— I swear, Emily, darling, that was the last time, — said Michael, as his wife greeted him after his fishing trip with a suspicious look.
Stepping into their apartment on Maple Street and dropping his oversized fishing bags on the floor, he slumped onto a chair and let out a heavy sigh.
— Probably caught nothing again, — Emily smirked unkindly. — That’s why you’re saying that.
— No, that’s not why, — Michael insisted stubbornly. — I’m just fed up with it.
— You’re lying again…
— Honestly, Emily, you can’t imagine how depressing fishing is. You sit in a rubber boat, staring at the float, waiting like a madman for a bite. And the fish—just to spite you—won’t bite. The scenery’s beautiful, the sun’s shining, waves lap against the boat, but your heart feels heavy. You keep wondering, when will it bite? Fishing’s drained my soul…
— Then why do you keep going? — Emily asked, surprised by her husband’s unexpected confession. — Every Friday, you’re like a zombie, checking your boat and those ridiculous fishing rods.
— Because I’m always thinking of you, — Michael said, looking at Emily sadly. — I wanted to impress you with a big catch, so you could enjoy plenty of fresh fish.
— What, am I starving or something?
— Still, fresh fish is good for you. They say the phosphorus in it is essential for women’s health. It makes your hair beautiful, and all that…
— Alright, fine… — Emily finally smiled. — If that was really the last time, then good. I won’t worry about it anymore. Did you at least catch anything?
— Just one. A pike, — Michael said, pulling a three-pound pike from his waterproof bag. — Here she is, a beauty. Come on, whip up something tasty for dinner with it. One last treat from my own catch.
— Alright, fisherman, I’ll get to it, — Emily nodded. — I’m heading to the kitchen. You go change.
— Yep… — Michael headed to the other room, listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen.
Five minutes later, as he expected, a gasp echoed from the kitchen:
— Oh my gosh! Michael, Michael, come quick!
— What’s wrong? — Michael called back, then leisurely made his way to his wife.
On the kitchen table lay the gutted fish, and Emily, utterly thrilled, stood staring at her open, red-stained palm.
— Did you cut your hand? — Michael asked, just to be safe.
— Look what I found inside the fish! — Emily extended her palm toward him.
Michael leaned in and saw a ring with a blue stone.
— Wow! — he exclaimed, feigning excitement. — So the guys weren’t lying!
— What do you mean, they weren’t lying? — Emily walked to the sink, turned on the faucet, and began rinsing the ring. — It’s gold, Michael! Gold… And the stone, it looks like a sapphire…
— Definitely a sapphire, — Michael confirmed, scratching the back of his head before repeating. — Yeah, the guys weren’t lying…
— What weren’t they lying about? Don’t keep me in suspense, tell me!
— Oh, Emily… Yesterday, we dropped anchor at a spot where, they say, two hundred years ago, some merchant sank a huge treasure. He was transporting it on a big boat—or rather, a barge. But a storm hit, and the boat capsized. That’s the legend the local fishermen told us.
— And? — Emily froze, clearly captivated by the story. — Go on, what happened next? Did the merchant recover the treasure from the riverbed?
— Are you kidding? — Michael chuckled. — The water’s fifty feet deep. How could they have retrieved it back then? There weren’t any divers, I don’t think. But now, the local guys keep fishing at that spot and finding surprises like this inside the fish. And now, I got lucky too. Shame I’m done with fishing… I memorized that spot, you know. I’m pretty good at navigating. They say one fisherman’s brought home rings five times already. Two of them—huge, with diamonds. His wife’s thrilled. Now she’s the one pushing him to go fishing.
Emily, as if enchanted, slipped the ring onto her finger, admired it, and said:
— It’s beautiful… Why are you giving up fishing? So what if you only caught one fish? But what a fish!
— You won’t catch one like that every time, — Michael sighed.
— You don’t need to every time. Even if you get lucky once a year, that’s amazing. You said someone’s gotten lucky five times? What, are you worse than him?
Michael broke into a joyful grin.
— Are you saying you won’t mind if I go fishing often?
— Why would I mind? — Emily shrugged. — A man’s got to have a hobby, right? He can’t just sit around at home all the time, can he? Am I right? So, listen to your wife, Michael, don’t give up fishing. Especially since, apparently, phosphorus is very good for me…
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