The next morning, the apartment felt suffocating.
Ava moved quietly—
brushing her hair, putting on earrings, picking out a blazer—
like she was preparing for a date.
A date with her future.
Her ambition.
Her new life.
Not with me.
With them.
I watched her pack her bag.
Not a single glance in my direction.
"Ava," I said finally, my voice barely holding together, "please. Don't leave like this."
She paused at the doorway.
Just paused.
Not turned.
Not looked.
Just… paused.
"I can't deal with you when you're like this," she said coldly.
"Like what?"
Abandoned?
Betrayed?
Destroyed?
"Unreasonable. Emotional. Dramatic."
"I'm your husband," I whispered.
"Exactly," she snapped, whirling around, fury blazing in her eyes.
"You're supposed to trust me. Support me! Not accuse me every time I help your family!"
Help my family?
She had spent more time with Leo Clark than with me.
More time in the Clark mansion than in our home.
More time solving his problems than comforting me.
I stood.
My legs barely held me up.
"Ava… please. I need you."
Her eyes softened—
for one moment.
Then hardened again.
"Ethan… fix yourself first. Then we'll talk."
Then—
before I could say another word—
She slammed the door behind her.
The sound echoed through the apartment.
A gunshot.
A warning.
A goodbye.
I sank onto the couch.
Hands shaking.
Heart pounding.
The room spinning.
All I could think was:
"If she can leave this easily…
when did she stop wanting to stay?"