I went into the kitchen to slice some cheese and wash the grapes. David had gone overboard—he’d bought so much, it took me by surprise. Deciding to toss the leftover cheese and the grapes into the fridge, I opened the door and froze. There, in a crystal bowl, was a salad—freshly chopped, neatly arranged, as if waiting for its moment. Where on earth had it come from? David and I certainly hadn’t made it.
Our little family consists of me, David, and our son Oliver. We get on well, though like any household, we have our quirks. David loves spoiling us with treats, often stopping by the supermarket after work to bring home something special—exotic fruits, fancy cheeses, or sweets. That day, he’d returned with a bag full of groceries: several kinds of cheese, grapes, cold cuts, and a fresh loaf. I teased him, saying he’d bought enough to feed an army. We’d planned a quiet evening—just dinner and a film, nothing out of the ordinary. I set to work slicing the cheese and rinsing the grapes, but there wasn’t enough space on the table, so I figured I’d stash the rest in the fridge.
Then I saw it—the crystal bowl. We have a set, handed down from my grandmother, but I rarely use it, saving it for special occasions. Yet there it was, filled with a salad: crisp cucumbers, tomatoes, fresh herbs, glistening with dressing as if just made. I rubbed my eyes, certain I was imagining it. David and I hadn’t prepared any salad, and Oliver’s too young for that sort of thing. And who on earth would use the good china for leftovers? That bowl’s practically a family heirloom!
I called David over. He peered into the fridge and blinked. “You didn’t make this, did you?” I shook my head. We ran through possibilities—had a neighbour popped in and left it? But the door had been locked. Had I forgotten making it myself? No, I’d been cleaning all day. David joked that perhaps a brownie had decided to treat us. We laughed, but it still unnerved me.
Oliver, overhearing, bounded into the kitchen. “Mum, maybe it was a fairy!” he declared, dead serious. His imagination made us smile, but the mystery lingered. We tried the salad—it was delicious, lightly dressed with olive oil and lemon. Nothing unusual in the ingredients, but its sudden appearance in the crystal bowl gnawed at us.
Then I remembered—my friend Emily had dropped by earlier. She sometimes stops in for tea when she’s out walking. I rang her up and asked if she’d left anything in our fridge. She laughed and confessed. Turns out, she’d made the salad for her own family dinner, but her fridge had broken, so she’d tucked it into ours, thinking we’d guess it was hers. The crystal bowl? Just to make it look nice—she assumed we’d recognise it straight away.
David and I sighed with relief. The explanation was simple—no brownies or fairies involved. But the whole thing felt like a little adventure. Oliver still asks now if any “magic food” has appeared in the fridge. And I’ve made a habit of checking inside before putting anything away. Emily apologised, but we just laughed—she even offered to make salads for us next time.
This silly little moment reminded me how much joy there is in the unexpected. Life’s full of surprises, and even a salad in a crystal bowl can spark a family story. David and I decided we’d play a trick on Emily next—maybe leave something odd in her fridge when she least expects it. As for the crystal bowl? I’ve started using it more often, not just for special occasions. It’s become a reminder that even an ordinary day can hold a bit of magic.
