The conversation that night had been casual. Neighborhood gossip, the new fence at the Johnsons’ house, the ever-late trash pickup — harmless, passing topics that filled the space between heavier thoughts. He’d been relaxed, content even, until a flicker of mischief crossed his mind.
He leaned back in his chair and smirked. “So,” he began, using that mock-serious tone that usually meant a joke was on the way. “The guys at the club were talking today. Apparently,” he said, pausing for effect, “the mailman has slept with every woman on our street…”
He let the words hang in the air, savoring the suspense before finishing with the punchline.
“…except one.”
He expected her to laugh. She always laughed at these silly neighborhood rumors — or at least rolled her eyes and teased him for spending too much time listening to “the guys.” It was supposed to be harmless. Just one of those married-couple jokes that lightens the end of a long day.
But this time, she didn’t laugh.
