Chapter 2

2

John didn't return home until after 3 AM.

He wore a smug smile, completely oblivious to the missing button on his collar.

Seeing me still on the couch, he approached slowly and reached for my neck:

"Sorry, I didn't discuss changing the artwork beforehand, but the original piece lacked visual impact and affected the overall presentation."

"Next time, I'll re-display our photo when there's a more suitable theme. Does that work?"

I glanced up; he still wore his gloves.

Maintaining a distance.

"Sarah, today's our fourth wedding anniversary. Why don't you take a shower first, and then…"

His words made me chuckle.

Over the years, spontaneous kisses, hugs, and other normal things. John never initiated them.

If they happened, it was compensation for a mistake. Or perhaps, an act of charity.

I said nothing. I picked up the hand sanitizer, causing him to snort.

He said, teasingly touching my chin: "It's okay, my OCD isn't as bad as before. You don't need to be so careful."

Just as his fingertips neared, I blocked him with my arm. John's eyes widened in surprise.

"Sarah, I told you I wouldn't mind. You don't need to be so cautious."

I shook my head: "No… I mind."

John's face visibly twitched. He must have thought he misheard.

Quickly, his trembling pupils returned to normal: "What I said at the exhibition was just to hype the piece. You don't really think my twenty-year OCD suddenly vanished because of Jessica, do you?"

"Sarah, I thought you weren't so rigid. Now you're giving me the cold shoulder because of one photo…"

I didn't respond; I silently returned to the guest room. And locked the door.

John always said he was a light sleeper, even my slightest movement would bother him. To avoid disturbing him, I'd slept in this cramped, windowless room for four years.

He still hadn't realized. A change in affection isn't instantaneous.

That night, I slept soundly. I didn't wake until noon the next day.

Downstairs in the living room, the master bedroom door was slightly ajar; John was gone. Only a note remained on the dining table:

"I was supposed to take you to dinner yesterday, but the exhibition delayed me. I'll come home early tonight to make up for the missed anniversary. Please forgive me?"

Next to the note was a small six-inch photo. It was the photo of John and me holding hands.

He'd made a smaller version and placed it prominently. As if to showcase his meager "deep affection."

I tore it into pieces, along with the note, and threw them in the trash.

During our early courtship, John's OCD was severe, but he tried to overcome his fears. At school, other couples strolled hand-in-hand. We held opposite ends of a piece of cloth.

Maintaining a distance of more than a foot and a half.

I knew he was terrified of intimacy, so I wouldn't force him. Even our first kiss was through a pane of glass.

John blushed, tears welling, apologizing.

"Sarah, once I'm better, I'll be the first to hug you."

I wasn't angry; I adored this unusual boy. No matter how long it took, I would always be by his side…