The farmer found the egg on a Tuesday morning. Almost missed it. Doing rounds same as every day for twenty-some years. There it was in the straw under the grey goose. Gold. Not yellowish. Gold.
"Huh," he said. He wasn't a dramatic guy.
His wife held it up to the light. "Huh."
They were a good match.
The goldsmith tested it. Real gold. Enough money to fix the fence, replace the roof, buy some decent boots.
That night they sat at the kitchen table and felt something they hadn't felt in a long time. The worry was just gone. Like putting down something heavy you forgot you were carrying.
Next morning, another egg. And the next. Every day. One gold egg.
He didn't tell anyone. Fixed the fence. New roof. Second barn. People noticed but he kept quiet.
The problem was the walk to the henhouse every morning. Same thirty steps. But it started feeling longer. What if today's the day it stops? What if the egg isn't there?
He started waking up at two, three in the morning. Just lying there.
His wife noticed.
"You stare at that goose more than you talk to me."
"That goose is why we have all this."
"We had a life before the goose."
The idea came dressed up as common sense. If the goose lays a golden egg every day, the gold must be inside it. All of it. Why wait? Just take it all at once.
He didn't tell his wife. He already knew what she'd say.
He went out early. The goose was sleeping. He stood there a long time.
Then he did it.
Nothing inside. Just a goose.
He stood in the henhouse for about an hour.
His wife found him. Looked at the goose. Looked at him.
"Why?"
"I wanted it all at once."
The money ran out. They went back to how things were before. Harder this time, because they knew what they'd had.
She forgave him. Not right away. Slowly. Day by day. Which was, he realized way too late, exactly how the gold had come.
Goodnight.