Divorce My “Dual Personality” Billionaire Husband

After leaving the psychiatrist's office, I went straight home.

I opened the door, and the apartment smelled the same as always.

It used to feel warm and safe. Now it just felt suffocating.

The air still carried traces of the cooking oil from this morning, when Ethan had been wearing his apron, frying eggs before I left.

He'd poked his head out of the kitchen, smiling. "Serena, your milk's warmed up. Drink it while it's hot."

Gentle. Thoughtful. Attentive to every little thing.

I took a deep breath and walked straight to the bedroom. I pulled out the largest suitcase I owned.

And started packing.

There wasn't much that was actually mine.

The closet was big, but his suits, dress shirts, and coats took up three-quarters of the space. Expensive, perfectly pressed, organized with obsessive neatness.

Next to them were my clothes -- mostly outdated styles, some of them bought before we even got married.

I remembered how, not long after the wedding, he'd stood behind me right in front of this same closet, his arms around my waist, chin resting on top of my head.

"Serena, I'm going to make so much money someday. I'll fill this whole closet with beautiful dresses for you. A different one every day."

The sunlight had been streaming through the window that afternoon, warm and golden on our skin.

He'd seemed to glow.

I'd thought that was forever.

I closed my eyes briefly, then folded my clothes one by one and placed them in the suitcase.

There was even less on the vanity.

In the center sat a jewelry box.

Inside was a necklace -- a snowflake pendant set with tiny diamonds.

Last year, on my birthday, after Axel had disappeared and Ethan came back, he'd run to store after store late into the night to find it.

He said Axel had thrown it away in a fit of spite, and it had taken him hours to track it down.

He'd held me so tight his whole body was trembling, his voice breaking.

"Serena, I'm so sorry... he threw it away... I looked everywhere... I almost lost you..."

He'd cried so hard, so convincingly.

And I'd believed him.

I'd even felt sorry for the necklace Axel had tossed out, guilty about the trouble Ethan went through to find it, moved to tears by his relief at getting it back.

But now, I tossed that necklace into the trash.

Suddenly -- the sound of the front door.

Before I could even turn around, the door burst open.

Ethan stumbled in, nearly tripping over himself.

His face was ashen, his hair damp with sweat against his forehead.

He gripped the doorframe, chest heaving, as if he'd sprinted the entire way.

His eyes found me in the bedroom, then dropped to the open suitcase on the floor.

The next second, he threw himself at me, arms locking around my waist like a steel band.

He buried his face against my stomach, his body shaking uncontrollably, a raw, hoarse sound tearing from his throat.

"Serena... Serena..."

He was sobbing, the words fractured, drenched in panic and helplessness.

"I'm back... I came back... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

"Did he say terrible things again? Did he hurt you?"

"Hit me. Scream at me. Anything. I'll take it..."

"Please, don't go... don't leave me..."

His tears soaked through my shirt in seconds.

His arms were a vice around me, his body wracked with tremors, the fear and vulnerability in his sobs so convincing it hurt.

The warmth, the tears, the shaking -- every detail was textbook Ethan-coming-back.

Before, even if I'd been furious at Axel's cruelty just moments earlier, this would have been the moment I'd crumble.

I would have wrapped my arms around him.

I would have cried and said, "You're back. That's all that matters."

I would have felt grateful, once again, that my Ethan had fought off that monster Axel and found his way back to me.

But now, I let him hold me. Let him cry. And I felt nothing.

The tears soaking into my clothes were real. The trembling was real. The panic -- maybe some of it was real too.

The fear of having overplayed his hand. The fear of losing his most devoted audience. The genuine terror that this five-year, one-man show was finally being forced to close.

Slowly, I raised my hand.

I placed it on his arms, still clamped tight around my waist.

And then, with quiet, steady force, I pushed him away.

He looked up at me, stunned, tear tracks still wet on his face.

"Serena?" His gaze wavered.

I looked at him. At this face I'd loved for seven years, worried over for five, protected for five.

I looked for a long time. Long enough for the confusion in his eyes to give way to something closer to dread.

"Ethan," I said his name. "You came back crying so hard this time."

"Were you worried that your obedient little wife was about to leave you for good?"