My Husband Claimed Asexuality And Fathered Her Child Instead Chapter 05

My Husband Claimed Asexuality And Fathered Her Child Instead Chapter 05

After I landed in Iceland and finished the rental paperwork, I got into a white Jeep.

The heat was turned up high, and a thin layer of frost clung to the windows.

The GPS showed the guesthouse address, forty minutes away.

Not long after we left the airport, snow began to fall.

The driver drove slowly while an Icelandic radio program played in the background.

I couldn’t understand a word, but the rhythm of the voices was calm.

For some reason, I suddenly remembered the first time Julian and I had taken a road trip to the beach seven years ago. He had been silent the entire way.

I tried to make conversation, but he said, “Driving requires focus.”

Back then, I thought he really needed to concentrate.

Now I understood: he simply had not wanted to talk to me.

The owner of the guesthouse was a silver-haired old woman named Edda.

She helped me carry my suitcase and asked in English with an Icelandic accent, “Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Brave,” she said, the same thing the driver had said.

My room was on the second floor, with a window facing the snow-covered mountains.

After setting down my luggage, I checked my phone. No messages.

That was good.

But there was one missed call from an unfamiliar local Icelandic number.

I called back, but no one answered.

I thought it might have been a confirmation call from the rental company, so I didn’t pay much attention to it.

I went downstairs and asked Edda where I could find a flower shop nearby.

She blinked. “In this season? Only in a greenhouse.”

She gave me an address on the outskirts of town, about a twenty-minute drive away.

The flower shop was small, a glasshouse filled with potted plants.

The owner was a young woman trimming roses.

“What kind of flowers are you looking for?” she asked.

“Anything,” I said.

“For myself.”

She smiled and set down her scissors. “Then you should choose something you actually like.”

I walked through the rows of flowers.

Lilies, roses, tulips.

I didn’t want any of them.

In the end, I stopped in a corner where several pots of succulents sat together.

Their plump leaves were gray-green.

“This one,” I said, pointing at a pot.

“Echeveria,” she said.

“Very strong. It doesn’t need much care.”

“Then this one.”

She helped me pot it properly and wrapped it in kraft paper.

When she handed it to me, she asked, “Would you like a card?”

“No.”

I carried the plant back to the car and buckled it into the passenger seat.

The echeveria’s leaves were thick and cool beneath my fingers.

I thought of the dead pothos back home.

On the drive back, I stopped at a gas station to fill the tank, and my phone rang again.

It was still that Icelandic number, so I answered.

“Evelyn.”

It was Julian’s voice, hoarser than usual.

I held the phone and said nothing.

“I’m in Iceland,” he said.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

Wind roared on his end of the line.

He must have been outside.

“I wanted…” He paused.

“To see you. To talk to you about Serena.”

“There’s no need.”

“There is.” His voice was tight.

“Some things have to be said in person.”

I paid for the gas and got back into the car.

“Julian,” I said, looking at the snow-covered mountains outside the window.

“Do you remember what I told you on our wedding day?”

He was silent.

“I said that if you ever lied to me more than ten times, I would disappear from your life forever.”

My voice stayed calm. “You lied to me eleven times.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you come?”