Chapter 1

Because I asked my husband to change our son’s diaper, he gave me the silent treatment and slept in his study for three days.

I made his favorite dinner, hoping to make peace, but I froze at the study door.

At some point, the traditional doorknob had been replaced with a smart keypad lock.

Trembling, I entered our wedding anniversary, then our son’s birthday…

All incorrect. Until, guided by some ghost of a suspicion, I entered her birthday.

The lock clicked. The door swung open.

His study was spotless and elegantly decorated.

The piano by the window was dust-free. Stacks of handwritten letters were neatly arranged.

My eyes stung, and a wave of exhaustion washed over me.

So, it wasn't that he didn’t have time. He just didn't want to spare a single second for me and our son.

I stood at the doorway, but I lost the courage to step inside.

I remembered the night I had a raging fever and begged him to watch our baby for just half a day.

To my horror, less than five minutes after taking him, he dumped our crying son back into my arms.

Then, he locked himself in his study for the rest of the afternoon.

The baby cried hysterically, but Julian acted like he was completely deaf.

I coughed until my chest burned, and he didn’t show a shred of concern.

In the end, I had to drag my sick body out of bed to take care of our baby.

Because I hadn't fully recovered, I ended up passing the flu to my son.

During that time, my life was a living hell. I didn't get a single night of decent sleep.

Even though we lived under the same roof, Julian didn't offer a single word of comfort.

He kept himself locked in his study, playing the piano and painting.

Nothing could interrupt his precious leisure time.

Whenever I asked him to help with chores, he would reject me with self-righteous anger.

"Chloe, can you stop picking fights? You know this is my scheduled time for writing poetry. I don't have time for chores!"

"Chloe, it’s just a small chore. Why can’t you just do it yourself? Why do you have to annoy me?"

Because of this, we had countless screaming matches.

Every single time, I was the one crying hysterically.

Meanwhile, Julian would look at me with a cold face and ask, "Chloe, does it pain you to see me relaxing for even a second?"

Over time, I started to blame myself. I wondered if I was truly just a bitter, narrow-minded wife who couldn't stand her husband’s happiness.

So, to avoid more fights, I took over everything.

Housework, childcare, endless errands—I carried it all alone.

I was naive enough to think I had found the secret to a peaceful marriage.

But today, looking at this room, I realized how incredibly stupid and pathetic I had been.

It wasn't that Julian didn't know how to do these things. He just didn't want to.

He didn't want to spend a single drop of energy on me, on our son, or on this home.

He only cared about protecting his personal sanctuary from any disturbance.

As for everything else? He didn't give a damn.

My gaze eventually fell on an unfinished oil painting on his easel.

With just a few strokes, the figure on the canvas was rendered lifelike. It was obvious how much passion and care went into it.

The questions that had plagued me for years suddenly had an answer.

It was simple: My son and I were just not worth his effort.

My heart ached terribly. I was about to close the door when hurried footsteps cut me off.

Julian ran in, panting, with beads of sweat on his forehead.

"Chloe! What are you doing in my study? How many times have I told you not to come in here? Do you just live to make my life miserable?!"

I opened my mouth to explain, but nothing came out.

As his wife, being forbidden from entering my own husband's room made me feel like a joke.

To Julian, my silence was a confession of guilt.

He shoved me out of the way in a fit of rage. Unprepared, I stumbled and banged my hip hard against the doorframe. A sharp pain made me gasp.