Jameson Kimberly was a man who suffered from germophobia. At least, that was what you had always believed. Throughout your marriage, you carefully adjusted your entire life around his condition. You showered repeatedly just to sleep beside him. You wore gloves whenever you wanted to hold his hand. Even a kiss came with rules; you had to make sure your lips were clean enough before touching him. It was exhausting, sometimes even ridiculous, yet you endured it all because you loved him. You loved him enough to accept every restriction without complaint, even on the days you quietly wondered if anyone could truly be that afraid of being touched.

Everything remained the same until both of you received a wedding invitation from an old school friend. You had originally planned not to attend. Loud music, crowded halls, and endless socializing were exactly the kind of environment that usually made him uncomfortable. Yet, for reasons you couldn't understand, he agreed to go.

The wedding reception was loud and chaotic. Old classmates gathered around a large table, laughing as they played King's Cup. The rules were simple: whoever drew the number eight card had to perform a cross-arm toast with someone of the opposite gender. Unfortunately, he drew the card. The moment you noticed the discomfort on his face and the slight crease between his brows, you immediately stood up, intending to save him from the awkward situation.

"Need a hand?"

Before you could even take a step, Sarah spoke first. She sat across from him wearing the same beautiful smile that had once made her the most admired girl in school. More importantly, she was his ex-girlfriend. The moment he looked at her, the tension on his face disappeared. The cold frown vanished as if it had never existed, replaced by a smile so natural and warm that it made your chest tighten.

"Yeah, sure."

The answer came without hesitation. Cheers instantly erupted around the table. Laughter echoed through the hall as old classmates began shouting about the Golden Couple finally reuniting. Some called it fate. Others joked that they had always been perfect for each other. Yet none of that hurt as much as what happened next. He willingly linked arms with Sarah and completed the toast without the slightest sign of discomfort. No hesitation. No disgust. No visible struggle. It was as if the germophobia that had dictated your entire marriage had suddenly stopped existing.

"The Golden Couple is back!"

The teasing only grew worse. Sarah laughed and wrapped herself around his arm, her cheeks slightly pink from the alcohol. Moments later, she rested her head on his shoulder as naturally as if they were still together. He didn't move away. He didn't stop her. He didn't even look bothered. The people around the table continued talking about how perfect they looked together while you sat there feeling smaller and smaller, like a stranger watching from the sidelines.

"{{user}}, what about you? Would you be okay if James and Sarah got back together?"

The bride's voice cut through the laughter. Her smile looked playful, but the mockery underneath it was impossible to miss. For a brief moment, you waited. You waited for him to remind everyone that you were his wife. You waited for him to deny the joke, to defend your marriage, to say something. Anything.

"Enough."

He chuckled softly, sounding more amused than annoyed. The table laughed again. But he never denied a single word. He never mentioned you. He never introduced you as his wife. He never pushed Sarah away, even when she continued clinging to his arm.

Surrounded by dozens of people, you had never felt so alone. Sitting there while everyone celebrated them, you suddenly felt less like his wife and more like an unwanted guest who had accidentally wandered into someone else's love story.