Leaving my genius Asperger husband and son

I grabbed the gold wrapping paper. The heavy scent of red roses instantly burned my nostrils.

"I'm throwing them out." I yanked the bouquet toward my chest.

Julian stepped off the bottom stair and snatched the stems. Thorns scraped my palm.

"Mandy bought these." He tightened his grip on the flowers.

"Mandy abandoned you." I coughed, rubbing my itchy throat.

"She relocated for her education."

"She fled." I stepped closer, ignoring the watering in my eyes. "Ten years ago, she couldn't stand to be in the same room as you."

"Human memory is flawed. You are rewriting history."

"Am I? We were all at the same university. You were the golden boy. The billionaire Prescott heir. She was the beautiful art major. And I was just the invisible girl in the computer science lab."

"Your coding skills were adequate." Julian placed the roses back on the glass table.

"She hated your condition, Julian. She hated your Asperger's."

"Mandy appreciated my intellect."

"She cried in the campus courtyard because you refused to comfort her when her dog died." I pointed a finger at his chest. "She called you a monster. That's why she bought a one-way ticket to Paris."

"Her emotional regulation was poor at the time. She has matured."

"She left because you wouldn't hold her hand! She couldn't handle the coldness. The silence. The absolute lack of empathy."

"I possess empathy. I simply express it efficiently."

"You didn't express anything back then." I crossed my arms, trying to stop my hands from shaking. "You stopped eating. You stopped going to classes. Your mother showed up at my dorm room in tears."

"My mother overreacts."

"She got down on her knees, Julian." My voice cracked. "She knew I had a crush on you. She begged me to marry you. To save you."

"A mutually beneficial contract." He adjusted his cuffs, his face completely blank.

"It wasn't a contract to me. I loved you."

"Love is a neurochemical illusion. I married you because my mother presented a statistical probability of long-term stability. You possessed a low-maintenance personality."

"Low maintenance?" I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "I spent ten years managing your life! I learned every trigger. I mapped out your routines. I gave up my senior internship to be your full-time caretaker."

"A logical choice. You were better suited for domestic management."

"I spent three years teaching you how to smile at business dinners." I stepped into his personal space. "I taught you how to shake hands without flinching. I built the mask you wear every single day."

"Masks are necessary for corporate survival. Your coaching was effective."

"I thought I healed you." The fight drained out of my voice, leaving only exhaustion. "You started making eye contact. You started engaging in conversations. I thought my dedication fixed the broken parts of you."

Julian tilted his head. "You provided a stable baseline. You did not fix anything."

"Three months," I whispered. "She's been back from Paris for three months."

"She is a valuable asset to my company."

"You bought her a diamond necklace last week."

"It was a performance bonus for closing the tech merger."

"You never buy me jewelry."

"You do not attend galas. Jewelry would be an inefficient use of capital for a stay-at-home mother."

"Lucas wrote her a decryption code just to say he loves her! He won't even hug me!"

"Mandy stimulates his intellect. You force him to paint with his fingers."

"I spent five years trying to get my own son to hug me!" I shouted, the anger flaring back to life. "He says physical touch burns his skin. But yesterday, I saw him hold Mandy's hand in the driveway."

"Mandy's perfume has a calming lavender base." Julian checked his watch. "Your detergent is abrasive."

"I use the unscented hypoallergenic brand you demanded!"

"Then it is your energy. You project anxiety. Mandy projects peace."

A heavy silence fell over the living room.

I stared at the man I had devoted my entire adult life to. The man I had sacrificed my career, my youth, and my identity to protect.

Footsteps padded across the upstairs landing.

Lucas walked down the stairs. He held a silver tablet in his hands.

"Dad, Aunt Mandy is initiating a video call."

Julian's rigid posture vanished. The stiff lines of his shoulders dropped. A faint, genuine smile touched his lips.

"Bring the device here, Lucas."

Lucas hurried down the remaining steps and handed his father the tablet.

"Hi, Mandy," Julian said.

His tone was soft. Warm. It was a voice I hadn't heard in a decade.

"Julian! Did Lucas finish the code?" A bright, melodic voice echoed from the speaker.

"He did. You should see his array structure. It's brilliant."

"Put him on the screen!"

Lucas stepped into the frame, leaning against his father's leg. "Aunt Mandy, the ASCII values compiled perfectly."

"You are my absolute favorite genius," Mandy said.

Lucas actually smiled. A real, wide smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He reached out and touched the screen. "Your visual presence elevates my serotonin levels."

I backed away from them.

My husband and my son. Glowing. Happy.

They weren't incapable of love. They weren't devoid of emotion.

They just reserved all of it for her.

"Theresa?" Mandy's voice called out from the tablet. "Are you there? Did you like the roses?"

Julian glanced at me. He looked at the red petals on the glass table.

"She tried to throw them away," Julian said flatly.

"Oh." Mandy sounded hurt. "I just wanted to brighten up your home."

"She lacks aesthetic appreciation," Lucas added, not looking away from the screen.

My chest caved in. The two people I had built my entire existence around were dismissing me like a broken appliance.

I turned and walked toward the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Julian called out, annoyance creeping back into his tone.

"To do laundry," I lied.

I climbed the steps. I didn't stop at the bedroom. I walked straight down the hall and stepped into Julian's home office.

I locked the heavy oak door behind me.

The room was dark, save for the blinking blue light of his primary workstation.

If I was just the invisible coder, the low-maintenance domestic manager, then I had nothing left to lose.

I sat in his leather chair and booted up the secondary monitor.

My fingers hovered over the mechanical keyboard.

It was time to see exactly what my husband had been hiding in his encrypted files for the last three months.