Epilogue Final – My Cold Wife

People still called her cold.

They said Aiko Hoshizora never smiled unless the camera demanded it. That her eyes were distant, unreadable. That even after becoming the nation’s most beloved actress, she remained untouchable, like winter sunlight you could admire but never warm yourself with.

Yuji heard it all.

He just smiled.

Because every morning, before the world woke up, his cold wife stole the blanket.

The alarm rang at six.

Yuji reached out, half-asleep, only to find empty space. He opened one eye and sighed.

“Aiko,” he murmured.

From the kitchen came the sound of a pan and quiet humming. Off-key. Familiar.

He stood, stretched, and walked out.

Aiko stood by the stove, hair loosely tied, wearing one of his old shirts. The sleeves were too long. She hadn’t noticed him yet. She was focused, serious, flipping an egg with the same intensity she brought to award-winning roles.

Mai sat at the table, swinging her legs.

“Mama burned the toast again,” Mai whispered loudly.

“I heard that,” Aiko said without turning. “Great artists fail before they succeed.”

Yuji leaned against the doorway.

“Good morning, cold wife.”

Aiko paused. Then slowly turned, eyes narrowing.

“Good morning, poor husband,” she replied flatly.

Mai giggled.

This was how their days began. No scripts. No cameras. No applause. Just warmth disguised as routine.

Fame still followed Aiko everywhere. Interviews, premieres, invitations she declined more often than she accepted. Mai had grown into a bright child actress, now carefully protected, choosing only stories that made her curious, not tired. Yuji’s shoe company expanded overseas, though he still insisted on visiting the workshop himself.

From the outside, they looked perfect.

Inside, they were human.

There were arguments.

“You forgot to tell me you’d be home late,” Yuji said one night, arms crossed.

“I texted,” Aiko replied.

“At two in the morning.”

She shrugged. “You were awake.”

He stared at her.

“…Fair.”

There were quiet apologies.

Aiko once returned home after a brutal filming day, eyes red, shoulders tense. Yuji didn’t ask questions. He simply pulled her into his arms. She resisted for half a second, then melted completely.

“I hate crying,” she muttered into his chest.

“I know,” he said. “You’re bad at it.”

She laughed softly, then cried anyway.

To the world, Aiko Hoshizora was composed, distant, flawless.

To Yuji, she was the woman who pressed her cold feet against his legs at night and claimed it was revenge for something he’d done in a past life.

She was the mother who sat by Mai’s bed until she fell asleep, even after sixteen-hour shoots.

She was the wife who never said “I love you” easily, but showed it in a thousand quiet ways.

One evening, years later, they attended an award ceremony together.

Aiko wore an elegant black dress. Yuji wore a simple suit. Mai sat between them, already half-asleep.

A reporter asked, “Aiko-san, fans say you’re still very distant off-screen. Is it true your husband finds you hard to approach?”

Aiko glanced at Yuji.

He raised an eyebrow, amused.

She leaned into the microphone.

“My husband,” she said calmly, “complains that I’m too warm.”

The room laughed.

Yuji squeezed her hand.

Later that night, back home, Aiko removed her earrings and sighed.

“Cold,” she muttered.

Yuji handed her a blanket.

“Liar,” he said gently.

She looked at him for a long moment. Then quietly asked, “You don’t regret it, do you?”

He knew what she meant.

The past. The pain. The years lost.

Yuji shook his head. “If I had to walk through it again to get here… I would.”

Aiko’s eyes softened.

She didn’t cry.

She simply rested her forehead against his.

“I’m not good at being gentle,” she said.

“I know,” he replied. “You’re perfect at being real.”

Mai stirred from the couch. “Mama… Papa…”

Aiko immediately moved, tucking her in, kissing her hair.

Yuji watched them, heart full in a quiet way that never demanded words.

Later, as the lights dimmed and the house settled into sleep, Aiko whispered, almost shyly, “Yuji.”

“Yes?”

“…Thank you for waiting for me.”

He pulled her closer.

“Always,” he said.

Outside, the city continued to buzz. Fame rose and fell. Stories ended and began.

But inside that house, something steady remained.

A once-cold woman who learned how to stay.

A man who never stopped believing in home.

And a child who proved love could survive anything.

This was not a fairytale.

It was better.

It was real.

And for Yuji, there was only one truth he carried into every new day, spoken quietly, with a smile only meant for her.

“My cold wife… is the warmest place I know.”