The Wife He Forgot To Love Chapter 05
Afraid I wouldn’t agree, he added, “You don’t have to do anything. Just stand by my side. I’ll handle everything else.”
I chose to take that risk.
To bridge the huge gap between us, I got admitted as a postgraduate student at his university.
I spared no effort to pass every written exam and interview. With no family influence or connections to rely on, I had nothing but my own perseverance to count on.
I never knew exactly what he said to his family, yet Alicia’s attitude gradually softened. She stopped saying we weren’t suited for each other.
On our wedding day, Mom kept wiping away tears in the audience.
Bradley, wearing an ill-fitting suit, flushed red and said to Jonathan, “If you dare treat my sister badly, I won’t let you off.”
That was the very last time he ever spoke such sincere words to protect me.
He never said anything like that again. All he ever asked from then on was whether I had any spare money to give him.
I really thought life would get better from then on. I honestly did.
In the first year of our marriage, Jonathan kept his promises. If I had to work overtime, he would come pick me up and wait in the car for hours without a complaint.
He would bring me souvenirs from every business trip. Even a simple airport keychain with my initials was enough to make my day.
Every wallpaper on his phone was a photo of me, and he constantly urged me to look through his phone.
His favorite thing to say was, “Babe, I’m so happy. I love you so much.”
And I loved him with all my heart, too.
No matter how late he worked, I would wait for him on the couch, forcing myself to stay awake because I wanted the house warm and bright when he came back.
The moment I heard the door open, I would get up to warm the soup. By the time he changed his shoes, the soup would be ready.
He told me that I didn’t need to wait for him.
I said I wasn’t sleepy.
But I could barely keep my eyes open.
I just wanted him to know that there was always someone waiting for him at home.
I hand-washed every one of his shirts, terrified that the washing machine might damage the collars.
I ironed them on low heat first to avoid leaving shiny marks.
When he wore the shirt to work, his colleagues would compliment him, saying, “Your shirt is perfectly pressed.”
And when he came home, he would beam with pride, saying none of them had a wife as wonderful as me.
Once, he mentioned that the office coffee was terrible, so I spent the entire weekend searching for top-shelf coffee beans. Every morning, I woke up half an hour earlier than him to grind the beans, brew the coffee, and fill his thermos before work.
I memorized all his eating habits. He loved beef ravioli. The ribs needed at least two hours to stew properly. No garlic with vegetables. Nothing too spicy, greasy, or cold because of his sensitive stomach.
I had known every detail by heart for five years—better than his own mother did.
But when did it all start to fall apart?
It didn’t happen overnight.
It was a slow change. By the time I realized it, it was already too late.
He stopped coming to pick me up from work.
“Get a taxi. I’m tired today,” he said.
He changed his wallpaper to a landscape photo, explaining that it was for screen mirroring.
Then he stopped telling me about his business trips.
I cooked dinner and sat alone until midnight. When I called him, he sounded irritated, as if I had roused him from sleep. “I’m on a business trip. I won’t be back for a few days. Didn’t I tell you that?”
I kept saying, “It’s okay.”
He took my words at face value, assuming everything was fine—that I didn’t want or ask for anything.
But he didn’t know that every time I said that, my heart was bleeding for him.
I was used to keeping my pain to myself. I never learned how to put it into words.
When my father hit me, when my classmates mocked me, and even when I gave birth, I endured all the pain in silence.
I never confronted him about how cold and distant he had grown.
Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know how.