Cleansed of You

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.That evening, I joined my coworkers for happy hour. In the past, I never would have gone. Ethan hated me dining out. His contamination anxiety was so intense that every time I came home from a restaurant, I had to immediately strip down, bag my clothes, and take a scalding antiseptic shower before I was allowed anywhere near him. Now, there was no need. When I stepped out of the bistro, I spotted Ethan's car idling at the curb. "Did you drive out here just to pick me up?" "Of course. Who else?" He clicked the door unlock. A tiny flicker of warmth brushed my chest, but the very next second, I saw Chloe sitting in the passenger seat. She was clutching Ethan's jacket in her lap, giving me a sweet, timid smile. "Why is she here?" Ethan answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "She had a follow-up appointment this evening." "It was on the way, so we swung by to grab you." On the way. Right. Not long after we pulled into traffic, Chloe reached into the center console and pulled out a thermal travel mug. "Ethan, time for your meds." Ethan took it casually and swallowed his pills with a sip of water. I stared fixedly at that mug. It was his strictly personal tumbler. During our first year of marriage, I had taken a sip from it by mistake. He threw the entire mug into the trash that very night. I had cried myself to sleep over it, and he held me, explaining, "I don't think you're dirty, Serena. I just can't control my brain." For the next three years, I never touched his cups again. I leaned forward from the backseat and snatched the mug right out of his hand. Ethan whipped his head around, looking completely bewildered. "What are you doing? Why are you touching my mug?" The car fell dead quiet. I stared at him. "She touched it too. Why didn't you snap at her?" Chloe immediately pulled her hands back. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know no one was allowed to touch it..." Ethan waved a hand dismissively. "It has nothing to do with you." Then he turned an irritated glare toward me. "Her right arm is injured. It's completely normal for her to grab the wrong thing." I turned my gaze onto Chloe. "Grab the wrong thing?" "She pulled it right out of your private console, and she even knew the exact minute you needed to take your meds." "You call that an accident?" Ethan's face darkened. "What are you trying to say, Serena?" "I'm asking: where did your germaphobia go?" "Serena!" Ethan slammed on the brakes. The sudden deceleration threw Chloe and me forward. His arm shot out instantly—to shield Chloe. My old wrist fracture banged against the front seat, sending a jolt of white-hot agony through my arm. I clenched my teeth, pressing my left hand hard against the swelling joint, refusing to utter a single sound. Chloe's eyes welled with tears. "This is all my fault." "Ethan, just drive Serena home. I can take an Uber to the hospital myself." Ethan slammed his palms against the steering wheel, turning around to roar at me, "She's already in so much pain! Why do you have to pick a fight over every little damn thing?!" I looked at Ethan, drew in a long, shaky breath to steady my trembling body, and pushed the door open. "Take her to the hospital." "I'll walk." His expression turned ugly. "Serena, stop throwing a tantrum!" I didn't turn around. When I got home, I immediately gathered my toiletries from the master bathroom. I hauled everything into the guest room. When I came back for my pillow, Ethan walked through the front door. "What are you doing?" "Sleeping in separate rooms." "Over what happened tonight?" "Yes." His jaw clenched. "Serena, do you really have to blow everything completely out of proportion?" Clutching my pillow to my chest, I looked at him. "Fine, I won't move." "Kick Chloe out right now." He fell silent, avoiding my gaze. After several long seconds, he reached out, took the pillow from my arms, and set it down on the guest bed. "We both need a few days to cool off. It's better for everyone." Ethan turned to leave, tossing over his shoulder, "If you would just stop targeting Chloe, we wouldn't be fighting at all." I stood in the doorway, watching him in silence. "Ethan." "What if, from now on, I never interfere with you and her again?" A visible wave of relief washed over his face. "Wouldn't that be for the best?" I nodded slowly. "Okay." The door clicked shut. I immediately pulled out my phone and messaged my lawyer. "You can draw up the divorce papers now." The attorney replied almost instantly: "Are you certain, Mrs. Miller?" I looked around the sterile guest room that my husband had just made up for me with his own hands. "I'm certain."I didn't sleep well that night. I dreamed of years ago, the first time Ethan ever held my hand. His OCD had just begun to spiral; his palm was soaked in nervous cold sweat, yet he refused to let go no matter what. My heart had ached for him as I looked up into his eyes. "If it hurts this much, why don't you let go?" He pressed his lips together, his eyes brimming with tears. "Because I'm terrified you'll walk away." Then the dream shifted to our wedding day. When we exchanged rings, he stood in front of everyone and declared into the microphone, "Serena, out of everyone in the world, you were the person my mind fought hardest not to touch." Laughter rippled through the guests. He paused, then squeezed my hand with all his strength, declaring fiercely, "And you are the only person I want to spend the rest of my life learning to hold!" When I woke up, sunlight was filtering through the blinds. A large patch of the pillowcase was soaked through. I sat up and wiped the dried tears from my cheeks. Right then, the door swung open. Ethan stood on the threshold. Seeing my red, swollen eyes, he froze. Without hesitation, he crossed the room and pulled me into his arms. My body stiffened. "Serena, I'm sorry. I've been handling things poorly these past few days." "Once Chloe's arm is fully healed, I'll find her an apartment immediately." Buried against his chest, a fresh wave of stinging sadness hit my nose. Right at that moment, the violent sound of dry heaving echoed from the hallway outside. Ethan went rigid. He dropped his arms and pulled away instantly. "I need to check on her." The warmth vanished from my arms in a split second. I sat on the edge of the mattress for a few seconds, then stood up and walked to the door. The moment I pulled it open, I heard Chloe's hushed, trembling whisper from the bathroom: "Ethan... I'm pregnant." "It's yours." Every trace of residual warmth in my veins evaporated into ice. I pushed the door fully open. Ethan flinched and instinctively took a step toward me. "Serena, let me explain—" "So it's true?" He looked down, unable to meet my eyes. A cold, hollow laugh escaped my lips. I walked over to the desk, pulled the divorce agreement my lawyer had prepared out of the drawer, and laid it on the table. "Sign it." Ethan read the bold header on the page, and his face instantly turned pale. "I'm not signing this." He shoved the papers back toward me. "Serena, that night was a complete accident!" "You're the one I love! I never meant to betray you!" The sheer absurdity made me laugh out loud. "She's carrying your child, and you're standing there telling me you never meant to?" Ethan stood frozen, completely at a loss for words. Beside him, tears streamed down Chloe's face. "Ethan... if this baby is causing you so much trouble, I'll just leave with him. I won't ruin your life." She turned to walk away. Without an ounce of hesitation, Ethan grabbed her arm. "Who said you could leave?" He finally turned back to look at me, a desperate plea in his eyes. "Serena, the baby is innocent." I pointed at the document on the table. "Then that's all the more reason for you to sign." His expression darkened completely, shifting from guilt to defensive irritation. "Why does it have to end in divorce?!" "Serena, even if I made a mistake, I am your husband, and you are my wife!" "Can't you show a little understanding? Do you really have to blow up our entire marriage over this?" "Chloe saved my life! Do you really expect me to abandon her and force her to be a struggling single mother?!" I glanced at Chloe's flat stomach, the light in my eyes fading into complete apathy. "So you want the baby." "You want to play the savior to the woman who rescued you." "And you still want to keep your wife." "You want to keep every single thing in your perfect little world." "And I'm the only one who has to suck it up and accept it, right?" I reached up and unclasped the diamond necklace from my throat. He had given it to me for our third anniversary. When he fastened it around my neck, he had whispered, Don't you ever take this off. I dropped it on top of the divorce papers. "Starting right now, I'm not your wife anymore." Ignoring the desperate shouts echoing behind me, I walked out the front door.I pulled out my phone and dialed my director at corporate. "Mr. Davis, is that transfer to the West Coast regional branch still open?" His response came immediately: "How soon can you relocate?" "As soon as humanly possible." The very next morning, I boarded a cross-country flight with nothing but my essential documents and a carry-on bag. Everything else, I left behind. While my plane was taking off, Ethan was accompanying Chloe to her first ultrasound. He glanced down at his phone. Still no calls, no messages from me. We had fought before in the past. During our worst argument, I was angry enough to check into a hotel for two days. Yet on the second evening, I still couldn't resist texting him: Your stomach meds are on the second shelf in the study. Don't forget to take them after dinner. This time, there was absolute silence. Chloe noticed his distracted expression. "Are you worried about Serena?" "No." Ethan locked his phone screen. "A few days away to cool off will do her good." "Once you and the baby are settled in a clinic, I'll go bring her home." They had been married for three years. People didn't just throw away a marriage over a single mistake. Besides, he had already agreed that Chloe wouldn't live with them permanently. Once her anger passed, everything would go back to normal. When they returned to the apartment, Chloe placed the ultrasound report on the coffee table. She was in high spirits, eagerly reaching out to take Ethan's suit jacket. "Are you tired, Ethan? Let me give you a shoulder rub." She stepped behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders. Ethan's entire body seized up with an overwhelming sense of revulsion. Serena used to do this all the time. Whenever he returned from work exhausted, Serena loved wrapping her arms around his neck from behind. He would complain out loud that she was carrying outside germs, yet he would stand perfectly still, letting her hold him until she had her fill, before gently nudging her toward the shower. Chloe's hands began sliding toward the nape of his neck. Ethan stood up abruptly, breaking away. "No thanks." The apartment was filled with all the same furniture, but an unbearable irritation clawed at his chest. Nothing felt right. That night, he went into the guest room looking for a file. Pulling open the top drawer, his eyes landed on a massive unopened package of disposable underwear. He remembered how Serena had stared blankly at that box when he brought it home a month ago. In the end, she had smiled and comforted him instead. Now, seeing it sitting there felt like a slap in the face. He paced back and forth across the room, unable to soothe the frantic restlessness in his chest. Ethan finally admitted to himself: he missed Serena. He missed her desperately. He needed to get her back. Based on his past experience, no matter how furiously Serena yelled at him, no matter how deep her anger ran, Ethan was confident he could coax her back into his arms. Because he believed, without a shadow of a doubt, that Serena still loved him. He pulled out his phone to text her, the screen illuminating the smug, hopeful grin on his face in the dark room. I've cleaned up the apartment. He stared at it, then deleted it. He typed out another line: Haven't you thrown your tantrum long enough? I'm coming to pick you up. He deleted that, too. He spent nearly an hour carefully choosing his words, writing a long, heartfelt paragraph, editing and polishing every sentence. Reading over his sincere apology, he felt a wave of satisfaction. Everything would return to how it was. After all, his infidelity was just an accidental lapse in judgment. He truly believed he was merely fulfilling an obligation to his savior. Compared to men who cheated out of sheer lust, his actions were far more forgivable. He hit send. A red exclamation point flashed instantly onto the screen: Message failed to deliver. You have been blocked. The smile on Ethan's face froze. He tried sending it again. Another red exclamation point. Ethan stood up in pure disbelief. In his reality, this was simply impossible.