The first time tech magnate Julian Vance understood that his wife had been fading away for years, she was already a ghost.

Julian recoiled as if she had struck him across the face.

"I did all of this for us," Julian argued, his voice rising over the sound of the rain hitting the tin roof. "The late nights, the stress, the company—I built an empire so you would never have to worry about anything!"

"I never asked for an empire!" Clara shouted back, the dam finally breaking. "I asked for a husband! I asked for the man who would drive three hours for a roll of camera film. Do you know when my last gallery showing in San Francisco was, Julian?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but his mind went totally blank.

"It was three years ago," Clara said, her voice dropping to a broken whisper. "You didn't show up. You sent your assistant with a bouquet of orchids and a corporate credit card to buy my paintings so I wouldn't feel embarrassed. You bought my success because you couldn't be bothered to show up for it."

Julian felt the air rush out of his lungs. He hadn't known she knew about that.

"Clara, I had an emergency board meeting—"

"There was always an emergency, Julian. The algorithm. The servers. The buyout. You solved every problem in the world except us." She reached beneath the counter and pulled out a fresh copy of the divorce papers. She slid them across the glass display case.

"Sign them, Julian. Go back to your company. It's the only thing you've ever truly loved."