The Man Who Nurtures Me

Scrolling through a forum at work, a post caught my eye: [I think my wife doesn't like me.]

[She likes looking at my face, but whenever she sees my body, she looks away in disgust.]

[She barely touched the breakfast I made this morning.]

[And she forgot the bento box I packed for her... Does she not like me at all?]

What kind of person is this? I thought, shaking my head.

Then I reached into my tote bag for the adorable bento box my own sweet husband had made for me.

I rummaged around.

And around.

Wait a minute.

Where was my bento box?!

It was just past ten when I finished the proposal, with more than an hour to go until lunch. Operating under the sacred principle of "a workday without slacking is a day wasted," I happily pulled out my phone.

A forum post immediately grabbed my attention: [Help, I think my wife doesn't like me. What should I do?]

The thread was blowing up. Hundreds of comments in just a couple of hours.

[Care to elaborate?]

[Is this an arranged marriage or something?]

The original poster (OP) patiently replied: [Not an arranged marriage. We met on a blind date. Her mom and my mom are best friends.]

[It was love at first sight for me. She's beautiful, kind, and gentle. Just... perfect.]

[I'm decent-looking, but my body isn't her type.]

What kind of body? A beanpole? The commenters seemed to think so too, but OP quickly clarified.

[I'm the... really built type. I was born with a larger chest, and my shirt buttons are always straining. It's honestly a problem for me.]

[The main issue is, my wife hates my body. Is there any way to make my chest smaller?]

A user asked, reasonably: [How do you know she doesn't like it? If she hated it, she probably wouldn't have gotten together with you in the first place, right?]

OP posted a [sad] emoji.

[She likes my face, but whenever she glances down at my body, she turns away with this look of disgust.]

[Once or twice, I could tell myself it was a coincidence. But it's happened too many times to ignore.]

[I think she only agreed to date me because of our moms. She's too kind to say anything mean about my body, and she even tells her parents I'm thoughtful and sweet.]

Ah, a gentle, insecure, large-chested househusband. A "himbo," if you will. And there are people in the world who don't appreciate this type?

Tragic lack of taste.

Come to think of it, Liam and I also met on a blind date. And our mothers are also the best of friends.

When my mom first suggested I meet her friend's son, I was reluctant. My type was very specific: big-chested, gentle, husband material. Liam's mom was five-foot-two and weighed maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. His dad was the opposite, six feet tall and built like a friendly bear. I couldn't imagine what their son would look like. What if he wasn't my type? It would be so awkward to turn him down and potentially strain our mothers' friendship.

My mom just waved off my concerns. "Do you think I don't know what you like? I've seen him. Trust me, you'll be more than satisfied."

My heart sank. Then she produced a photo. A guy in his twenties, sunglasses, leather jacket. Not bad-looking. Broad shoulders, trim waist, lean muscle. But still, not the type to make my jaw drop.

As I was about to sigh, my mom grinned. "That's not Liam."

I was confused. "Then who is it?"

"That's his dad."

My world tilted. There was no way the cool, lean guy in the photo was the same person as Liam's cheerful, portly father.

"Don't judge a book by its cover," my mom said, tucking the photo away. "His dad only gained weight because of medication. Back in the day, he was the village heartthrob. And Liam... well, let's just say the apple didn't fall far from the tree. In fact, it rolled to a much better spot. Just go see for yourself."

My curiosity piqued, I agreed to the date. It was at a cozy caf, the kind of place you see in romantic movies. Before I left, my mom gave me a "secret weapon," a small sealed envelope she told me to open only after we'd met.

Standing outside the caf, I could feel the envelope in my pocket, a little thrill running through me. I pushed open the door and scanned for our table: third from the entrance, by the window.

One, two... three.

The first thing I saw was a broad shoulder. Then, a chest so powerful it looked like it was about to burst the buttons of his shirt.

The man looked up.

A handsome, fair-skinned face met my eyes.

My breath hitched. My brain went completely blank. A wave of heat washed over me, and I had the sudden, primal urge to run to the nearest park fountain and beat my chest like a gorilla.

I restrained myself. Relying on pure muscle memory, I produced the smile I had practiced a hundred times in the mirror.

Liam's ears turned a shy, adorable red. "You... you must be Audrey?"

I gracefully took my seat. He nodded, pushing a glass of peach soda toward me. I blinked.

"My mom said you like this," he said softly, a bashful smile playing on his lips. "So I ordered one for you. I hope that's okay?"

Marry me, my brain screamed.

Outwardly, I just took the glass, tucked a stray hair behind my ear, and took a delicate sip. Then I looked up and gave him my most dazzling smile. "Thank you. I love it."

I couldn't believe my mom knew me so well. Liam was my dream man personified: broad shoulders, narrow waist, huge chest, a handsome face, and that perfect husband vibe.

While he was in the restroom, my hands trembled as I opened the "secret weapon." It was a single slip of paper.

Honey, your mom knows best, right? Aren't you just dying?

Dying was an understatement.

I love you, Mom! Mwah mwah mwah!!!

We exchanged numbers, and after a few more dates, we met each other's parents and set a wedding date. It all happened so fast, so smoothly. Every time I looked at his face, at that magnificent chest, I wanted to drag him to the courthouse right then and there.

They say marriage is the tomb of love, but the thought of having Liam all to myself, even in a tomb, was thrilling.

On our wedding day, he wore a custom-tailored suit that accentuated his physique perfectly. During the ring exchange, I finally broke. A warm drop of blood dripped from my nose onto my arm. I didn't even notice at first, but Liam saw it and panicked, cupping his large hands to catch the flow. The officiant rushed over with napkins, and the ceremony was hastily concluded.

Liam carried me, princess-style, to the lounge. I finally got to feel those incredible pecs, but we still hadn't kissed. Seeing me staring at him, his ears went red again.

"Wh-what is it?"

"I want a kiss."

He froze for a second, a blush creeping up his neck. Then he leaned down. A feather-light touch.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Snapping back to the present, I was still reliving that day. Thinking about Liam was my ultimate work-day pick-me-up. The wife in that forum post had no idea how good she had it. Young people these days, chasing after skinny guys when a real man is right in front of them.

The comments were all trying to console the OP, but I just wanted to shake his wife. Cherish him! Not every girl is lucky enough to find her perfect, pure-hearted, big-tiddied man!

I kept scrolling, morbidly fascinated by his insecurity.

[My wife is amazing. Everyone at her company loves her. Her boss really admires her.]

[I'm not on her level. I'm an introvert, not good with people, so I'm a stay-at-home husband.]

[I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that. I love being her support system, and I love cooking for her.]

[But she doesn't seem to like my cooking. She barely ate breakfast this morning.]

[And she left the bento box I packed for her... Does she not like me at all?]

A user asked: [So you don't have a job? Just your wife works?]

[That's not good, man. Everyone needs their own career.]

OP replied: [I don't have a job, but I have an income. I just collect rent every month.]

[Thanks for the concern, but I'm happy where I am.]

A landlord. Come to think of it, Liam's family also owned a bunch of properties. Was this a househusband thing?

[If you don't mind my asking, how many properties are we talking about?]

OP: [A few here and there. About five buildings in total.]

[BUILDINGS?!]

[I thought this was a sad story, turns out it's about a secret tycoon.]

A tycoon, maybe. But anyone can be anything on the internet.

I went to the breakroom for some water and got caught up in a twenty-minute gossip session with my work bestie. When I got back to my desk, the post had been updated.

[My wife's suitor once met with me and told me to divorce her.]

[I know I'm not good enough for her, but I love her so much.]

Whoa. Plot twist. I immediately forwarded the post to my friend.

[Her suitor is her boss. He said he's liked her for years, they were college classmates. He knew her long before I did... but I don't want to let her go.]

The comments exploded with advice. [Just ask your wife directly! Be upfront!]

[She married you! Obviously, she loves you more!]

[If your boss is hitting on you, isn't that a hostile work environment? She should find a new job!]

OP only replied to the last one: [My wife and her boss have always just been friends. I don't think she even realizes he likes her.]

A comment shot to the top: [If you sit next to a bonfire, don't you feel the heat?]

[I think your wife knows, but doesn't want to ruin the friendship, so she ignores it.]

The thread quickly turned against the wife.

[But they're married! Setting boundaries is essential.]

[She'd rather hurt her husband than a 'friend'?]

OP rushed to her defense: [No, it's not like that. My wife is just a very straightforward, simple person.]

[Lots of guys had crushes on her before, but she never noticed. That's why she'd never been in a relationship before me.]

[Her mom told me all this. My wife has no idea.]

[And the suitor never actually confessed to her. My wife genuinely doesn't know he likes her.]

Never been in a relationship before? That sounded familiar. I was the same way before I met Liam. Our wedding kiss was my first kiss.

The comments were merciless, telling OP he was being played by a manipulative woman. But I wondered... could someone really be that oblivious?