When your neighbor says his wife left, and days later a brand-new patio appears, would you believe the story—or start digging for the truth?
Grab-Hold First Line
The patio wasn’t there yesterday, but the silence from next door had already started to feel heavier than the bags of cement he hauled in.
Prompt Paragraph (190 words)
When Tom told us his wife had finally left him, he sounded almost relieved, as though the end of their endless arguments was a blessing. Two days later, we noticed the wheelbarrow, the neat stacks of pavers, and the sound of a shovel striking hard earth. A patio, he explained casually, wiping sweat from his forehead. Just a project to keep him busy. But as the cement mixer churned and the patio stretched wider than any barbecue needed, suspicion began to seep in. Why now? Why the urgency? My wife whispered her doubts over morning coffee: “Did she really leave—or did she never leave at all?” Every late-night hammer strike, every mound of dirt smoothed over, seemed to carry a darker meaning. Sometimes the stories we tell ourselves are easier than the truth we don’t want to face. And sometimes, a patio is more than a place for lawn chairs.
Three Questions for Writers
- What details could the neighbors uncover that would confirm—or crush—their suspicions?
- How might the husband’s behavior reveal guilt, innocence, or something in between?
- What role could the wife (neighbor or missing spouse) play if she reappears unexpectedly?