Chapter 1

On our wedding night, my wife wouldn't let me touch her. She just dropped a cold little line: "Some other time."

I thought she was shy, so I chose to respect it and wait.

What I never expected was that "some other time" would turn out to be the only promise our marriage ever held.

Three months later, when her mother needed two hundred and eighty thousand for surgery, she took my arm on her own for the very first time, looking at me with her eyes full of hope.

Only in that moment did I finally understand. Her "some other time" had been waiting for a price tag.

My name is Carl Fox. I'm thirty-two, and I do project management at a mid-sized company. The way Adeline Swanson and I met sounds a bit like something out of a soap opera.

That night I worked late, and while I was buying a bite to eat at the convenience store below my office, I saw a girl crouched by the curb, her shoulders shaking like she was crying.

Out of concern, I went over and asked, "Hi. Do you need any help?"

She looked up, her eyes red, the streetlight falling across her face and making her look utterly helpless. That was Adeline.

She told me she'd just had a fight with a client, missed the last train, and her phone had died.

I didn't think twice. I called her a cab and paid the fare up front.

"Thank you," she said before getting in, and asked for my number. "I'll send you the fare tomorrow."

I smiled and told her not to bother, it was nothing.

But the next day she transferred the money anyway, with a message attached: "To thank you, I'd like to buy you a meal. Would that be okay?"

I had no reason to say no.

Over that meal we talked about a lot. I learned she was a designer at an ad agency, three years younger than me, making her way alone in this city. Her voice was gentle, and when she smiled her eyes curved like little crescents.

She struck me as the kind of girl who needed protecting, yet was sensible and independent all the same.

After that, we talked more and more.

I'd wait outside her office when she got off work, and she'd pack me lunches. We went to movies together, walked in the park, like any couple in love.

She'd take my arm and rest her head on my shoulder and murmur, "Carl, it's so nice having you here. I feel so safe."

In those moments, I felt like the happiest man in the world.

My parents died young, and I'd lived alone for years, aching for a home of my own. Adeline filled every empty space in my heart.

Six months in, I proposed.

I spent nearly half a year's savings on a diamond ring, and got down on one knee at her favorite restaurant.

She cried on the spot, nodding and holding out her hand for me to slip the ring on.

Everyone around us applauded, and she threw herself into my arms and said, "I do."

To get married, I emptied out every bit of savings from my years of work, put down the down payment, and bought a two-bedroom place. I put both our names on the deed.

Her family asked for a hundred and eighty-eight thousand toward the wedding. I didn't say a word against it, borrowed a little from friends, and handed it over.

I had only one thought back then: as long as I could be with her, all of it was worth it.

The wedding was lively. All my coworkers and friends came, genuinely happy for me. During the toasts, my best buddy clapped me on the shoulder and said, "Carl, you finally settled down, you lucky guy. You'd better be happy from here on out."

I held Adeline close in her white wedding dress and grinned so wide I couldn't stop.

I felt like my happy life had officially begun that day.

That night, after the guests were gone, I helped a slightly tipsy Adeline back to our bridal room. She'd decorated it herself, balloons, streamers, big red double-happiness characters, everything bright with celebration.

My heart was on fire, thinking that from tonight on we'd truly be husband and wife.

I helped her out of her heels and ran a hot bath for her.

"Addie, it's been a long day. Go take a bath first."

She nodded without a word and went into the bathroom.

I sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the water running inside, my heart full of hopes for the future. I'd even started imagining how lively and complete this home would feel once we had a child.

After about half an hour, she came out in her pajamas. Her hair hung wet over her shoulders, but there was no expression on her face.

I stood up and went to hold her.

She stepped back, her eyes darting away.

"What's wrong, Addie?" I didn't understand.

"I... I'm just too tired today." Her voice was very low.

"I know you're tired," I said gently. "Let me dry your hair for you."

I got the hair dryer and patiently dried her hair. The warm air passed through her strands, and I could smell the clean scent of her shampoo. My hand brushed lightly across her neck, and she flinched hard, as if she'd been burned.

And my heart sank with it.

When her hair was dry, I turned off the light. Only the hazy moonlight through the window was left in the room.

I lay down beside her and reached out carefully for her hand.

Her hand was cold.

I turned over, meaning to take her into my arms.

"Don't..." she said suddenly, resistance in her voice. "I... I'm not ready yet."

I froze completely.

"Not ready? We... we're already married." A wave of absurdity washed over me.

"I know," she said, turning to face the other way, her back to me. "But I just... it feels a little fast. Give me a bit more time, okay?"

In the dark I couldn't make out her expression, only hear that slightly cold voice.

"Carl, some other time. Let's talk about it some other time."

How long was "some other time"? Hadn't we already been together almost a year?

Countless questions circled in my head, but looking at the tense line of her back, in the end I swallowed all of it.

Maybe she really was just too nervous. Marriage means a great deal to a girl. I should be more understanding.

"Okay." I forced out the single word, my throat dry enough to ache.

That night I lay with my eyes open until dawn. The wife I'd properly married lay right beside me, and yet an invisible wall stood between us.

The bed was big and soft, but I felt cold all over, and unbearably awkward.

I thought the awkwardness of the wedding night was only temporary. As long as I warmed her with a sincere heart, she'd come around eventually.

From that day on, "some other time" became Adeline's stock phrase.

We started what you'd call "living together," though it was more like sharing a rental.

She slept on the left side of the bed, I slept on the right, and between us ran a no-man's-land you could gallop a horse across.

Every morning I got up on time to make breakfast. Only after I'd set the milk, fried eggs, and bread on the table would she come drifting out of the room.

"Eat up, or you'll be late for work."

She'd give a single "Mm," sit down, and eat while scrolling on her phone, not one word to me the whole time.