He Never Ran Out of Words—Just for Me Novel – Chapter 1 I’m a total chatterbox. My husband, however, is a software engineer who treats words like they cost a million dollars. His entire vocabulary consists of three phrases: “Yeah,” “It’s fine,” and “Whatever”. After five years of marriage, his grand total of spoken words wouldn’t even fill a single day of mine. I used to think he was just naturally quiet. Until I stumbled upon a trending thread online: #ShowOffYourQuietHusband. I posted a side-profile photo of him typing away at his code. The comment section filled up instantly: [Standard oblivious straight guy], [The ultimate textbook nice guy], and [Girl, I feel your pain].
Then, one specific comment made me freeze completely. [Holy crap, your husband looks exactly like the co-founder of that massive tech startup, Garrett Tucker! Back then, the guy was a smooth-talking legend. He practically ran the university debate team!] My husband’s name is Garrett Tucker. Attached to the comment was a photo. He was wearing a sharp, tailored suit, speaking into a microphone with effortless charisma—a universe away from the messy gamer sitting in our living room. [He and Vivian Reed were the absolute IT-couple back then. The original company name was literally a blend of theirs.] [Garrett wasn’t just a tech genius, his charm and eloquence gained him a massive following inside and outside the industry.] [It’s such a tragedy they broke up right before the company went public!] … Comment after comment unraveled a past he had never once breathed a word about. He wasn’t a man of few words.
He was just a man of few words for me. That evening, Garrett walked through the front door, talking animatedly into his phone. “Don’t panic. Email me the proposal right now, and I’ll catch the earliest flight out…” He didn’t hang up until an hour later. “Hannah, I have to take a trip out of town. An old friend’s company is facing a major crisis, and I need to go help.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked up. “By friend, do you mean Vivian?” Garrett froze. He clearly hadn’t expected me to know she existed, let alone confront him so bluntly. “Hannah, Vivian and I are ancient history. She’s in real trouble this time. Let me explain everything when I get back, okay?” It was the first time he had ever shown the patience to say so much to me. But I knew better. He wasn’t trying to soothe my insecurity or anxiety.
He was just desperately searching for a justifiable reason to run to Vivian. A bitter smile touched my lips. “Explain what?” “Explain how you pulled off a grand gesture on the campus quad, holding ninety-nine roses in front of the whole university just to ask her out?” “Explain how you walked away from an Ivy League Fellowship just to help her launch her startup? How you drank yourself to a bleeding stomach ulcer just to land clients for her, nearly losing your life?” “Or maybe explain how, after she cheated on you, you willingly gave up half your shares just to let her walk away with her dignity and freedom, while you dragged me into a cramped 500-sq-ft studio to waste your life away?” Reading through those comments, I had dug up every piece of their messy seven-year history.
The old Garrett, or rather, the Garrett who belonged to Vivian… was vibrant and radiant. His eyes held fire, his words carried warmth. But I had never seen a fraction of that man. He had never even proposed to me. I was the one who finally brought it up. Back then, he had merely given a two-word shrug: “Sure, whatever.” I used to comfort myself by thinking he was just mature and reserved. But the saying is true: people naturally talk more when they’re actually in love. It wasn’t just an empty cliché. I was the one who had refused to shatter my own delusion. I stared at him as tears betrayed me and spilled down my cheeks. An impatient flicker crossed his face. “Hannah, Vivian is my ex. I told you about her before. Didn’t you say yourself that everyone has a past?” But he never told me that Vivian had completely rewritten his soul.
He never told me that even now, she was still pinned to the top of his social media feeds, and his search history was entirely her. Was I supposed to be touched by his tragic devotion to her? Or should I pity myself for the crumbs of affection he threw me? My own past was buried and locked away, never allowed to bleed into our present. But what about him? Even after Vivian tore him apart, he still carried her in his chest. She called, and he dropped everything. Two years ago, during my own father’s funeral, he refused to take a single day off work. He had simply said coldly, “The project is at a hard deadline.” I wiped away my tears and looked straight into his eyes. “If you go help her, we are getting a divorce.” Panic finally cracked his composure.
He pulled me tightly into his arms. “Then I won’t go, okay?” My heart, which had been suspended in midair, finally dropped back into my chest. That threat of divorce was a gamble. I wanted to see who mattered more in his heart—his past, or the woman standing right in front of him. Hearing his answer gave me a fleeting moment of peace. But that peace didn’t even survive the night.