My Severe Germaphobe Boyfriend's Double Standard I Stop Waiting

At midnight, Landon finally came home.

The hems of his pants and the tops of his shoes were soaked through, streaked with rain and mud.

I looked at him coldly. "I thought you had a germ thing. I thought you never went out in the rain."

His hand stopped mid-motion.

Once, when I'd spiked a fever on a rainy day, all I asked was for him to drive me to the hospital.

He'd refused. "Just take a cab. The rain makes everything smell rotten, my nose can't handle it."

After that, no matter how sick I got, on rainy days I always walked to the hospital alone under my own umbrella.

So it turned out the rain had never really kept him inside. I just didn't rate as his exception.

He gave the bag in his hand a little shake.

"I got worked up earlier. I was just scared something had happened to Marcia. You haven't had dinner yet, right?"

It was from that soup place on the west side of the city, my favorite.

Three years ago, he'd confessed to me there. It was also the only meal we'd ever eaten together.

Something in me still stirred, and I started to reach for it.

But Landon pulled his hand back, frowning.

"Did you sit on the couch without sanitizing first? Marcia's really sensitive to the smell on you."

"Last time you got into bed without changing, she couldn't sleep the whole night."

The words were out before he caught what he'd let slip. His voice softened. "Just eat out in the hallway. The smell's too strong in here, I can't stand it."

But I stood frozen where I was, the soup suddenly cold in my hands.

"All those days I was away on business, Marcia was living here in our home the whole time, wasn't she?"

Seeing there was no point hiding it, he just nodded, plainly.

"Marcia's family was pressuring her to get married and she developed an anxiety disorder. I've only been taking care of her. Don't read into it."

I swallowed down the ache in my chest. My voice came out flat and cold.

"So my fiancé is sharing a home with another woman, and you want me not to read into it?"

"Landon, you still can't let go of Marcia, can you?"

He knit his brows, defending himself with pure impatience. "Why do you always think the worst of people?"

"She and I ended a long time ago. I just look after her like a little sister."

"You're too emotional right now. There's no talking to you."

With that, he put in his earbuds, turned, and went into the bathroom to shower.

It was always like this.

The moment I started to talk about being hurt, about being disappointed, about how unfair this whole thing was,

he'd shut me out.

Just then his phone screen buzzed on the table.

I couldn't help looking. It was Marcia's post.

She'd put up a video, captioned: 【Three years later, and I finally get to have soup my ex-husband feeds me again.】

In the thirty-second clip, Landon patiently blew on the soup to cool it and spooned it into her mouth, one gentle bite at a time.

Even knowing the truth already, I made myself watch the whole thing, like I wanted the wound.

In three years, we had never once sat at the same table to eat. Even on dates, we ate apart.

Because he said he didn't like watching other people eat, and hated the smell of it even more.

But in that video, he not only didn't mind, he drank from the same cup as Marcia and ate with the same spoon.

Looking at that bowl of soup gone cold, I understood it hadn't been bought for me at all.

Marcia had wanted some, and he'd only grabbed a bowl for me on the side.

Even with my stomach cramping from hunger, I didn't want to pick up the spoon.

When he came out of the shower and saw the bowl sitting there untouched, he frowned.

"Naomi, you won't even eat the soup. How long are you going to keep this up?"

"Do I have to feed you now, too?"

I looked at him. "Go feed it to Marcia. I don't want her leftovers."

The remark landed where he didn't expect it, and impatience flashed in his eyes.

"Naomi, what are you throwing a fit about, day after day?"

"Marcia's sick. It's only right that I take extra care of her."

"I'm tired. I don't want to fight with you."

I looked at his face, a stranger's face, and nodded.

"Then let's break up. All we ever do together is fight anyway."