109. Breakfast to Break The Silent (2)

In the dining room, the only sound was the occasional clink of cutlery against plates.

Ashley stared at her food without really eating.

Josh, sitting across from her, seemed calm. He ate at a steady pace—neither rushed nor completely relaxed—as if trying to maintain a neutral atmosphere, something difficult to achieve after the tense nights before.

Finally, Ashley put down her fork.

Josh looked up, his eyebrows slightly raised. “Full?”

Ashley nodded, then met his gaze directly.

“Can I ask you something?”

Josh didn’t answer with words, just gave a small nod—an invitation to speak.

Ashley took a deep breath, carefully choosing her words.

She sat at the dining table, her spoon suspended mid-air. The last bite of her creamy corn soup never reached her mouth. Josh sat opposite her, busy cutting a piece of roast beef as if the world around him needed no attention.

Silence enveloped them like a thick fog, heavy and directionless.

“Why did you come to me?” Ashley’s voice finally broke the quiet. Soft, but trembling with the nervousness she tried to hide. “After all this… after we both know this marriage started out of threat and coercion…”

Josh stopped chewing. Slowly, he lowered his fork and stared at Ashley without a word.

“We both know you love someone else,” he said, looking at her intently. “Not me.”

He exhaled quietly, his right hand reaching for a clean white napkin to dab the corner of his mouth. “I’m just trying… to be the husband I should be,” he said at last.

His tone was flat—neither cold nor warm. Neither promising nor denying anything.

Ashley blinked, her chest tightening at the neat, empty answer. “‘Should be’?” she repeated, holding back disappointment. “That’s all the reason you have?”

Josh looked back at his plate, then lifted his glass of water for a brief sip. He said nothing more.

Ashley lowered her gaze, stirring her now-cold soup. “What if your girlfriend… Sharon… what if she does it again, if she… tries to kill herself again?”

Josh looked up slowly. “That won’t happen.”

That was all.

Ashley waited for more—perhaps Josh would explain. Perhaps he’d confess Sharon was out of his life. Or maybe, on the contrary, that he still loved her secretly and carried wounds that hadn’t healed.

But there was nothing. Only silence. Josh looked back down at his meal and continued eating calmly.

“Why don’t you explain more than that?” Ashley finally asked, almost a whisper.

Josh put down his fork and knife, leaning back in his chair. His eyes fixed on the wall before returning to Ashley. “Because there’s nothing more to explain.”

“But I still feel like the third wheel between you two,” Ashley whispered, her voice trembling. “I sleep in the bed that should belong to her. I eat at the table you might have shared. I…”

“You’re not her,” Josh interrupted quietly. “And she’s not you.”

Ashley fell silent. Those words should have been comforting, but instead they echoed like a warning bell in her chest. She couldn’t read Josh’s emotions. She couldn’t tell if this was his way of closing the past, or just putting it away for now.

“If that’s the case, why do you never mention her name? Even when she was hospitalized, you never told me anything. You came home late, looked empty… but said nothing.”

Josh sighed again. He stood, picked up his plate, and carried it to the sink. The sound of running water filled the dining room, which felt too quiet.

Ashley watched his back. There were lines of exhaustion there, but also resolve. A backbone holding countless stories—but not for her to hear.

When Josh returned and sat down, Ashley held back tears. She wasn’t the type to show weakness. But now, she just felt… fragile. Caught between her role as a wife and the reality that her heart had never truly been touched.

“I want to know, Josh,” she murmured. “Not because I’m jealous. But because I… I’m scared. I don’t know if I’m a replacement or if you’re really trying.”

Josh looked at her. For a long moment. His eyes were dark, unreadable, like a night sea.

“I’m trying, Ashley,” Josh repeated. “That’s all I can say.”

Ashley nodded slowly, though her heart still felt hollow. She didn’t know what hurt more—being used or being given half a heart.

“I’ll clear the table,” she said quietly. She stood, gathering their plates and glasses onto a wooden tray. Josh didn’t stop her.

After everything was cleaned and the dishes neatly stacked in the rack, Ashley walked to the living room. She sat on the sofa, turned on a small lamp, and opened a novel that had long been left on the same page.

Josh went to their bedroom to shower and get ready for work. He said nothing. Didn’t look back. Ashley heard the bedroom door close softly—not slammed, but still sounding like a real distance.

Ashley closed her book. She couldn’t read a single word.

Not because she had no time, but because her mind was too full of things left unsaid.

She stood and slowly walked to the large window overlooking the backyard. A light drizzle began, tracing patterns on the glass like wounds that refused to heal.

Their marriage had indeed started with coercion. Ashley knew it. Josh knew it. But what she never expected was how lonely it felt to be the wife of a man who was only trying to be “what he should be”—not out of love, not out of choice, but out of obligation.

She touched the cold glass. The chill seeped into her skin.

Had Josh truly moved on from Sharon?

Or was he just shutting that chapter tight, afraid to open the wound again?

Ashley didn’t know. And worse—Josh wasn’t letting her know.

That morning passed in silence. As if the unspoken words shouted louder than any conversation they had. Her thoughts spun, replaying every detail of their dinner talk.

Why did Josh shut himself off like that?

Why wouldn’t he share, when he claimed he wanted to be a worthy husband?

Ashley closed her eyes.

If Josh was really done with Sharon, why did the shadow of that girl still hang between them? Like a ghost that wasn’t banished, only allowed to haunt.

Ashley didn’t have answers.

And what crushed her most: she didn’t know if Josh was just not ready to talk… or if he never would.

But she knew one thing—there was a distance between them. Not one born of anger, but of unanswered questions.

Ashley glanced briefly toward the balcony before returning to stir the chamomile tea in her cup. The kitchen was too big, too cold, and too quiet. Josh had just put on his jacket, straightening his dark blue tie in the living room mirror.

“I’m leaving now,” he said shortly, grabbing his work folder from the table near the door.

Ashley stepped closer, hesitant, before finally nodding. “Be careful.”

Josh didn’t respond. He opened the door, and there stood Mr. Smith, the middle-aged man in dark glasses who was as loyal as a shadow. His posture was stiff, like a board. He bowed respectfully to Josh, then glanced at Ashley with no expression.

“Oh, and—” Josh turned back briefly, looking at Ashley. “If you want to go out, make sure you’re accompanied by the bodyguard. Mom doesn’t like you wandering alone.”

Ashley just nodded. Another order. Once again, Josh’s mother spoke through someone else’s mouth.

After Josh and Mr. Smith left, the door closed with a soft click. Ashley stood frozen for a moment in the middle of the spacious living room, staring at the overwhelming silence.

Today was only her second day living in LA. A strange city, a stranger house, and the strangest role of all—being a wife.

The wife of a man who didn’t love her.

She sighed deeply, then turned and walked upstairs to change. No schedule for today. No work. No obligation except to “serve her husband completely,” as Josh’s mother had made clear on their wedding day.

But how could anyone “serve completely” if her husband didn’t even open a space for her to come close?