Day Five: Five Gold Rings

The silence the next morning felt suspicious — the sort of silence that implies the universe has stepped out of the room to fetch something worrying.

Stephen woke before Jane and lay perfectly still, listening: No shrieks. No cooing. No French muttering from hens with unresolved aristocratic trauma. No digital marimbas attempting guided serenity.

Just the radiator’s low hum and the soft winter traffic brushing along the road.

Even the partridge looked thoughtful rather than furious, as if briefly flirting with inner peace.

He exhaled. Maybe — impossibly — the day might cooperate.

He checked his phone. One new message from Authentic Gifts Co.:

Order 005 confirmed: Five Golden Rings — delivery between 8 a.m. and noon. No refrigeration required.

A strange disclaimer for jewelry. He snorted. Even automated notifications were mocking him now.

Still: metal. Quiet. Not feathered. Not honking. He’d take it.

Jane needed calm. So did he. She’d spent three nights sprinting between sketch drafts, email notes from her editor, and protecting her coloured pencils from Roo’s culinary ambitions. Calm wasn’t a luxury — it was first aid.

He slipped from bed. Jane lay tangled in her sketches, one page stuck to her elbow: a disgruntled stoat in a velvet waistcoat. He peeled it away gently and placed it on her nightstand.

Crossing the living room, he found the household’s most reliable staff member:

Roo was on her back again — proof that at least someone had mastered work-life balance.

One lazy tail-thump served as her greeting.

He rubbed her belly. “Never change, Roo.”

He made tea and coffee, wiped away the usual constellation of feathers, and encouraged the pear tree back into something resembling upright. The partridge observed with the resigned air of a tenant expecting a surprise inspection.

For a brief, shining moment, the bungalow felt like a functioning home — not an accidental aviary.

The courier arrived just as Jane stepped from the bedroom, curls soft around her face, wearing a clean shirt that suggested cautious optimism. Sketchbook in one hand, coffee in the other — equal parts artist and adult.

The winter light caught the steam rising from her mug, turning it gold.

“What species today?” she asked, eyeing the delivery box as if it might grow legs.

“No species,” he said brightly. “Pure symbolism.”

“Symbolism with teeth or without?”

“Without. Entirely tooth-free.”

She gave him a sceptical look but nodded for him to continue.

He opened the box.

Five golden rings gleamed up — actual jewelry. No feathers, no claws, nothing he’d need to apologise for. Just warm, bright circles catching the light like tiny storybook moons.

Jane blinked. “You… bought jewelry?”

“I… bought jewelry,” he repeated, suddenly shy.

She lifted one, rolling it between her fingers. “They’re beautiful.”

“They weren’t expensive, I just didn’t want—”

“Stephen.” Her smile softened. “They’re lovely.”

She turned the ring toward the window. “See how the light hits the edge? That’s a perfect illustration highlight.”

He watched her admire it, the warmth rising in her face.

It fit perfectly.

Jane left for her publisher presentation lighter than she’d been in days, sketchbook tucked under her arm, Roo trotting behind her like a four-legged intern.

“No more birds!” she called.

“No more birds,” he promised — honestly, for the next few hours.

Stephen cleaned — sincerely this time. He swept feathers, wiped down surfaces, repotted the pear tree (again), and tried to coax the sofa cushions back into civilised geometry.

The partridge supervised with managerial suspicion.

Between chores, Stephen glanced at the rings on the table — five tiny suns, each one whispering a different version of possibility.

He imagined repainting the kitchen. A winter break somewhere warm. Waking without being outnumbered by poultry. A life that felt less like a spreadsheet held together by hope.

The calm felt delicate, like something he might scare off if he breathed too loudly.

Jane returned around six, cheeks rosy from the cold, hair escaping her clip in soft painterly waves. She held her sketchbook like a victory banner.

“I nailed it,” she declared, toeing off her boots. “Full redemption arc. They applauded.”

“My unstoppable overachiever,” he said proudly.

She settled beside him on the sofa, lifting her hand so the ring caught the lamplight. “Lucky rings. You might actually be redeemed.”

He passed her a glass of wine. They toasted. Roo wandered over, snuffled Jane’s ankle, then flopped for dramatic tummy access.

It should have been perfect.

But Stephen’s gaze drifted to the five rings — neat circles lined up like promises he’d intended to make in a different order.

“I just wanted this year to feel like something,” he said, the words catching quietly.

Jane’s smile softened into concern. “What brought that on?”

He exhaled. “Work’s been… a bit meh. Like life’s strolling past waving politely while we’re still hunting for the car keys. We talk about doing things — painting this, visiting that — but never get beyond the list. I thought… twelve days, twelve nudges. Little sparks to wake us up.” He shrugged. “Might’ve overdone it.”

Jane rested a hand gently on his knee, steadying him. “You’re allowed to want more. But you don’t need to prove we’re still us.”

A quiet beat.

“You’re enough,” she said. “Even without all this.”

The words settled into him slowly, warmly.

He nodded. “I’m learning.”

“I know,” she said, smiling. “And look at that — no birds today. A miracle.”

They sat together in lamplight that made everything feel softer. Jane opened her sketchbook and drew a whimsical version of the rings — five circles stacked like planets.

Roo nudged Stephen’s foot, insisting on overtime belly rubs.

Outside, faint and far away, something honked — the ambiguous honk of either a distant lorry or a bird with entrepreneurial aspirations.

Stephen didn’t notice the delivery notification that flashed on his phone and faded as the screen dimmed.

And in a regional warehouse, six crates shifted in impatient unison.

Six geese a-laying, warming up for their morning performance.