Chapter 2

"Before I moved abroad, our friend group hung out every single week."

"He was always the one having the most fun! There's no way he's emotionally detached!"

Chloe's words left me completely stunned.

I genuinely could not picture Ethan laughing freely and goofing off with friends.

Just then, Ethan came out carrying a plate of braised short ribs, smiling as he asked Chloe,

"What are you two talking about?"

Chloe gave him a meaningful look.

"Ethan, Natalie just told me you have emotional detachment disorder. How come I never heard about you having this condition?"

"Weren't you totally fine growing up?"

The smile on Ethan's face instantly froze. He scowled and snapped at me,

"Why are you telling Chloe things like that?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Chloe suddenly chimed in,

"Ethan, don't tell me you lied to Natalie on purpose!"

"I remember back then, you asked me what you should do because you didn't want to constantly provide emotional support to women."

"I think I told you to just fake emotional detachment so you'd never have to comfort them. You didn't actually pull that trick on your own wife, did you?!"

After saying that, Chloe even pouted playfully and pointed an accusing finger at him.

"Ethan, you take my advice way too seriously! I was literally just joking!"

I stood there, staring at the scene in front of me, Chloe's words echoing relentlessly in my mind.

Ethan's emotional detachment... was faked?

Then back when I sliced my hand while cooking for him—the cut so deep that the tendon was visible and I couldn't even straighten my finger...

I had begged him to take me to the hospital, but Ethan had merely shaken his head, expressionless.

"It's just a cut. Can't you just slap a Band-Aid on it? Why do you need to make it my problem?"

In the end, I had to call an Uber to the emergency room by myself. It took five stitches to make sure my hand didn't suffer permanent nerve damage.

Later, when I was managing a new company project, I had to work late every single night.

On the dark alley leading to our house, I could clearly feel someone following me.

Terrified, I asked Ethan to come pick me up after work, but he accused me of being needy and troublesome.

"I don't have time to pick you up. Besides, nothing's happened to you, has it?"

"You're probably just letting your imagination run wild. Nobody is following you."

Yet the very next night, that man caught up to me, grabbed me, and tried to assault me.

Thankfully, I had dialed 911 in advance, which spared me from being harmed.

A few months later, I found out I was pregnant.

It was our first child. I was ecstatic, and for a brief period, Ethan was unusually gentle with me.

I thought the arrival of our baby would cure his emotional coldness, but an accidental fall tore the child away from me.

That day, lying in the hospital bed, I wept until my voice gave out, the grief suffocating me.

Yet Ethan didn't utter a single comforting word.

All he gave me was a cold, detached remark:

"We can always have another baby later."

With bloodshot eyes, I screamed at him through my tears,

"Ethan, that was your child too! Do you even have a heart?!"

There wasn't an ounce of warmth in his eyes.

"When we got married, I told you I was emotionally detached. That's why I don't feel grief."

That single sentence silenced me completely.

Even after the tragedy faded, I never blamed him.

After all, he was emotionally detached; his lack of reaction wasn't his fault.

And now, Chloe was telling me it was all an act?

Seeing my pale, shattered expression, Ethan set down the dish, walked over to my side, and whispered,

"I'll explain this to you later. Chloe is still our guest; let's entertain her first."

"Don't let our issues ruin her welcome-home mood."