“Welcome home.”
Once again today, I manage the housework and say these words to her.
Lately, I haven't been able to sleep.
I’m not working or running a business, just a full-time househusband, so there shouldn’t be any stress, yet somehow…
“I already ate, so clean up for me.”
She says this, placing her bags on the sofa before heading to the bathroom.
Kagashi Nika—that’s my wife’s name. Naturally, she took my surname.
I carry her bags, left on the sofa, to her room.
When we first got married, we shared a room, but now we sleep separately.
Apparently, she said we had to have separate rooms because she couldn’t concentrate on her work.
Even my scent, or the presence of my things, seems to be considered a nuisance.
Of course, it was me who moved all her personal belongings.
“Here we go…”
Crash! The sound of something breaking echoed.
It looks like I dropped her bag.
Maybe it was some of her cosmetics that broke?
Why did I drop it?
That’s when I realized my hands were trembling.
“Haha… what am I even doing…”
I gathered up the broken pieces of her cosmetics and threw them into the nearby trash.
“Ugh…”
Glass had gotten lodged in my hand, and a little blood began to trickle out.
But I can’t be bothered by something like this.
I wiped the blood away with my apron and returned to the living room.
I started wrapping the dishes laid out on the dining table in plastic wrap.
But it seems my blood got on them.
I can’t serve her food that’s stained with my blood, so I threw it away.
Luckily, I’m not hungry right now.
I should at least put the food I was going to eat in the fridge.
But first, I need to stop the bleeding from my finger.
I grabbed some disinfectant and bandages from a nearby shelf.
“Ah…”
I spilled way too much disinfectant.
A sharp pain shot through my finger.
But instead of worrying about myself, I thought, "I need to clean up this mess," and I wiped up the spilled disinfectant with my apron.
Then, I applied a bandage to my finger.
At that moment, something sparkled.
It was my wedding ring.
The precious symbol of the bond between her and me.
Well, it was her who bought the ring, not me, but still.
We went to the same high school, though I was terrible at school and had the worst grades.
On the other hand, she went on to attend an elite university after graduation.
Still, we had been dating since high school, and after some discussions about whether we should break up or not, we decided that I would support her as a full-time househusband while she continued her studies at university.
Maybe meeting her was the greatest miracle of my life.
Even though our relationship has turned into what it is now, I still love her.
I love her more than anyone else in the world.
I can say that with confidence.
I don’t know if she feels the same way about me, though.
I stood up quickly, wrapped the food I was going to eat, and put it in the fridge.
The next thing I have to do is put the clothes she’ll wear after her bath in the bathroom.
And I need to spray deodorizer on the suit she was wearing.
I took her suit from the bathroom to the living room.
As I sprayed the deodorizer, sharp pain shot through the hand with the bandage on it.
But I can’t let that stop me.
She’s far busier than I am.
I have to act accordingly.
I entered her room once more.
I took pajamas from the wardrobe where her clothes are kept.
The design was simple—completely black.
You’re as cool as ever, aren’t you?
You haven’t smiled the way I fell in love with for a while, but just living with you makes me happy.
Just seeing your well-groomed face in the morning is enough for me.
It’s sad that you don’t eat the breakfast I wake up early to make for you, though.
Still, I enjoy cooking meals for you, even though you come home late from work, exhausted.
In those moments, I feel like I’m supporting you.
Even if my support is minuscule, that feeling makes me happy.
I carried the pajamas I’d taken from the wardrobe to the bathroom.
With that, most of my housework for the day was done.
I’d finished the cleaning in the morning, and I’d already put tomorrow’s breakfast in the fridge.
Then, she came out of the bathroom.
Without even glancing in my direction, she changed clothes and walked past me.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen you naked, hasn’t it?
Not that it excites me anymore.
When we first got married, I was so nervous I couldn’t make a move on you.
And then, as time went by, the atmosphere between us made it impossible to even try.
But whenever I see our classmates posting baby pictures on Instagram, I always think the same thing.
When will we have a child of our own?
If we ever do, I’m going to spoil them rotten.
Not sure if you’d want that, though.
“Hey! What’s this?!”
Her voice, filled with uncharacteristic anger, echoed in the room.
I headed to the living room to see what she was upset about. What she was showing me was the makeup I had accidentally broken.
“Sorry.”
That one word was all I could manage.
I bowed my head, trying to show my sincere apology. But, instead of calming down, she seemed even more irritated. She grabbed my face, forced me to look up, and then punched me.
Pain shot through my cheek, and I was thrown sideways, hitting the floor with my shoulder and head.
“You live off me for free, and now you’re causing me more trouble?” she said coldly, then disappeared into her room.
I stayed on the floor, stunned.
Once again, I had caused her problems. That reality echoed in my mind.
Am I really supporting her?
Suddenly, doubt crept in.
Maybe I’m not her support but her burden. Maybe she’d be better off without me.
Whenever I upset someone, these negative thoughts always flood my mind.
There have been so many times where I’ve acted on these thoughts, as if my reason had been hijacked by them.
These attacks, or whatever they are, started about three years after we got married. But since they weren’t serious enough to affect my daily life, I never went to the hospital. I couldn’t possibly go, not when she was the one paying the bills.
I forced myself up, turned off the lights in the living room and kitchen, and went to my empty room.
I couldn’t sleep that night either.
* * *
I checked the clock—it was 4 AM. Time to get up.
She leaves for work at 5:30, so I have to get up early to prepare breakfast and pack her lunch.
Lately, though, she often brings back her lunch untouched.
There’s still some leftover food from yesterday, so breakfast will be quick.
I took out the ingredients for her lunch from the fridge and checked some menus online.
I used to come up with my own ideas for her meals, but she once told me, “Anything you find online is way better than what you come up with,” so I stick to the internet’s suggestions now.
I started by washing the vegetables, but the cut on my hand was still open, and the pain flared up.
Still, I ignored it and continued cooking.
It’s almost time for her to wake up, I thought, so I placed the leftovers from the fridge on the table.
I removed the plastic wrap and threw it away.
Then I went back to preparing her lunch.
Soon, I heard her alarm go off from her room.
“Good morning,” I greeted my beloved wife.
Even right after waking up, you’re still beautiful.
But she ignored me, going about her morning routine—brushing her teeth, putting on her suit, doing her makeup.
While she did that, I slipped the lunch I made into her bag.
Then, just like always, she left the house.
Am I really supporting you?
That’s the only thing I worry about.
If I’m not, then I don’t know what purpose I have here.
* * *
In a month, it’ll be your birthday.
And our wedding anniversary.
I’m planning to get you a gift.
I don’t think you’ll be happy if I use the money you give me, so I’ll earn it myself this time.
I read online that in a normal marriage, people don’t care whose money it is. But I’m just a full-time househusband, so things aren’t normal.
I’m the strange one.
So, it’s okay if things aren’t normal, as long as it makes you happy.
From that day, I started working part-time.
Compared to your salary, what I make might be tiny, but it’s enough to buy you a gift.
Unlike you, I only have a high school diploma, so I ended up doing physical labor.
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