Investing in My Crippled Wife: Every Return Makes Me Stronger-Chapter 8: Soren’s Answer

Soren carefully lifted her from the bed and settled her into the wheelchair. He made sure her feet were positioned correctly, adjusted the blanket over her lap, then pushed her toward the small table where he’d set up breakfast.

"Let’s wash up first," he said, disappearing into the bathroom.

He returned with a basin of warm water and a soft cloth, kneeling beside her. He then helped her to wash her hands and face.

Then, he pulled up a chair and sat beside her, positioning himself close to the table.

The tray sat between them, steam still rising from the porridge and tea.

Ethea stared at the food for a moment, then slowly began to lift her arm. Her fingers trembled, her shoulder aching, but she forced the movement, determination flickering in her ice-blue eyes.

She could do this much at least-

"No need."

Soren’s voice cut through her attempt.

Ethea froze, her arm suspended halfway, and turned to look at him.

Soren had already picked up the bowl of porridge and the spoon. He scooped a small amount, blew on it gently to cool it, and turned toward her with a faint smile.

"Ahh."

"..."

Ethea’s brain refused to work for a split second.

What... What was he doing?

Her lips parted automatically, whether from shock or instinct, but before she could form words, before she could say I can eat by myself, the spoon was already there.

Warm porridge slid into her mouth.

"Good girl," Soren murmured with a slight chuckle.

"!"

Ethea’s face burned at his words.

A faint blush spread across her pale cheeks before disappearing just as quickly, hidden beneath years of practiced composure.

But her mind was screaming.

’G-Good girl?!’

’What am I, a child?!’

Ethea forced herself to chew and swallow and then opened her mouth to speak-

Another spoonful appeared.

"I-"

Spoon.

"Mmph."

Chew. Swallow. Open mouth-

"I ca-"

Spoon.

Chew. Swallow. Try to speak-

"I can e-"

Spoon.

Chew. Swallow. Open.

"...eat myself," Ethea managed to finish her words after a few tries, but Soren was already preparing the next spoonful.

"Mm-hmm," he acknowledged without stopping. "I know. But this is faster and easier."

Ethea wanted to argue, she wanted to insist, but Soren didn’t give her the chance. He didn’t even pause. He just kept going, scooping, blowing, feeding, one smooth motion after another, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Spoon after spoon.

And somehow, despite herself, she just... let him.

And before she realized it, the bowl was empty.

Soren set it aside and picked up the teacup, holding it carefully to her lips.

Ethea drank.

The tea was warm and soothing.

She actually liked it a little.

In a few sips, the cup emptied.

Soren set it down as well and looked at her expectantly.

"So? How was it?" He tilted his head, a hint of genuine curiosity in his eyes. "I’m not some professional chef or anything, but I’ve been cooking for myself for the past seven years or so. I’d like to think I’m decent. But don’t hesitate to criticize."

Ethea stared at him.

...Seven years.

He had been cooking for himself for seven years.

Meaning... he’d been alone for seven years.

Just like she’d been alone for six months.

But his aloneness had been chosen for him, hadn’t it?

The Velmere family embarrassment. The unawakened son. The one they ignored until they could marry him off to a crippled stranger.

She knew the story. She’d heard it before the wedding when the servants were gossiping around her as if they wanted her to hear them. However, she didn’t care back then.

But now...

Now she didn’t know what she felt.

"..."

"(૭ ｡•̀ ᵕ •́｡ )૭" (Expectant Soren)

"...It was fine."

The words came out before she could stop them.

"<(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)>"

Soren’s face lit up.

"Yeah? Good. I’ll make something different for lunch. Any requests? Vegetables, meat, dough, whatever you like. Just let me know if there’s anything specific you want."

Ethea stayed silent.

Actually, she didn’t know what she wanted or liked anymore.

Food stopped mattering six months ago when eating became a chore instead of a pleasure.

Soren waited, patient as always, his steady eyes on hers.

When the silence started stretching, he chuckled softly in surrender.

"Alright, I’ll surprise you myself then."

He stood and began collecting the dishes, stacking them neatly on the tray.

Ethea watched him move.

The way his hands handled the dishes with practised ease, the way he hummed softly under his breath, in some tune she didn’t recognize. The way he acted this was normal, like feeding a crippled stranger was just another part of his morning routine.

She watched.

And the question that had been circling her mind all night finally clawed its way out.

"...Why?"

Soren paused, tray in hand, and glanced back at her.

"Hm?"

Ethea’s jaw tightened.

She hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t meant to give voice to the doubt that consumed her. Not yet, at least. But now it was already out, and she couldn’t take it back. So, she decided to continue. This would happen sooner or later anyway.

"...Why are you doing this?"

Soren tilted his head slightly. "The breakfast?"

"No." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "...All of this."

Understanding crossed Soren’s features.

He set the tray back down.

Then he turned to face her fully, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and sincere.

"Well, because I’m your husband."

Ethea blinked.

That... That was it?

That was his answer?

"That’s... that’s not a reason," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Soren’s smile didn’t waver.

"Sure it is. I signed the paper. Made a promise. And I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep."

He picked up the tray again.

"Rest now. I’ll be back soon."

He walked toward the door.

Ethea stared at his back.

His answer didn’t explain anything at all.

And yet...

And yet when the door clicked shut, she found herself staring at it for a long, long time.

"...Husband."

The word felt strange on her tongue.

Foreign even.

But... not entirely unpleasant as she expected it to be.

And she didn’t know what to do with that.