A man found himself caught between his wife and his mistress, unsure of whom to choose. In search of clarity, he went to a wise man for advice, asking whether he should stay with his wife or his mistress.
The wise man, holding two pots—one containing a rose and the other a cactus—asked the man,
“If I told you to choose one of these pots, what would you do?”
Without hesitation, the man pointed to the rose and said,
“Obviously, I would choose the rose.”
The wise man smiled and said,
“You have proven that you acted hastily and without thought. You deserve neither the rose nor the cactus.”
Some men, swayed by beauty and superficial appeal, are quick to choose what seems most attractive. The rose is beautiful but wilts quickly. The cactus, while it may seem unappealing at first, endures through all seasons. Though it has thorns, it blooms into a remarkable flower when the time is right.
Your wife knows all your flaws, weaknesses, and mistakes, yet loves you for who you truly are. Your mistress, on the other hand, desires only your best side—the smiles, the victories, the joy, and the affection.
Your wife loves you through your tears and defeats. She stays by your side through thick and thin. When the hard times come, your mistress will leave, seeking someone else. Your wife will remain, standing with you. Don’t be fooled by the fleeting allure of what seems perfect now. Beauty fades, and time passes quickly.
By choosing the rose and despising the cactus, you’ve shown a lack of understanding. In time, you may realize your mistake, but by then, it may be too late.
One of life’s greatest lessons is to appreciate what you have before it’s too late!
…………………………………..
2nd Storie
Title: A Man, His Wife, and His Mistress: A Story of True Love
In the quiet coastal town of Veronia, lived Elias Hart, a man of many talents—and many secrets. He was a respected architect, known for designing homes that breathed with light and silence. But behind the blueprints and accolades, Elias lived in two worlds.
He had been married to Clara, a gentle schoolteacher, for nearly 15 years. She was patient, perceptive, and had always stood by him—through his failures, through his silences, through the pain of losing their only child. Their love was quiet, steady, and worn like a familiar coat.
But there was another woman—Isla, a vibrant artist who painted emotions Elias had long forgotten how to feel. With Isla, everything was color and fire. She had entered his life during a gallery project, and like her art, she refused to be ignored.
For two years, Elias lived between Clara’s calming dusk and Isla’s blazing dawn. Each woman gave him something the other could not. Yet he never spoke of either to the other, believing he was protecting them—and himself.
One autumn evening, Clara found a note in Elias’s coat. Not a love letter, but a sketch—a portrait of Isla, unmistakable, sketched in the style Elias only reserved for things that moved his soul.
Clara said nothing. She didn’t scream, or cry, or rage. Instead, she began to paint again—a hobby she’d abandoned years ago. Her first piece was titled: “Two Women, One Shadow.”
Weeks passed. Clara invited Elias to her first public showing. He arrived, nervous, and found her standing between two paintings. One showed a house in the storm. The other, a tree split down the middle—one side blooming, the other bare.
Isla was there too.
The air was sharp with tension as Clara walked toward them. “You love her,” she said, looking at Isla, then back at Elias. “But you also love me. And you’ve mistaken that love can only be chosen once.”
Elias tried to speak, but she held up her hand.
“I’m not asking you to choose today,” she said. “I’m telling you this: True love isn’t about who you need. It’s about who you become when you’re with them.”
Then she turned to Isla. “Do you love him because he needs you, or because you see who he wants to be?”
That night, Elias sat alone, staring at the sea. He realized that love was not a triangle—it was a mirror. With Clara, he was the man who endured. With Isla, he was the man who dreamed.
The next morning, he returned home to Clara. Not because he no longer loved Isla—but because Clara had loved him enough to let him see himself. Fully. Flawed. Free.
He would write to Isla only once after that. It was a letter, not of apology, but of gratitude.
And so it was:
A man with two loves.
A wife with wisdom.
A mistress with fire.
And a story of true love—not because it was perfect, but because it was honest.
