My husband, Julian, was the youngest chief surgeon in the country, a man plagued by severe mysophobia.

We had been married for five years, yet we had never shared the intimacy of a true couple.

His reason was always the same: "I don't like physical contact."

But on our fifth anniversary, I traveled over 4,900 miles, braving an exhausting journey just to see him.

Only to find him standing at the entrance of the medical research institute in Edinburgh, kneeling to remove the soaked shoes and socks of another woman.

"Why are you still like a child? Don't you know how to take care of yourself?" His voice drifted through the air, softer than I had ever heard it.

Standing in the torrential rain, I held a bouquet of roses, looking like a drowned rat.

In the distance, the woman wore a perfectly tailored uniform. She tilted her head, chatting and laughing with Julian.

I had never seen Julian wear such a tender expression, as if all his icy edges had melted away.

As the woman spoke, he watched her with a faint smile, his gaze never wavering for a single second.

Six years ago, I accidentally rear-ended Julian's car.

The moment he stepped out of the driver's seat, I fell for him.

Julian was a top-tier surgeon, accustomed to being stern and silent, while I had always been outgoing, specializing in persistent pursuit.

I chased him for an entire year before we finally got together.

It was only then that I realized just how pathological his aversion to physical contact really was.

In our five years of marriage, the only contact we ever had was a single time I kissed his lips.

His reaction was so extreme that he ran to the bathroom and threw up.

Even though he later explained it was a conditioned physiological response and not because of me, the wound in my heart stayed open for a long time.

The reason I came to see him this time was that we had been living apart for a year.

A year ago, he was sent to the UK to lead a multinational medical project.

As his wife, almost every message I sent him went unanswered.

He would only reply with a few sparse words when the conversation turned to his parents' well-being.

"Thanks for the hard work. I've transferred this month's household allowance to you."

To maintain this long-distance marriage, I had planned to give him a surprise today.

I never expected to see this scene instead.

In that fleeting second, I suddenly didn't want him anymore.

It took a while before Julian finally noticed me standing in the rain.

His smile faded slightly as he whispered something tenderly to the woman.

Only then did he walk straight toward me, holding an umbrella.

"What are you doing here?"

There was a hint of annoyance in Julian’s tone, as if I were an unwelcome interruption.

I held out the roses, forcing a strained smile.

"Happy fifth anniversary."

Before Julian could take them, the woman's voice rang out from a distance: "Julian, the meeting is about to start."

Hearing this, he turned back to me, his face devoid of emotion.

"Follow me."

I stood frozen for a long time before finally following in Julian’s footsteps.

When we reached the stranger, she naturally fell into step beside Julian.

They walked side by side in front of me.

The sounds of their low-voiced professional banter drifted into my ears—medical jargon, deep and mysterious, things I couldn't understand.

But I learned one thing: her name was Seraphina, and she was very close to Julian.

Several times, I tried to speak with Julian privately, but Seraphina interrupted me, seemingly without effort.

Finally, we reached the door of the conference room.

Seraphina turned to me and suddenly spoke in Spanish.

"Is she your wife back home? She doesn't seem to suit you at all."

As if intentionally, Julian replied to her in the same language. "Suitability doesn't matter. As long as she’s appropriate."

Both of them thought I couldn't understand.

But five years ago, in my pursuit of Julian, I had enrolled in classes and learned Spanish the moment I found out he spoke it.

After Seraphina entered the room first, Julian finally turned his gaze toward me. His voice still lacked any warmth.

"I have a meeting. Wait for me here."

He spoke as if to a complete stranger.

My throat felt dry. "Okay."

As he disappeared into the room, I looked at the roses in my arms. They had already withered.

Just like our relationship—sustained by my one-sided devotion for five years, only to end in nothingness.

I wiped the rain from my face and tossed the bouquet into the trash can nearby.

I wanted to head back to the airport immediately, but I felt I had to wait for Julian to come out so we could have a clear conversation.

However, I didn't expect the wait to last two hours.

The rain had soaked through my clothes, and the damp fabric clung uncomfortably to my skin. By the time Julian finally emerged from the room, my face had turned ghostly pale, and my lips were devoid of color from the cold.

I tried to speak to him, but I was immediately interrupted by the others exiting the conference room.

"Who is this?" one of them asked.

I looked at Julian, but he remained silent. Shivering slightly, I spoke up. "I'm Julian's wife."

The crowd was visibly shocked.

"Dr. Julian, aren't you single?"

"Wait, aren't you and Seraphina a couple?"

"Yeah, you guys have been together since high school, how could..."

Julian spoke up slowly, his voice calm. "Seraphina and I are a thing of the past."

He then gave a brief, clipped introduction. "This is Clara. We were married five years ago."

The realization hit them like a wave, followed by a chorus of sighs and murmurs. Then, someone broke the tension.

"Come on, let’s go grab dinner. After a meeting that long, I’m starving."

My legs felt numb, making it hard to move. I stood there, watching helplessly as Julian and Seraphina walked right past me. I was left at the very back of the group.

Whether it was intentional or not, by the time I opened the door to the Toyota Alphard, the only seat left for me was the front passenger side. Julian and Seraphina were seated in the back row, seemingly deep in discussion about the meeting.

I glanced back at them before taking the last available spot.

On the way to the restaurant, the people in the car chatted naturally in Spanish.

"I honestly thought Seraphina and Julian would have been married by now. I mean, Julian’s confession—'In this century of life, I shall be loyal to medicine, and loyal to you'—is still a legendary quote back at the medical school."

"Julian always seems so cold, but remember junior year? He punched that harasser professor for Seraphina and almost got his graduation delayed."

"I even remember them signing organ donor cards together, saying they’d be together in life and death."

"..."

Listening to them, the truth finally crystallized: Seraphina was Julian’s ex-girlfriend.

Since the day I met Julian, he had always been gentle but distant—like a glass of plain water, forever lukewarm. I couldn't imagine what he looked like when he confessed his love, or how he looked when he fought for someone.

I was lost in thought, not even noticing we had arrived at the restaurant.

One of Julian’s friends looked surprised when he opened the car door for me.

"Clara, why are your clothes completely soaked?"

Before I could answer, he called out to Julian in the back seat.

"Julian, maybe you should take Clara to the mall next door to buy some dry clothes before dinner? She’s going to catch a cold."

It was only after someone else pointed it out that Julian finally noticed his wife had been sitting in wet clothes for hours.

He turned to me. "Wait in the car. I’ll go buy you something to change into."

The rest of the group headed toward their reserved table in the restaurant. I sat alone in the car for fifteen minutes until Julian returned with a luxury shopping bag.

The clothes were expensive and the fabric was exquisite, but when I put them on, they didn't fit at all.

It felt just like my marriage to Julian—uncomfortable and ill-fitting from start to finish.

By the time I finished changing and stepped out of the car, the sidewalk was empty. On my phone, a notification popped up from Julian’s usually silent chat box.

[Today is Seraphina’s birthday. I’ve headed inside first. Room A1701.]

In five years of marriage, this was the first time Julian had ever messaged me first, and the first time he had ever written such a long sentence.

I took the elevator alone to the 17th floor and found the room.

Just as I was about to push the door open, I saw Julian through the crack. He was handing a bouquet of lily-of-the-valley and a delicate box to Seraphina.

The people inside were cheering.

"Julian, lily-of-the-valley isn't even in season! How did you find them?"

"You know Julian. If Seraphina wants it, he’d find a way to bring her the stars from the sky and the moon from the sea."

"I just don't get it, Julian. You clearly still love Seraphina. Why did you marry that woman from earlier?"

"We all know you only came to Edinburgh for research because of Seraphina. Since it turns out her going abroad with that professor back then was just a misunderstanding, and you both still love each other, why not use this chance to get back together?"

"Exactly. Her abusive ex-husband is already in prison thanks to you. There are no obstacles left."

Through their words, I learned the full history of Julian and Seraphina.

They had fallen in love in high school and were the "golden couple" everyone envied through university. But the year they graduated, Seraphina decided to pursue further studies in the UK, while Julian chose to stay for his doctorate.

Faced with different paths, Seraphina had unilaterally broken up with him.

Later, after finishing his PhD, Julian had actually gone to the UK to find her, only to be told she had already married someone else. Their "fairytale" romance came to a dead end.

Returning home, Julian used his extraordinary talent to become the youngest chief surgeon.

A year later, he met me.