My Husband Claimed Asexuality And Fathered Her Child Instead Chapter 03

My Husband Claimed Asexuality And Fathered Her Child Instead Chapter 03

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

I folded the onesie exactly as it had been and placed it back into the gift box.

When I walked out of the study, I brushed past him.

“You’re back,” I said.

“Mm.”

There was a faint scent of lilies on him.

I hated lilies more than anything.

“I went to that steakhouse today,” I said, leaning against the wall.

“It still tasted the same.”

His hand paused as he loosened his tie. “Alone?”

“Who else would I go with?” I smiled.

He looked at me. For the first time, something searching flickered in his eyes, but it faded almost immediately.

“Get some rest,” he said, then went into the study.

The door shut softly, and then he locked it.

That night, I lay in bed and heard faint music drifting from the study. It was a piano piece he used to listen to all the time.

I had once downloaded the same album, but he frowned and said, “It’s noisy.”

Only now did I understand: Serena liked playing the piano.

With her pregnancy already showing, it must have been inconvenient, so he played for her instead.

My phone screen glowed in the dark.

I opened the airline app and confirmed my flight details.

[Departure: Tomorrow, 3:40 p.m.]

My luggage had already been packed and left in the storage room.

One small suitcase was enough to hold my entire existence in this marriage.

At four in the morning, I got up for water.

When I passed the study, I saw through the crack in the door that he had fallen asleep at his desk.

The lamp was still on, illuminating the notebook spread open beside his hand.

In the corner of the page were two names.

[Julian & Serena.]

Underneath was a list.

1. Crib

2. Car seat

3. Consultation for a home in a good school district

4. …

The handwriting was neat, organized, and precise.

He had always done things that way.

I quietly closed the door and returned to the bedroom.

Seven years should have thawed even an iceberg.

But not Julian.

Before dawn, I walked into his room.

He was still awake, reading, when I sat down beside his bed.

His body stiffened almost imperceptibly, but he didn’t move away.

“It’s been seven years,” I said.

“Have you ever tried to feel something for me? Anything at all?”

He was silent.

“Not even a little?”

“You’re my wife,” he said, avoiding the question.

“So it’s just responsibility?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly said.

When he apologized, he sounded no different from someone commenting on bad weather.

“Julian, I want to have a child with you.”

“We can adopt one.”

I laughed, and tears fell before I could stop them.

He pulled a tissue from the box and handed it to me without touching my hand.

“Julian.” I wiped away my tears. “You lied to me again.”

He frowned slightly.

“I never lied to you. I told you I couldn’t love you.”

Yes. He had.

He had said it on the day of his diagnosis.

I had lied to myself for seven years. I thought his condition was the only barrier. I thought there was no one else. I thought time might change something.

But I had been wrong.

I broke down completely that night. I cried, argued, and lost control, but he remained unmoved.

His calmness made me look like a hysterical lunatic.

He shook me off and said I was emotionally unstable, that I was not acting like an adult.

But once, he had said that because he had no emotional highs or lows of his own, he was willing to let me dump all my feelings on him.

Now I understood. All along, he had only been looking through me at someone else.

The sky was almost bright when pale light began seeping through the curtains.

I thought I should buy myself flowers, any flowers, as long as they were only meant to please me.