Chapter 1

My husband, Ethan, had severe germaphobia. Even if I just ran downstairs to take out the trash, I had to shower and change all my clothes before I was allowed to touch him.

A month ago, I fractured my right wrist. The doctor told me not to get it wet.

I asked Ethan if he could help wash my delicates for a few days.

He didn't say a word.

That very afternoon, he bought me a hundred-pack of disposable underwear.

I didn't blame him. In fact, I turned around and comforted him instead.

"It's fine, Ethan. I know it's hard for you."

For three years of marriage, that was what I always told myself.

Until today. I came home alone from the hospital, only to see him standing on the balcony, hand-washing a woman's lace thong.

Soft pink lace soaked in a basin of water. He wasn't even wearing rubber gloves.

The woman he had brought home three days ago to "recover from an injury" leaned against the doorframe, her face flushed as she whispered, "I told you, I could do it myself."

Ethan kept his head down, scrubbing gently. "Your wound can't get wet."

I stood there in the hallway for a long time before I finally asked, "You made me go to my follow-up appointment alone just so you could hand-wash her underwear?"

"Don't you find that disgusting?"

Ethan finally realized I was home.

"Her health is fragile, and she saved my life. We need to take extra care of her."

He paused, a slight frown touching his brow. "Besides, I'm already exhausted from work. Don't be jealous over every little thing."

Looking at his water-logged, pale fingertips, my hands clenched into tight fists.

So Ethan wasn't disgusted by germs.

He was only disgusted by me.

If that was the case...

I didn't want to be Mrs. Miller anymore.

I turned around and walked back into our bedroom.

A moment later, Ethan followed me inside.

"Still mad?"

He wrapped his arms around me from behind. The faint scent of laundry detergent drifted from his fingers, and on pure instinct, I twisted out of his grip.

Ethan froze.

In three years of marriage, this was the first time I had ever rejected his touch.

I turned around, staring straight into his eyes. "Tell Chloe to move out."

He frowned. "Her right arm is injured. Where do you expect her to go right now?"

"My right wrist just came out of a cast today, too."

I lifted my stiff, swollen wrist.

Ethan fell silent for a few beats, his tone softening. "Serena, you two are different."

"She saved my life."

He sighed and reached out to hold my hand. "The rehab clinic had issues, and her incision got infected. That's the only reason I brought her here."

"The second her arm heals, I'll send her away."

He gently squeezed my fingers. "You're my wife. You're the one I'm spending the rest of my life with."

I didn't pull my hand away, but my chest ached with a dull, hollow throb.

Six years ago, a catastrophic workplace accident left him with severe germaphobia and OCD.

He told me Chloe was the one who pulled him out of the rubble.

Because of that, he had treated her as his guardian angel ever since.

When he first pursued me, Ethan really had tried to fight his condition for my sake.

The first time we held hands, his palm was drenched in cold sweat from sheer anxiety, but he refused to let go.

Back then, with tears in my eyes, I asked him, "Do you think I'm dirty?"

He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "No, Serena. I'm just sick."

I genuinely believed he simply couldn't control his impulses.

Only today did I realize that his so-called lack of control was entirely selective.

Before I could say anything, Chloe appeared at the bedroom door, wheeling a suitcase.

"Serena, I'm so sorry."

Her eyes were red and watery. "I caused you and Ethan to fight. It's better if I just leave."

I didn't stop her. "Okay."

Chloe's expression stiffened for a fraction of a second. She grabbed her handle to head toward the front door, but suddenly let out a soft gasp of pain.

Fresh blood instantly seeped through the white gauze wrapped around her right forearm.

Ethan's face drained of color. "Chloe!"

He rushed over and supported her arm. Chloe turned pale from the pain, shaking her head. "I'm fine, really. I was just careless."

"It's completely normal for Serena not to want me here. I can't let myself come between you two."

When Ethan looked up at me, his eyes had completely changed. "Look at her! You're still going to force her out like this?"

I went rigid.

His voice suddenly rose, sharp and furious. "Serena! Back then, she risked her own life to save mine!"

"Can't you just cut her some slack for once?!"

The room went dead silent.

In our three years of marriage, this was the first time he had ever screamed at me.

Chloe tugged at his sleeve. "Ethan, please don't. I'll just go..."

"You're not going anywhere."

Ethan shoved her suitcase back into the guest room.

A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I didn't want to fight anymore. I stepped forward and shoved both of them out of the master bedroom.

If Chloe wasn't leaving, then I was.

That night, I called a divorce lawyer.

While packing up my first box of belongings, I found our wedding portrait tucked away in the back of the closet.

On the back of the frame, Ethan had written in his messy scrawl:

To my lovely wife, Serena. Here's to forever.

I stared at it for a few seconds, then left the frame right where it was.

The next morning, Ethan noticed an empty section in the walk-in closet.

A pleased smile crossed his face. "See? Isn't it so much better when we don't fight?"

He pointed to the empty hangers. "Chloe's stuff has been sitting in the guest room, which makes it hard for her to reach with her bad arm."

"You cleared this out for her, right?"

I looked at him, and surprisingly, a smile tugged at the corner of my lips. "Yeah. It's all hers."

Ethan's expression softened into sheer tenderness. "I knew you were reasonable."

Before heading out the door, he gave me his usual daily instructions. "Chloe needs her dressing changed at nine. Help her with that, okay?"

Over the past few days, I had been the one doing it.

This time, I didn't say yes. I shoved the first-aid kit into his hands. "From now on, do it yourself."

Ethan froze, his brows knitting together in annoyance. "Serena, don't start this again."

I met his gaze evenly. "Ethan, she saved your life."

"Starting today, stop expecting me to pay back your debt."

With that, I grabbed my purse and walked out the door without looking back.