Margaret was perplexed as to why her husband, George, spent so much time in the garage. She had never invaded his personal space before, so this was unexpected. She went searching with her child one day to divert his attention. She had not anticipated discovering anything so shocking. “I’m going to the garage, darling,” George said to Margaret, who was cleaning up their supper in the kitchen.
You’ve been there all day. “What are you doing?” she wondered, wiping her hands on a dishtowel and looking at her husband. “Oh, I’m working on the car, and keeping it in good shape takes some time.” I’m also mending other items and planning to build some new tool cabinets. He returned to the garage and pretended nothing had happened.
Margaret studied the problem with her hands on her waist. Theirs was a typical family. She cooked and cleaned while he worked on gardening, repairs, and home maintenance. It worked for them, and she never got in his way at home because she thought that every man needed his own space.
George, on the other hand, had been working in the garage for days and had only gone out to eat once. He didn’t have any oil on his hands or any other sign that he had worked on their cars. She thought it was strange that he had developed a new interest in mechanics or shelf-building. Maybe it was because they didn’t live close to their relatives. Their only child, Cynthia, lived in California, and they missed her when they returned to Utah.
It was, however, unavoidable. Cynthia had been gone for a long time at that point. She was now married with a child. Their nest had been empty for years, so it couldn’t be empty-nest syndrome. What’s the issue? She was befuddled and unsure of what to do. She tucked it away for the evening and went about cleaning the rest of the kitchen.
Margaret had had enough after a few days. She had to find out what was going on in the garage. However, because George was often nearby, she devised a plan with her daughter. Cynthia intended to communicate with them and show them the baby via video chat. That should be enough to divert her attention away from his macho exterior and allow her to figure out what’s going on.
When Cynthia finally called, Margaret yelled for her husband to come to the kitchen. On the table was a laptop. «George! Cynthia’s phone is starting to ring! «Please enter!» George walked out of the garage and sat next to his wife to talk to their daughter. She told them everything she knew about the baby and her life.
“I need to go for a minute.” “Please excuse me,” Margaret said as she rose from her seat at the table. “I’ll be right back,” she promises. She took a step away from George to see if he was still preoccupied. She then left the house and went into the garage. Surprisingly, everything appeared to be in working order. There was no evidence of shelf-building, and the vehicle hood was still in place.
There was no mess, and the tools were neatly arranged. It was perplexing. Everything would have been strewn everywhere if George had worked there all day. Maybe some oil or grease. But there was nothing. She walked around the garage with her arms crossed, trying to figure out what was going on. She needed to get moving right away.
She sank back against the wall, stunned by what happened next. A hidden door appeared. What? Is this something new? Was it always like this? As she stepped in, she pondered aloud. Even though it was pitch black, she looked around for a light switch and discovered one on the side. There was a stool inside, as well as an unexpected find: an easel.
She noticed a canvas with a work in progress balanced on top of it. On the other hand, she noticed some photos of their family on a bulletin board. A mixing palette and numerous brushes were among the painting supplies on the floor. She muttered, “George can paint?” without thinking.
She was taken aback when she heard a voice. How did you end up here? She whirled around and panicked, clutching her chest. “Jesus!” “You frightened me!” He murmured, his hands on his waist, “Margaret…” In contrast, his tone was upbeat and friendly. “This was supposed to be a surprise!” “What exactly are you doing here?” “I had no idea this room existed,” she exclaimed as she took a look around.
He motioned for her to step forward and face the canvas. We’ve had it since we moved in. However, finding the door may be difficult if you don’t know where to look. Anyway, I took a painting class as a kid and promptly forgot about it. I just realized we don’t have any family photos, especially of our granddaughter.
“So I was thinking about combining this photo of us with Cynthia’s photo,” he explained, pointing to the wall. «Wow! “What a brilliant idea!” she exclaimed. “Yeah, but it was supposed to be a gift,” he grinned. Please accept my most heartfelt apologies. “I became concerned because you were spending so much time here,” he explained. “I’ve had to restart numerous times, but this time it’s going extremely well,” he added.
I also made a point of wiping my hands with a handkerchief to avoid raising your suspicions, but I still believe you were suspicious. This, however, is divine. Continue! » George finished the painting a few days later and presented it to Cynthia during one of her infrequent visits. They also took a photo of the family for posterity. After a few years, the couple decided to relocate closer to Cynthia so that they could be present for all of Cynthia’s important events.