The Price of Living Apart Together with My Husband

After returning from the Sonovan family's residence, my daughter, Molly Sonovan, considerately went back to her room.

Through the crack of the door, I saw her curled up under the blanket, small and trembling. I felt like my heart was being cut by a knife.

I wearily called my parents who were abroad and agreed to their request for me to immigrate. "Dad, Mom, I've thought it through."

In a week, Molly and I would leave this place. And that day also happened to be the tenth anniversary of my meeting with Andrew Sonovan.

I sat alone in the living room all night, crying until I had no more tears left.

The living room light turned on with a snap. Andrew walked over quickly and pulled me into his arms.

"Why didn't you wait for me in the bedroom? It's cold here. Be careful not to catch a cold."

Instinctively, I pulled away from his embrace. He froze for a moment, then chuckled softly.

"You really have a sharp nose. You can even smell it even when someone else smokes."

I hated the smell of smoke. But even after I gave birth to Molly, he still hadn't quit smoking.

It wasn't until half a year ago that he suddenly made up his mind to quit, but it was for someone else.

Andrew kissed my forehead and habitually slipped his hand inside my clothes.

Over the past six months, his desire for me had grown increasingly urgent. I thought it was because our feelings for each other were deepening. But in reality, it was because the woman he truly cared about was pregnant, and he was simply taking out all his pent-up passion on me.

What was I to him, then?

I only felt waves of nausea and pushed him away instinctively.

Andrew paused, a helpless look flashing across his face.

"Alright, alright, I'll go take a shower. Go wait for me in the bedroom. I miss you so much, darling."

I watched his tall, commanding figure as he walked into the bathroom. He still carried himself with the same effortless elegance and composure, without a trace of the heaviness or weariness typical of a man in middle age.

Six years ago, he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.

"Mia, trust me. I'll definitely make you happy for the rest of your life."

But in just six years, everything had changed.

The phone Andrew left on the table suddenly rang. The ringtone was an unfamiliar song.

Just as I was about to pick it up, he snatched it away with wet hands.

"What? Kasey's not feeling well? Okay, I'll be right there."

He was frowning, clearly worried sick. He hastily wiped the water off his body with a towel and quickly changed into his clothes.

"Kasey? What happened to her?"

Andrew stiffened. He immediately turned his head to explain, "After Harry passed away, Kasey has never been able to move on. You know how it is with my family's traditions, so my parents want me to take on both households."

He paused, then turned around and held my shoulders, gazing at me with deep affection.

"But you're the only one I love, Mia. Even if I have to go against my whole family, I'll still give you the formal, public recognition you deserve as my wife."

It was only after he proposed that he told me his family had a tradition of husbands and wives living apart together.

Thus, we only registered the marriage and didn't have a wedding. Our families never even met.

I thought loving someone meant respecting them. So for six years, I bore everything alone. But he shouldn't have lied to me.

Watching him turn and leave, I couldn't help but speak up. "Andrew, you—"

"Mia, you should be more understanding. I've already gone against my family's norms for you. What more do you want?"

I swallowed down the rest of my words.

Looking at this impatient face, I said softly, "Tomorrow is Molly's birthday."

Andrew froze for a moment, and his expression shifted to one of guilt.

"Alright, I got it."

I didn't know what he meant by that. But both Molly and I didn't want him anymore.