In hindsight, the solution was obvious. Of course it was. It always is. But at the time it seemed like an impossible thing, a thing that would never be solved. A thing that would haunt her and taunt her forever and ever amen.

The crossword in Mrs Grey’s daily paper may not, to others,especially perhaps her husband, have seemed like much of an importance, but to her it was everything. It was the thing that, for just an hour or so each day, made her feel clever. It made her feel like a proper human being instead of the tired old housewife which she had somehow, unknowing and unmeaning, become. But today’s solution was eluding her, and she was now drinking her sixth cup of coffee in three hours and still staring at the clue in question: ‘22 Down – What I Feel For You, Now and Always (KG) (4)’.

It meant nothing. Her general knowledge was letting her down, her puzzle brain was turned off… L – Something – Something – E. Nothing sprang to mind.

She was still sitting there when her husband, Keith, arrived five hours later. “Good day, love?” he asked.

She moved her head in his general direction, her eyes glazed and dewy with the effort of thinking. “No. Not really,” she said, her voice croaky. “The crossword was hard,” she added, to explain.
“Oh?” asked Keith, his eyebrows raising. “Really? Which question?”

Mrs Grey simply pointed, ink dripping from her pen nib where it had been held in one position for too long. Keith looked at the question. He looked at his wife. He shook his head. “I thought you’d get that one, for sure,” he said sadly. “It’s ‘love’. Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

Mrs Grey filled in the missing letters and smiled. But she didn’t understand.