I studied the man standing before me. He looked as sincere and composed as always. Not a single crack in his facade.
But something still felt off.
"Really?"
Fabian gave me his word again and again.
"That essay collection was fake. How could I possibly make another woman the protagonist?"
"Don't forget—publishing an essay collection for you every year was our wedding promise."
"Why would I suddenly change that?"
Fabian's gentle voice washed over me like a balm, settling my nerves.
I thought back over our ten years of marriage. He had always been attentive to my every need.
He remembered all my little habits.
I liked my coffee with two spoons of sugar and one of milk. Every morning, he'd prepare it and set it on my desk, always at the perfect temperature.
My hands and feet turned to ice in winter. Every night before bed, he'd heat water for me to soak my feet, massaging my ankles while I did—for nine years straight.
When I worked late in the lab, I'd step out to find him waiting with a thermos. Inside was always ginger tea with brown sugar, or the sweet white fungus soup I loved.
And now he was asking me to give my paper to a female student?
I wanted to believe it was just a misunderstanding.