Chapter 1

My wife is the most renowned genius artist of our time, but she suffers from emotional detachment disorder.

When I accidentally fell down the stairs and called out to her for help, she asked me, "Why do you always bother me?"

Then she stepped over my body in her high heels and left gracefully.

That's when I finally understood—a heart you can't warm is not worth warming anymore.

After she proposed divorce for the ninety-ninth time, I said, "I agree."

My wife froze for a long moment.

"What did you say?"

I handed her the signed divorce agreement.

She stared at the papers, then looked up at me for a long time, seemingly wanting to say something but holding back.

"You don't even want our daughter?"

I nodded.

Right. I didn't want any of it anymore.

In the divorce agreement, I willingly gave up custody of our daughter.

I had only one condition—Hannah Smith had to agree to let my mother continue receiving treatment at the hospital under the Smith family's name.

The Smith family owned the top medical team for bone cancer treatment in the country.

Only there did my mother have a chance of recovery.

After we got our divorce certificate, Hannah's face remained calm and distant as always.

"So what will you do now?"

I knew this was just Hannah being polite.

She had never truly cared about me.

I gave a perfunctory answer. "Travel."

Hannah didn't ask any more questions.

Leo put his hand on Hannah's shoulder and smiled at me. "Thanks for being willing to let Hannah go and give her freedom."

I instinctively glanced at Hannah.

Facing Leo's closeness, her expression was relaxed and natural—none of the discomfort she showed when facing me.

Hannah suddenly spoke up. "Travel costs money. I'll transfer some to you."

Her tone was still that flat, cold indifference, as if we were complete strangers.

This divorce left me with essentially nothing.

Hannah and I had signed a prenuptial agreement—whatever we earned after marriage would belong to each of us individually.

All our expenses after marriage followed an AA system.

There were no property disputes.

But the key issue was that our daughter had poor health and high needs.

I had quit my job long ago to stay home and take care of her full-time.

If I couldn't take on freelance work from home, I would have starved.

Leo interrupted Hannah with a teasing tone. "Hannah, I'm sure he has savings. Besides, he's a grown man—how could he have the nerve to take your money?"

"Plus, the art exhibition is about to start. We need to manage our funds carefully."

As he spoke, Leo kept patting Hannah's shoulder, his manner intimate and natural.

Hannah nodded thoughtfully, looking at Leo with approval and admiration.

"You're right."

Leo seemed satisfied with this answer and smiled at me. "You better not go anywhere too remote on your travels. These past few years, quite a few solo hikers have gotten into trouble."

Hannah frowned and replied flatly, "What could happen to him?"

I took a deep breath.

See? That's how little Hannah cared about me.

Hannah had severe emotional detachment disorder.

To put it bluntly, she lacked the capacity to love.

When Hannah was young, her grandfather died.

At the funeral, she showed no expression, like it had nothing to do with her.

Everyone said she was a monster.

I was afraid Hannah would be hurt if she heard them, so I covered her ears and comforted her. "Don't listen to them. You're not wrong. I know you're sad too—you just don't know how to express it."

But Hannah looked at me seriously and said, "Why should I be sad? Everyone dies eventually, don't they?"

I was stunned.

As an eight-year-old, I couldn't understand why Hannah would say something like that.

Later, Hannah's condition got worse.

She even began self-harming and showing signs of nihilism—Hannah didn't love anyone, including herself.

But only when she saw me did Hannah's condition improve.

To save her, the Smith family made a deal with me—they would treat my mother's bone cancer if I married Hannah.

Hannah even looked at me with pleading eyes, like an injured young animal. "Don't leave. Stay with me forever, Jasper."

I had no choice.

We did have a period of affection once.

During that brief time, we had our daughter.

Our daughter was born with a congenital heart condition and needed constant care.

Hannah couldn't even take care of herself, so I certainly couldn't count on her.

I had no choice but to shift all my focus to our daughter, caring for her with everything I had.

Without realizing it, Hannah and I grew further and further apart.

Hannah was a famous genius artist online with a massive following.

When her fans found out I was a stay-at-home husband, they all said I wasn't good enough for her.

[Hannah's husband is just a useless pretty boy living off her. And he's supposed to be some elite graduate? What a disgrace.]

[How can the husband of a genius artist be such a worthless kept man?]

[I heard their families go way back and arranged their marriage when they were kids. Feudal thinking ruins lives.]

I asked Hannah for help, begging her to explain things to her fans.

After all, nobody cared what I had to say.

But Hannah was different.

Yet Hannah looked at me with a strange, confused expression. "You're so weird. Why do you care what strangers think?"

"Besides, they're not wrong. You are a stay-at-home husband."

What did I say back then?

I can't remember.

I only remember feeling completely lost and on the verge of breaking down.

Should I have blamed Hannah?

Everyone around me kept telling me that Hannah was just sick, that she was incapable of love.

As her husband, I should be understanding.

I used that excuse to comfort myself countless times after that.

Our daughter had poor health—even a little breeze would give her a cold and fever.

I couldn't sleep through the night, keeping watch by her bedside.

Meanwhile, Hannah, her mother, never showed up once, completely absorbed in her paintings.

I confronted her, asking why she didn't care about our child.

Hannah looked up at me. "Would it help if I went? I'm not a doctor."

Days of exhaustion and mental torment made my vision go dark, and I fell down the stairs.

Blood pooled beneath my head in a spreading stain.