There are words that don't belong in certain places.
Words that, once spoken, change the meaning of everything that came before them.
That night… she said them anyway.
"Wuji…"
Her voice was soft.
Careful.
But it carried a weight that pressed down on my chest before I even knew why.
I turned my head toward her. "Yeah?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Her fingers were still holding mine, but there was tension in them now—tight, uncertain. As if she needed something to anchor herself.
"I've been thinking about what I said earlier," she continued. "About us… about our marriage."
My chest tightened slightly.
"…Okay."
She took a slow breath.
"I don't think this is working anymore."
For a moment, my mind went blank.
Not working?
"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice quieter than before.
"I mean…" she hesitated, then forced the words out, "…this kind of life. This routine. It doesn't feel right anymore."
A faint pressure began to build in my chest.
Unfamiliar.
Uncomfortable.
I shifted slightly, trying to ignore it.
"Then what do you want?" I asked.
That question lingered in the air.
And for the first time—
She didn't avoid it.
"I think…" she said slowly, "we should consider… an open marriage."
The world didn't shatter.
It didn't explode.
It just—
Stopped.
For a second, I thought I had heard wrong.
The words didn't make sense together.
Open.
Marriage.
They didn't belong in the same sentence.
"…What?" I said.
My voice sounded distant. Like it wasn't mine.
She swallowed lightly, her grip on my hand tightening.
"An open marriage," she repeated, softer this time. "We don't have to be… restricted to just each other."
The pressure in my chest spiked.
Sharp.
Sudden.
My breathing hitched.
"What did you just say?" I asked again, this time more clearly.
I needed to hear it again.
Needed to make sure—
Needed to deny it.
"I think we should try an open marriage," she said, slower now, as if explaining it would make it easier to accept.
It didn't.
My chest felt tight.
Too tight.
Each breath felt heavier than the last, like something was pressing down on my lungs.
"…You're serious?" I asked.
She nodded.
That was all it took.
Something inside me shifted.
Not anger.
Not yet.
Just disbelief.
Pure, overwhelming disbelief.
I let out a shaky breath, sitting up slightly, my hand slipping from hers.
"You're serious…" I repeated, almost to myself.
She watched me carefully.
"I've thought about it a lot," she said.
A lot.
That meant this wasn't sudden.
This wasn't impulsive.
This was something she had already decided.
The realization made the tightness in my chest worsen.
I pressed a hand lightly against it, trying to steady my breathing.
"Why?" I asked.
It came out rough.
Strained.
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
"…Is it because of Sun?" I asked.
The name tasted bitter.
Heavy.
Her expression changed.
Not shocked.
Not defensive.
Just… resolved.
"Yes."
The answer came too easily.
Too cleanly.
Like she had already rehearsed it.
My chest tightened further, a dull ache spreading through it.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Couldn't think.
Just—
Felt.
"You're… serious," I said again, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I want to understand my feelings," she said.
Understand.
The word echoed in my head.
"I don't think I ever truly figured them out," she continued. "Not completely."
I let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.
"Your feelings?"
She nodded, her expression calm.
"I care about you, Wuji. I do. But…" she paused, "…I also have feelings for him. And I don't think it's right to ignore that anymore."
The room felt smaller.
The air heavier.
"You're saying…" I swallowed, my throat dry, "…you want to explore your feelings for another man."
"I'm saying I want to be honest," she replied.
Honest.
That word again.
As if this was something pure.
Something justified.
Something reasonable.
"…Then why now?" I asked, my voice tightening. "Why after we're married?"
She looked at me, her gaze steady.
"Because we never had the chance before."
The answer came without hesitation.
As if it had always been ready.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You know our history," she said. "We grew up together. We were always close… but we never crossed that line."
"Why not?"
"Because the timing was never right," she replied. "Whenever one of us was single, the other wasn't. And when we were both free…" she paused, "…something always came in between."
Her eyes met mine again.
"And then you came into my life."
The words weren't cruel.
But they weren't comforting either.
"I chose you," she added quickly.
Did you?
The question formed in my mind, but I didn't say it out loud.
"Then what's the problem?" I asked instead. "You made your choice."
"I made the best choice I could at the time," she said.
At the time.
The pressure in my chest turned sharper.
"So now it's changed?" I asked.
"I don't know," she admitted. "That's the point."
I stared at her.
Trying to understand.
Trying to make sense of something that refused to make sense.
"You don't know…" I repeated slowly, "…if you love me enough."
"That's not what I said."
"That's exactly what you said."
Her expression hardened slightly.
"You're twisting my words."
I let out a bitter breath.
"No, I'm hearing them exactly as they are."
"I'm trying to be honest with you," she said, her voice rising just a little. "Would you rather I hide this? Pretend everything is fine?"
"Yes," I snapped.
The word came out before I could stop it.
The room went silent.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she shook her head.
"That's not fair."
"Fair?" I repeated, a hollow laugh escaping me. "You're asking me to let my wife sleep with another man, and you're talking about fair?"
"I'm not asking for permission to betray you," she said, her tone sharpening. "I'm asking for us to redefine our relationship in a way that's honest."
"Honest?" I repeated. "You call this honest?"
"Yes."
The certainty in her voice felt like a blade.
"I'm telling you the truth before anything happens," she continued. "That matters."
I stared at her.
Unable to respond.
Because somewhere, buried beneath the pain—
There was logic in what she was saying.
Twisted.
Unacceptable.
But still… logical.
And that made it worse.
"You want to explore something you should have figured out years ago," I said finally.
"It's not that simple."
"It is that simple," I replied. "If you had feelings for him, you should have dealt with them before marrying me."
"I didn't have the chance!"
Her voice rose for the first time.
"We never had that opportunity, Wuji! Life didn't give it to us!"
"And now it suddenly does?" I asked.
"Yes."
The answer was immediate.
Unshaken.
"And you think that makes this okay?"
"I think it makes it real," she said.
Real.
I felt something twist inside me.
Something sharp.
Something ugly.
"So what am I?" I asked quietly.
Her expression faltered.
"What do you mean?"
"If you're not sure about him… and you're not sure about me…" I swallowed, forcing the words out, "…then what am I?"
She didn't answer.
Not immediately.
And that silence—
That hesitation—
Said everything.
I let out a slow breath, leaning back against the headboard.
My chest still hurt.
Each breath still felt heavy.
But the initial shock was fading now.
Leaving something colder behind.
"You want both," I said.
She frowned. "That's not—"
"You want to keep what we have," I continued, "while figuring out if something else is better."
"That's not what I'm saying."
"It is," I said. "You just don't want to admit it like that."
Her expression tightened.
"I'm trying to handle this in a way that doesn't hurt you."
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
A hollow, empty sound.
"Too late for that."
The silence that followed was different.
Heavier.
More final.
I closed my eyes for a moment, pressing my fingers lightly against my temple.
Thinking.
Trying to think.
But my thoughts were a mess.
Fragments.
Questions.
Pain.
"So what happens if you figure it out?" I asked without opening my eyes. "If you decide you love him more?"
She didn't answer.
I opened my eyes and looked at her.
"Well?" I pressed.
She looked away.
"I don't know," she said.
Of course you don't.
Something inside me snapped then.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
Just… quietly.
Like a thread finally giving way.
"No," I said.
The word was simple.
Clear.
Final.
She looked back at me.
"What?"
"I said no."
My voice was steady now.
Calm.
Colder than before.
"I'm not doing this."
Her brows furrowed. "Wuji—"
"No," I repeated. "No sane man would agree to this."
"I'm not asking you to be someone else," she said. "I'm asking you to understand—"
"I understand perfectly," I cut in.
My chest still hurt.
But my voice didn't show it.
"You're asking me to sit here," I continued, "and wait while my wife explores another relationship."
"That's not—"
"That's exactly what it is."
She went silent.
And this time—
She didn't argue.
I lay back down, turning away from her.
"I'm not doing it," I said quietly. "That's my answer."
The room fell silent again.
No more arguments.
No more explanations.
Just—
Silence.
After a while, the light beside the bed clicked off.
Darkness filled the room.
I kept my eyes closed.
My breathing steady.
As if I had already fallen asleep.
As if none of this had happened.
But sleep didn't come.
It couldn't.
My mind was too loud.
Too full.
Her words replayed over and over again.
Open marriage.
Sun Junfeng.
Understand my feelings.
Each one cutting deeper than the last.
Beside me, I could feel her presence.
Still.
Quiet.
Awake.
But she didn't speak again.
And neither did I.
Time passed.
Minutes.
Maybe hours.
I didn't know.
I just lay there.
Eyes closed.
Body still.
Mind in ruins.
And somewhere, beneath all the noise—
Beneath the pain—
A single thought settled in.
Clear.
Cold.
Unavoidable.
She wasn't asking.
She was telling.
And this—
This wasn't just a conversation.
It was a signal.
Not a suggestion.
Not a possibility.
A direction.
And whether I accepted it or not…
Everything had already begun to change.