Drunk and reckless, I ended up in bed with Serena, the woman I’d secretly loved for years. It happened the same night her ex, the guy she always put first, left the country to pursue new ventures. The next morning, concerned about her family business’s reputation, she suggested we get married. So I buried every ounce of my true feelings and became her outwardly respectable, suitable partner. Through countless silent nights, we’d make frantic love, only to live like strangers the very next day. My friends all said I’d never break free from this relationship. I used to believe them. Until that day, when I found her second phone. While she was showering, a young guy sent a selfie. “Ms. Montgomery, thank you for the birthday gift.” He looked really young, dressed in clothes clearly beyond his usual budget, appearing a little uncomfortable. I stared at the screen for a long time. I knew there was someone else in Serena’s life, but I never expected *this* type. Beyond the sting of betrayal, I was honestly surprised by her preference. I probably shouldn’t have been prying into her privacy. A moment later, Serena walked out of the bathroom, towel-drying her hair. “Seen enough?” She snatched her phone, gave me a fleeting glance, and started getting dressed. Not a flicker of unease crossed her face, even after being caught red-handed. I knew exactly where her confidence came from: she held all the financial power. I was just the ‘kept’ partner, someone she’d settled at home, even though before our marriage, I was a promising concert pianist. I didn’t say anything about the photo. I had no standing to. Watching her prepare to leave, I spoke up: “Serena, I need to talk to you.” She adjusted her cuff, checked the time: “I have five minutes. The driver is waiting.” I knew where she was going, and my eyes dimmed. “Serena, I want to go back to work.” Serena turned, scrutinizing me for a moment. She pulled her checkbook from her handbag, signed a check, and handed it to me. “Isn’t being a full-time partner at home good enough? The outside world, with its pressures, isn’t really for you.” She turned to leave. I followed a few steps, my voice earnest: “I’m not afraid to start over. I could teach piano, or…” She didn’t have the patience to listen. In her eyes, I was already too comfortable being cared for, stripped of any ability to stand on my own two feet. Serena glanced at her watch, picked up her briefcase. As her hand reached for the doorknob, I urgently asked, “My father’s birthday dinner is on Saturday. Can you come?” She paused: “We’ll see.” The door closed softly. A few minutes later, the sound of a car driving away echoed from downstairs. The butler came up. “Ms. Montgomery will be in San Francisco for a few days, handling group affairs.” “Also, a batch of her clothes just arrived. Sir, should I send them for dry cleaning or will you handle them yourself?” He was well aware of the state of my relationship with Serena. In this house, he was our messenger. I sat on the sofa for a long time, then quietly said, “I’ll take care of it.” Serena didn’t like the chemical smell of dry cleaning. All her clothes, from suits to coats, were almost always hand-washed and carefully ironed by me. She was meticulous about every detail of her life. She hated fast food, demanded a perfectly tidy bedroom. For her, I learned cooking, organizing, and even flower arranging. She never truly saw me as an equal partner. This marriage was just a necessary formality for her family after an unexpected accident. I gradually became the perfect domestic partner. My life almost revolved entirely around Serena. But for me, she still felt nothing.
I looked at the check in my hand. Last year, my family’s business nearly went bankrupt, and my father suffered a heart attack from the shock. His monthly medical expenses were astronomical. Every time I visited home, my stepmother, Evelyn, would complain that I wasn’t getting enough support from Serena. “She’s the CEO of Montgomery Medical Group, a multi-millionaire.” “Jonah, you’re legally married. Shouldn’t you be sharing resources?” I forced a bitter smile. Serena’s resources? How could they ever be *mine*? Serena had no feelings for me; our relationship was always distant. This marriage had only physical intimacy, no emotional connection. She made it clear she had no intention of having children. Before every intimate moment, she’d remind me to take my birth control. I pulled open the nightstand drawer. Inside was an empty pill bottle. And a thick journal, chronicling every emotion I’d felt for Serena since I was eighteen. Ten years. I’d poured ten years of my life into this. I closed my eyes. This one-man show? I don’t think I can keep performing it anymore. I never waited for Serena to come home. My father had another heart attack and was rushed to the ICU. His condition was critical, requiring immediate surgery. I frantically dialed Serena’s number in the hospital corridor, but it went straight to voicemail. Just as I was about to give up, she picked up. Afraid she’d hang up at any second, I spoke quickly: “Serena, my father—” She cut me off, her voice laced with impatience: “Is it about the medical bills?” “I’ve told you many times, for emergency expenses, contact David. Jonah, are you listening?” I looked up, stunned, at the TV screen in the waiting area. The news report for today was playing: The CEO of Montgomery Medical Group booked out Disneyland for a private fireworks show, just to cheer up her lover. Under the dazzling fireworks, a young man sat in a wheelchair, a radiant smile on his face. And my wife, Serena, stood behind him, phone in hand, talking to me. I blinked, once, twice. After a long moment, my voice trembled: “Serena, where are you?” There was a pause on the other end, as if my question irritated her, but she still gave a dismissive answer: “Busy. If it’s nothing important, I’m hanging up. Contact David.” She didn’t notice the tremor in my voice, but the tenderness in her gaze as she looked down at the person beside her was blinding. My vision blurred—Serena could look like that? My stepmother, Evelyn, called from behind me: “Did you reach Serena? Without her support, this will be tough.” But her words caught in her throat as she saw the TV screen. After a long silence, Evelyn finally found her voice: “She’s in Los Angeles again.” “Jonah, I still can’t believe that when Serena was in a coma, this guy, Kyle, played a piano piece and woke her up.” “Even if it’s true, does she need to ‘repay’ him like this? She doesn’t even remember your birthday.” Evelyn grew more agitated, and seeing our family’s current situation, she started to cry. “But Jonah, you need to be rational. Now is not the time to clash with Serena.” I clenched my fist, my nails digging into my palm, yet I felt no pain. Clash with Serena? No, I wouldn’t. Not because ‘Mr. Montgomery’ knows how to act ‘appropriately.’ It’s because I had no standing whatsoever – an ignored partner, my title nothing but an empty shell. I looked at the fireworks on TV, and quietly said: “That kind of fireworks display must cost a fortune, right?” Evelyn didn’t understand what I meant. I lowered my gaze and called David.
Disturbing someone late at night is always ill-timed. David had been with Serena for years and held a special position. He also knew Serena couldn’t care less about her husband. So after I explained my purpose, his tone was cold and purely professional: “Mr. Montgomery, you’ll need to submit an application first. Funds can only be released after Ms. Montgomery signs it.” “Just like the wristwatch you wear, it needs to be registered for use.” “You understand the procedure.” I hung up, looking down in silence. After a long while, I looked up at my reflection in the glass, gently raised my hand, the wedding ring glinting on my finger. This was the only thing on my entire body that I didn’t need to ask Serena for, didn’t need to report to her assistant about. How utterly ironic. I blinked, dazed, and suddenly said, “Help me find a reliable buyer. I want to sell this ring.” Evelyn stared, “Jonah, are you serious?” I slowly turned around. In the empty hall late at night, my footsteps echoed clearly. I took a few steps, then stopped, and said with determination: “I’m perfectly sober. Never been clearer. I’m ending this with Serena.” Three days later, Serena returned home. Serena pushed open the bedroom door, finding me tidying my belongings. She put down her luggage, loosened her scarf, and sat on the edge of the bed, watching me. All these years of marriage, I had focused on managing this home – organizing, preparing exquisite meals. If it weren’t for the title of “Mr. Montgomery,” in Serena’s eyes, I probably wouldn’t be any different from a personal butler. For a long time, I didn’t speak. Serena was tired from her business trip; seeing my silence, she too remained quiet. She walked into the closet, took out a robe, and headed to the bathroom. While bathing, she probably assumed that, given my personality, I would have calmed down by the time she emerged, reverting to that respectable partner she expected. She was always so sure I’d stay trapped in this relationship. So when she walked out of the bathroom and saw my suitcase still in place, she decided it was time to talk. Serena sat on the sofa, casually flipping through a magazine. After a while, she looked up at me. “How’s your father doing?” “I’ve already spoken to David about that night.” She said it dismissively, without any hint of sincerity. I put down what I was holding and met her gaze in the mirror. The Serena in the reflection was exquisitely beautiful, with an extraordinary presence; she made even a simple robe look high-end. I looked for a long time, until my eyes began to sting, then calmly said: “Serena, we need to end this marriage.”
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