My Husband Claimed Asexuality And Fathered Her Child Instead Chapter 07

My Husband Claimed Asexuality And Fathered Her Child Instead Chapter 07

“The day you had a fever was March 14 last year.”

He spoke quickly, as if reciting something he had memorized.

“I took your temperature when it was 101.7. Later, it went up to 102.4. I had my assistant send ibuprofen because you’re allergic to amoxicillin.”

“The caregiver’s last name was Lewis. Female, forty-five, certified home-care aide.”

I didn’t move.

“Our wedding anniversary is October 18,” he continued.

“Last year, I booked the restaurant, but Serena cut her wrist that day, so I went to the hospital.”

“I asked the restaurant to deliver the cake to the house, but I don’t think you ever saw it.”

“The cake?”

“Yes. Chocolate mousse. Your favorite. It was in a box on the second shelf of the fridge.”

I remembered then.

There had been a box in the fridge that day, but I had never opened it. I thought it was his.

“And,” he said, his voice trembling.

“Last year, on your birthday, I bought you a necklace.”

“But we fought that day, and you said I didn’t care about you, so I never gave it to you.”

He took a velvet box from the inside pocket of his coat.

When he opened it, there was a delicate necklace inside, with a tiny diamond pendant.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

He said that, but he was still holding the box out.

I looked at the necklace.

“Julian,” I heard myself say, calm and steady.

“If you remembered so many details, why did you never let me know?”

He closed the box and held it in his hand.

“Because I thought…” He lowered his head.

“Saying it out loud felt too sentimental. I thought actions were enough.”

“What actions?” I asked.

“Transfers? Gifts? Or disappearing whenever I needed you?”

He had no answer.

The snow fell harder and harder, almost burying the car.

He touched his nose again without thinking.

I was so tired, Julian.

“Julian, get out.”

“What?”

“I said get out.” I turned the heat down.

Julian didn’t move.

His fingers tightened around the potted echeveria until his knuckles turned white.

“I’m not finished,” he said, his voice dry.

“You are.” I looked straight ahead.

“The baby isn’t yours. The pothos was replaced three times. What else?”

“Then…” He swallowed. “Then I wanted to say I was sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“This time I mean it.”

I laughed, but tears kept falling. How ridiculous.

Only now did he decide that meaning it mattered.

“Julian.” I wiped my face.

“You touched your nose again.”

He went rigid.

“Every time you lie, you touch your nose. After all that talk about remembering my fever, you touched it again.”

I turned to look at him.

“So that part was fake, wasn’t it?”

His lips moved, but no sound came out.

“You don’t actually remember how high my fever was, or what day it happened,” I said.

“You either looked it up before you came, or you made up numbers that sounded believable.”

Snow kept piling against the windows, so thick it felt like it would seal us inside this white box.

“If you came here to explain Serena, you’ve explained enough. You can go now.”