It has been three days since that night.
Three days since she said those words.
Three days since my world—quiet, stable, predictable—was quietly dismantled with a calm voice and steady eyes.
An open marriage.
Even now, thinking about those words feels unreal. Like something that belongs in someone else's life. Someone else's story.
Not mine.
Not ours.
And yet… Here I am.
Living inside it.
The first day passed like a blur.
The second felt heavier.
By the third, it stopped feeling like time was moving at all.
We don't talk anymore.
Not really.
There are words, sometimes—small, meaningless ones. "I'm going out." "There's food on the table." "You forgot your keys."
But those aren't conversations.
Those are just… sounds. her sounds...
Noise to fill the silence.
The real silence sits underneath.
Thick.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
I don't even make those sounds. too hard to look at her and say something, even a word.
I didn't think something invisible could hurt this much.
Work used to be easy.
Routine.
Something I could do without thinking.
Now—I can't focus.
I stare at my screen for minutes at a time, reading the same line over and over again without understanding a single word.
Emails pile up.
Deadlines slip.
Mistakes—small at first—start creeping in.
Things I would never miss before.
I catch them too late.
Or sometimes not at all.
Chen Hao asked me on the first day if I was okay.
I told him I didn't sleep well.
He laughed it off.
Told me to stop staying up watching dramas with my wife.
I almost laughed too.
Sleep.
That's a funny word.
I lie down every night.
Close my eyes.
Stay there for hours.
But sleep doesn't come.
Not really.
Because the moment everything goes quiet—
My mind gets louder.
Her voice.
Her words.
"Open marriage."
"I want to understand my feelings."
"I have feelings for him."
They replay.
Over and over again.
Clear.
Sharp.
Unavoidable.
Sometimes I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling.
Sometimes I turn to the side—
And she's there.
Close enough to touch.
Far enough to feel like a stranger.
I don't reach for her anymore.
I don't know when that changed.
Or maybe I do.
Food doesn't taste like anything.
I eat because I have to.
Because not eating would raise questions.
Because routine is the only thing holding me together.
But even that is slipping.
I leave for work earlier now.
Come back later.
Sometimes I just… walk.
No destination.
No purpose.
Just to delay going home.
Home.
That word used to mean something.
Now it feels like a place I have to endure.
The worst part isn't the pain.
Not exactly.
It's her.
Or rather—
The way she isn't.
She doesn't seem broken.
She doesn't seem lost.
She doesn't seem like someone who just shattered her husband's world.
She seems… normal.
Too normal.
She still cooks.
Still moves around the house the same way.
Still speaks in that calm, measured tone.
As if nothing has changed.
As if everything is still under control.
And maybe, for her—
It is.
She did try to talk to me.
A few times.
"Wuji… can we talk?"
"I think we should discuss this calmly."
"I don't want things to become like this between us."
I heard the words.
Every single one of them.
But I also heard what was behind them.
Nothing.
No urgency.
No desperation.
No fear of losing me.
Just… effort.
Polite.
Measured.
Controlled.
Half-hearted.
That's the only way I can describe it.
And somehow—
That hurts more than if she had been cold.
Or cruel.
Because it makes me wonder—
Did she ever really love me?
Or was I just… convenient?
Safe.
A good choice.
A stable life.
A predictable future.
Was I ever more than that?
I don't know anymore.
And that uncertainty—
It eats at me.
Constantly.
The worst part is—
I don't think she even notices.
Or maybe she does.
And it just… doesn't matter enough.
Because she hasn't stopped.
Even after I said no.
Even after I made it clear.
She hasn't stopped.
Her phone is always in her hand now.
It wasn't like this before.
Not this much.
Not this often.
Now—
It's constant.
Typing.
Reading.
Smiling.
That small, quiet smile.
The one she used to give me.
I see it now—
And I know.
I don't need to ask.
I don't need proof.
I know who she's talking to.
Sun Junfeng.
The name sits in my chest like something sharp.
Something that doesn't belong there.
At night—
It gets worse.
She thinks I don't notice.
Or maybe she knows I do.
I don't know which is worse.
But I hear it.
The soft movement.
The bed shifting slightly. She silently getting of the bed.
The faint sound of the door opening.
Then—
Silence.
Followed by her voice.
Low.
Soft.
Carried through the night air.
From the balcony.
At first, I told myself it was just a call.
Something normal.
Something harmless.
But it kept happening.
Every night.
Longer.
Quieter.
More… intimate.
I don't hear the words.
Not clearly.
But I hear the tone.
And that's enough.
I lie there.
Eyes closed.
Breathing steady.
Pretending.
Pretending I'm asleep.
Pretending I don't hear.
Pretending I don't know.
Because what else can I do?
Get up?
Ask her?
Confront her?
And say what?
"Who are you talking to?"
I already know.
"What are you talking about?"
I don't want to know.
So I stay still.
And I listen. Try to listen , try to see if there is anything to salvage. I don't know why I do that. But.... I just do that. Maybe I am going insane. Which sane man would try to listen to his wife speaking with her lover.
yes her lover,,,, my wife has a lover now.
someone more important than me, than our marriage.....
And something inside me—
Breaks.
A little more.
Every night.
There's no hiding it anymore.
This isn't just a conversation.
This isn't just a misunderstanding.
This is happening.
Right in front of me.
And she's not even trying to hide it.
That's what hurts the most.
Not the betrayal.
Not even the idea of losing her.
But the disrespect.
The way she moves so freely.
So openly.
As if my silence means acceptance.
As if my pain—
Doesn't exist.
I've never felt like this before.
Not angry.
Not exactly.
Just—
Stripped.... Of dignity.... Of certainty.
Of everything I thought was mine.
So I stay at work longer.
Take on more tasks.
Volunteer for things I would normally avoid.
Anything.
Anything to not go home.
But even that isn't working anymore.
Because I can't focus there either.
By the fifth day—
It becomes obvious.
Too obvious.
"You look like hell."
Chen Hao's voice cuts through my thoughts.
I look up slowly.
He's standing in front of my desk, arms crossed, expression unusually serious.
"I'm fine," I say.
The words come automatically.
Empty.
"No, you're not."
Before he can respond, another voice joins in.
"Wuji… what's going on?"
Yue Mengli.
She's standing slightly behind him, her brows drawn together, eyes filled with concern.
I look away.
Back at my screen.
"Just tired," I say.
"That's not just tired," Chen Hao replies immediately.
"You've been messing up reports, missing deadlines, zoning out in meetings—this isn't you."
I don't respond.
Because he's right.
And I don't have an answer that I can give him.
"We've been watching you for days," he continues, his tone softer now, but more serious.
"Something's wrong."
Silence.
"Did something happen?" Yue Mengli asks gently.
Her voice is different.
Careful.
Like she's afraid of pushing too hard.
I grip the mouse slightly tighter.
Say something.
Anything.
But what?
What should I say?
"My wife wants an open marriage."
The words form in my mind.
And immediately—
I reject them.
No.
I can't say that.
I can't say that out loud.
I can't let those words exist outside my head.
Because once they do—
They become real in a way I can't control.
And more than that—
How can I say it?
How can any man say something like that?
How can I look at them—
At my friends—
And admit that the woman I love…
Is choosing someone else.
Right in front of me.
And asking me to accept it.
I can't.
I just…
Can't.
"I'm fine," I repeat.
But even I can hear it now.
It doesn't sound convincing.
It doesn't even sound real.
Chen Hao exhales sharply.
"No, you're not," he says again.
Then, more firmly—
"Wuji. Look at me."
I don't.
"Look at me," he repeats.
Slowly—
I lift my gaze.
His expression isn't joking anymore.
It's serious.
Concerned.
Demanding.
"We're your friends," he says. "Whatever it is—you don't have to deal with it alone."
Beside him, Yue Mengli nods slightly.
"You can tell us," she says softly.
Her eyes don't leave mine.
Steady.
Gentle.
Safe.
And for a brief moment—
I almost say it....
The words rise again.
Closer this time.
But then—
I see it.
Not in them.
In myself. The image.
Of me saying it.
Of the silence that would follow.
Of the understanding.
Of pity.
And something inside me—
Rejects it completely.
No.
I can't.
I shake my head slightly.
"It's nothing," I say.
A lie.
A weak one.
But the only one I can give.
Chen Hao stares at me for a long moment.
Then exhales.
"Fine," he says.
"But we're not dropping this."
I don't respond. Because I know they won't.
And I know—
Eventually—
I won't be able to keep this to myself anymore.
But not today. Not yet.
Because right now—
I'm still trying to understand something myself.
Something I haven't fully accepted.
Something I'm not ready to say out loud.
That the life I thought I had—
Might already be gone.