back. I watched him go, the quiet street feeling calmer by the moment. It made me realize, how easily doubts, once they are planted, can twist the way you see someone. He really did seem like just a harmless old man. Maybe a bit too touchy, but at that age, living alone day after day, perhaps you start reaching for any bit of warmth you can find.
I sat on the sofa, scrolling through my phone when I noticed an unread message from Ray.
Ray: Good evening. It feels like we haven't spoken in quite some time. I hope you and your wife are both doing well.
I let out a sigh. The message was from a few days ago. Must have slipped my mind. It's best not to create unnecessary tension by ignoring and instead just give a small and simple reply.
Me: We're both fine. Just been tied up with work lately. Hope you are doing great.
I switched apps and started scrolling through videos when a new notification suddenly appeared on the screen — A message. From Ray.
Ray: I have been doing great. Lets catch up sometime?
Catch up? Sure, in your dreams.
Me: Sure, I will drop by when I am free.
Ray: Great! See you soon.
See you soon? It's definitely not going to be soon, Ray. I leaned back into the sofa, my thumb still hovering over the phone screen. I wonder how can a person have the balls to message someone with such sweet gentle messages, after doing something like that to their wife. Was it really nothing to you? Or am I the one making too much of it?
The door opened. She stepped in, her hair slightly ruffled from the breeze outside.
"How was shopping?" I asked.
She paused for a brief second before replying, "Yeah… It was great." she replied with a smile.
My mouth opened halfway before shutting itself down. I didn't want to sound doubtful but I also wanted to confirm something. "Hmm… by any chance, were you two back before half an hour ago?" I asked, watching her closely.
She tilted her head. "No, Of course not. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, it's nothing," I said quickly, leaning back. "I could've sworn I heard Lina's voice somewhere outside, but…" I scratched my head, sinking into the sofa, "…maybe I misheard it."
"Yeah," her voice cracked a little as she said, you probably misheard it. How could you hear Lina's laughter when we were out shopping?"
I nodded faintly, letting it go. "Also, I met the old man earlier by the way," I said. "He seemed in a little pain, so I was thinking maybe we should go together and see properly how he's doing. He did say he's fine, but still… it would be good, out of courtesy."
She was quiet for few seconds, her gaze flicking away before returning. "Sure… yeah, we can do that."
"Alright, maybe in a couple of hours," I said, looking at the clock.
She gave a small smile and headed inside, her steps quiet, leaving me with the soft hum of the clock and the fading sound of her moving further inside.
Few hours passed, I carried the small bag of fruit in one hand as we walked to his door. A couple of light knocks, and the old man opened it, leaning slightly on the frame. We stepped inside, and the familiar stench hit me instantly — that same thick, musty smell, mixed with something stale and sour. I'd never gotten used to it, and today was no different.
We sat on the sofa, and the three of us started with harmless small talk. I noticed he wasn't staring at my wife like the last time we'd been here. No darting eyes, no creepy looks — just polite conversation. It actually made me feel more comfortable. Maybe I'd been overthinking before.
Somehow, the conversation drifted toward family. He frowned faintly and said he had some pictures he wanted to show us. "They're upstairs," he added, slowly pushing himself up. "Come on, I'll show you."
I stood up, instinctively offering, "Need a hand?"
He shook his head with that stubborn smirk. "Dont worry… I'll manage. You two go on ahead. I'll follow behind."
I nodded and started up the stairs, the dim hallway stretching upward into a narrow landing. After a few steps, I glanced back and she was walking just ahead of him.
"Come on, you're lagging behind," I called lightly.
She gave me a small smile. "Yeah… it's just my heels. They're hurting a little. I'll be right there."
I paused on the stairs, waiting, my eyes on her but not really thinking much of it. She moved slowly, each step measured. The old man's frame was hidden entirely behind her, his head just out of sight over her shoulder. From where I stood, I could only see the move of her skirt as it brushed against her thighs again and again with each step.
The way she walked… it wasn't exactly limping, but there was a certain move in her hips, a gentle break in her movements that almost looked too… intentional for someone claiming to have sore feet.
By the time they reached me, the air had shifted — the upstairs felt cooler, but dim and strangely still, like a place that didn't see much use. The smell was different here too, less stale but with a faint, almost sweet note.
"You okay?" I asked, looking at her. "Geez, did it hurt a lot?"
She smiled faintly, brushing it off. "It's fine now."
The old man led us into a narrow upstairs room. The light was dim, a single yellow bulb humming in the corner, barely bright enough to cut through the stale air. Dust drifted lazily, stirred by our footsteps.
From an old wooden shelf, he pulled a thick, worn photo album, the leather cover cracked and soft from age.
The old man set the thick album down on the small bed in the corner of the dim room. He lowered himself into a creaky chair with a slow grunt, the springs groaning under his weight.
I crouched on my knees beside the bed so I could look at the photos properly. The leather cover was cracked and the pages smelled faintly of dust and something older, heavier—like the whole thing had been shut away for decades. My wife stood just behind me, resting both hands lightly on my shoulders.
Every now and then, her fingers would tighten, pressing harder into me. I glanced up once.
"You okay?" I asked quietly.
She gave a quick smile. "I'm fine… look at this one, isn't it beautiful?" She pointed to a photo of the old man with a young woman in a bright summer dress.
The old man's voice followed as he leaned forward, eyes on the page.
"That was my wife… she had a way of keeping hold of me, especially in hard times. Never let go until I could breathe easy again."
I nodded, running my hand over the glossy page. "You look quiet young."
He chuckled softly. "Back then I had more energy… we spent a lot of time together, day and night. She always knew exactly how to… lift my spirits."
I felt my wife's weight shift slightly behind me, her fingertips tracing along my shoulder before gripping again. She was probably leaning in to see better, so I tilted the album toward her.
The old man kept talking, naming relatives in each photograph.
"She… knew what I needed without me saying a word. Always attentive. Always willing to… help, no matter what mood I was in."
Her breath was hot near my ear now, and she bent lower, our faces nearly touching as I turned another page. I felt her lean more of her weight on me, like she was getting tired from standing so long.
"You okay?" I asked again.
"Mm… yeah. Just… a little sore from standing," she whispered, then looked down at the album with a soft smile. "Keep... going."
By the time we reached the last page, I was crouched there so long my knees had started to ache. I closed the album and held it out toward the old man. He reached forward, his gnarled fingers brushing mine as he took it from me.
Something wet and warm covered my knuckles.
It was… very sticky.
I blinked down at my hand, puzzled. It must've been sweat, right? Or maybe an some oil or the polish he used on his furniture. Without thinking much of it, I rubbed it off against my pants.
The old man tucked the album under his arm and pushed himself up from the chair.
"Well," the old man said with a faint smile, "glad you came by."
I smiled back, brushing off my pants where that damp spot had been. "Of course. We'll see you again soon."