My Husband Claimed Asexuality And Fathered Her Child Instead Chapter 10

My Husband Claimed Asexuality And Fathered Her Child Instead Chapter 10

Late that night, my phone lit up with a message from Julian.

[You left your blood pressure medication in the study drawer. Do you want me to mail it to you?]

I stared at the screen.

In seven years, he had never texted me late at night.

Even when my fever hit 102 degrees, all he left me was a message.

[The medicine is in the cabinet.]

Now, because of a bottle of medication, he had reached out first.

I replied: [Throw it away.]

He answered immediately: [Okay.]

The conversation ended as if it had never begun.

On my first day at my new job, I received a package from Julian.

Inside was not the medication, but a yellowed notebook.

My diary from the first year of our marriage.

I opened it to the first page. My handwriting back then looked young and almost childish.

[He said good night today. It was probably just politeness, but I was happy for a long time.]

The last entry was from three years ago.

[He ate my cake. He didn’t say thank you, but he ate it. That was enough.]

I sat there holding the notebook for a long time, until the sun dipped low and shadows crawled across the walls.

My phone lit up again.

This time, it was Serena.

[Our baby is due next month.]

He said he wanted to invite you to the sip-and-see after she’s born.

What do you think we should name her?

There was a photo attached.

Julian’s hand rested lightly over her rounded belly. His eyes were lowered, and there was the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.

It was an expression I had never seen before.

I zoomed in on the photo and looked at it for a long time. Then I blocked her.

After that, Julian started showing up outside my office again and again.

The first time, he said he was just passing by.

The second time, he said there were documents I needed to sign.

The third time, he stood silently in the rain, staring up at my window.

I tried to walk around him, but he grabbed my wrist with too much force.

“Evelyn,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“The marriage license was fake. We were never legally married. Stop harassing me,” I said, pulling my hand free.

“What do you want? Money? A house? I can give you anything.”

“I need you to disappear.”

His eyes flickered.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

He opened his mouth, but in the end, all he said was, “Habits are hard to change.”

“Then change this one. The same way you got used to not loving me, start getting used to life without me.”

The day Serena gave birth, he got drunk.

At three in the morning, he knocked on my door. His tie was crooked, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“She gave birth,” he said.

“Congratulations.”

“It’s a girl,” he continued, as if reporting data.

“Mm.”

“She cried.” He looked up at me. “Why?”

“Because pain makes people cry.”

“Do you hurt too?” he asked suddenly.

“What?”

“That day, when you threw away the pothos, did it hurt?”

I looked at him and suddenly laughed.

“Julian, what’s the point of asking me that now?”

“There is a point.” He stepped closer, and the smell of alcohol hit me.

“The doctor said I may be regaining emotional awareness. I need to verify it.”

I played along.

“So you came here to use me as an experiment?”

“You’re the most reliable reference point.”

His logic was clear enough to be cruel.

“Julian, you’re insane.”

“And don’t think this will make me laugh. It isn’t funny. It’s pathetic.”

I shut the door.

From the other side, he said, “Evelyn, I think I’m starting to understand pain.”