After my husband went blind, he became silent and withdrawn. One night, after we finished being intimate and I was drifting off to sleep, a stream of floating text—like a livestream chat—suddenly scrolled across my vision: [The Male Lead is overthinking it again. He thinks she got up to take meds because he made her uncomfortable.] [This man is the CEO of Sensitivity. Last time she said his soup was bland, he hid in the bathroom and cried for thirty minutes!] [And the time before that! She said his outfit wasn't right for going out, and he spiraled, thinking he was washed up and losing to the young bucks outside!] [He finally opened his mouth to ask, but she didn't answer. He’s crashing out. He’s planning to end it all!] The next second. I felt movement beside me. 1 Damien got up quietly. If it weren't for the suppressed, choked sob coming from behind me, I would have thought the floating text was a hallucination. I slowly opened my eyes and looked at the dark silhouette standing by the bed. He stood there like a statue. Head bowed, fists clenched and unclenched. Finally, with a trembling hand, he fumbled to tuck the quilt around me. In the dark, his unfocused eyes seemed to burn with a desperate, paranoid heat. He reached out, his hand hovering inches from my face, then stopped. His voice was a broken whisper: "Why... why did you get tired of me so fast?" A warm droplet hit my palm. Against the moonlight, Damien’s face was wet with tears. Before I could speak, he stood up abruptly and walked toward the door, barefoot and silent. The chat flashed again: [Wake up, girl! Your husband is about to delete his save file!] [Let him die. He’s just a jealous wreck pretending to be noble.] [She said the soup was bland, he heard "our love is dead, get out."] [That slutty mesh shirt he wore? She said it wasn't suitable for public, he heard "you're old and ugly, make way for a boy toy."] [This MC has the fastest death flags I've ever seen. But good news: It turns into a 'Ghost Romance' genre after this. The smut gets wilder!] [Yesss! Ghost Husband Era! He becomes a possessive spirit and haunts her for midnight fun!] [Unfocused eyes, phantom touch... fast forward to the good part!] I snapped awake, the confusion vanishing instantly. Ghost Romance? They play that hard? But I’ve been terrified of ghosts since I was a kid! Goosebumps erupted all over my skin. I widened my eyes and shouted at Damien’s retreating back: "Damien! I need water!" 2 The warm water soothed my throat. As my brain rebooted, the fear of a ghost romance faded, replaced by the realization of what the chat was saying. Damien’s personality did a 180 after the accident. He wasn't totally blind, but his vision was blurry shadows. He refused therapy and shut down. I didn't know what was going on in his head, so I treated him normally. Who knew my normal comments were being filtered through his insecurity processor? I said the soup was bland. He thought I was implying our arranged marriage was flavorless and I despised him because he was blind. He drank the soup in silence, then went to the bathroom to cry so the nanny cam in the living room wouldn't catch him. I said his outfit didn't work. He thought I was calling him washed up. I blushed thinking about that outfit. A sheer, black V-neck shirt and pants made of some material that left nothing to the imagination. He went commando! I almost dragged him to the bedroom right then and there. But I was trying to take him to a gala to boost his confidence. I gently suggested he change. He went to his room and never came out. Apparently, he was mourning his youth. And tonight... he spiraled again. The worst part? He wasn't going to die properly. He was going to come back as a horny ghost. The chat descriptions... they were not PG-13. And again: I. Hate. Ghosts. [Hey! Why did he turn around again?] [She called him, why is he still trying to off himself?] [Whatever, let him die. Unlock the Ghost Route!] I shuddered. Does he have to become a ghost? Can't he just... live? My mind went blank as I remembered what he was misunderstanding this time. I grabbed the object on the nightstand and shouted at his back: "You didn't make me uncomfortable! It was great! I'm taking Tums! It's for digestion!" 3 The moment the words left my mouth, I turned into a boiled lobster. The bottle of antacids slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a loud clatter. The chat paused for a second, then exploded: [Why is she blushing?] [Why is she taking digestive aids at 3 AM? Dinner was ten hours ago.] [She didn't eat a midnight snack. What is she 'full' of?] [Oh... the screen faded to black for a LONG time earlier. The Male Lead has stamina.] **[I know what she ate. It's **.] **[Yeah, definitely **. Damn, censorship!] A screen full of asterisks. Not a single pair of pants in sight. We’ve been married three years. I wanted a baby. I closed my eyes, my heart hammering against my ribs. My face burned so hot it hurt. My lips trembled. "Too many times... my stomach is... bloated." 4 Setting aside the arranged marriage aspect, Damien and I were childhood friends. We grew up together. Even though we were the same age, Damien always acted like the mature older brother, taking care of me. I don't know when my feelings changed. I crushed on him from high school through college. I wanted to confess. At a family dinner, our parents hinted at setting us up. I held the cup of ginger cola he made me, waiting for his answer. All I got was Damien saying, "It's too early for that conversation." It wasn't a yes. It was a polite rejection. And after crushing my heart, he gently asked if my cola was still warm or if I needed a fresh cup. His gentleness felt like a slap in the face. He was nice to everyone. I wasn't special. My pride took over. I lied and said I liked someone else. He was so gracious. He congratulated me and killed my last shred of hope. After graduation, I went abroad. We lost touch. We met again at a coffee shop to discuss the merger marriage. Through the steam of his coffee, he told me that perhaps, as a partner, he would be a suitable choice. He was suitable. Generous, open-minded. Not the jealous type. The model husband. Until six months ago. The car accident took his sight. His "open-mindedness" rotted. He said he was fine, but I saw him clench his fists when I turned my back. He promised not to be suspicious, but I caught him sniffing my clothes at 2 AM when I got up to use the bathroom. My heart, which I thought was dead, started beating again. I hate jealous men. But seeing Damien like this... unraveling because of me? It made my blood boil in a different way.
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