His Muse Is Dead, and My New Life Has Begun

I have PTSD.

Whenever I hear a sharp, crashing sound, my entire body shakes uncontrollably.

But Ethan always claimed he was an artist. He said smashing things was how he found his "inspiration."

In our three years of marriage, the porcelain in our house had been replaced over and over again.

Every time glass shattered, I could only cover my ears as hard as I could.

I once begged him to work in a soundproof studio.

But he only sneered, smashing a vase right at my feet.

"If you can't even stand this little noise, why did you marry me in the first place?"