When Damian finally came home, he found me slumped by the window, reeking of liquor, too drunk to stand.
He walked over and pulled me into his arms with a sigh.
"Serena, I'm sorry. Has someone been running their mouth again? If it's too much for you... we can get a divorce."
He looked so pained. So devoted.
I calmly pushed him away and stared straight into his eyes, searching for even a shred of genuine sorrow—some small proof that all the years I'd poured into this marriage had been worth something.
"Damian, I haven't done anything wrong. Why are you doing this to me?"
Damian froze for a moment, then his eyes reddened with what looked like hurt.
"Serena, I'm not... a real man. I understand if you look down on me. But I really don't want to leave you." His voice cracked, and he pulled me close, burying his face against me as he cried.
In that moment, I caught a glimpse of the Damian from ten years ago.
Back then, he followed me everywhere, calling me his "little Serena," pressing the finest pastries into my hands. When he took me hiking, he carried me on his back all the way to the summit.