Don't Come Home

I see an anonymous poll online after Aidan Spencer returns to me and our family. "Does a man feel guiltier to his wife or mistress after cheating?"

99% of the voters chose "mistress".

I turn to Aidan. "Do you agree with this?"

He puts down his book, a hint of indescribable fatigue in his cool gaze. "I'm already back with you, Lily. What else do you want from me?"

My husband, Aiden Spencer, frowned, got up, and went to the balcony to smoke.

I looked over. Against the backdrop of bright city lights, his tall and slender figure blended into the faint haze of smoke, exuding loneliness and desolation.

Half an hour later, he walked back inside, forcing a smile that screamed of silent endurance.

"This time, come with me to the company's family day event. Since I'm free this weekend, I'll take you to the mall to pick out a few outfits."

Aiden's company held family day events from time to time, but he never took me along. On the rare occasions I asked about it out of curiosity, he would frown impatiently.

"Those are benefits arranged for the lower-level employees. The slots are limited. As a senior executive, I need to be mindful of that. There's no point in competing with them."

At this moment, I really wanted to ask him, "So this time, you don't have to be mindful anymore?" But I didn't.

Ever since Aiden moved back in with me, there had been a heavy, suffocating tension between us.

Yes, suffocating. Like something thick and sticky was lodged in my throat, neither rising nor falling. It was just a constant, lingering presence that never let me forget it was there.

"Alright," I said.

He smiled as if he were happy. But the moment he turned around, the smile faded, and he let out an almost imperceptible sigh.

That night, I turned off the lights, ready to sleep, when the door suddenly opened.

Aiden walked in. "Are you asleep?"

We slept in separate rooms now—I got the bedroom, while he stayed in the study.

The day he chose to come back home, he stood at the doorway with his suitcase and said, "Lily, we both need time and space to sort things out. Let's not share a room for now."

At the time, I was overwhelmed by an onslaught of intense emotions—the agony of betrayal by the person closest to me, the self-loathing from the reckless things I did after everything fell apart, and the righteousness of standing on the moral high ground.

Every movement and expression was distorted and magnified.

I tilted my chin up and sneered at him. "Aiden, what do you think this is? Do you really think I let you move back in just so we could sleep together? Do you assume everyone is as filthy and depraved as you?"

"As you wish, then." He didn't argue. He simply responded with indifference, dragging his suitcase into the study.

…

Now, he stood quietly by the bed for a moment. Then, he slowly lay down, his hand slipping under my clothes to my waist.

"Lily, we're still husband and wife." His voice was thick with an inexplicable emotion.

Strangely enough, despite the simplicity of those words and the fact that I couldn't see his face, I could hear the resignation in his tone.

It was a sigh of patience—a quiet endurance. It was as if his desire for me was something he had no choice but to surrender to. It seemed like he was finally giving in to fate and reluctantly acknowledging the bond we still shared.

He sounded like this was an offering bestowed upon me as his wife of ten years.

Outside the window, the moon hung in the sky, tired and indifferent, watching the world below.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. I finally said the name I kept buried for the past three months. "And what about Skyla? Wasn't she the only wife you ever truly wanted?"

The air became deathly still.