My fiancé had a paid gaming companion.

When she said she wanted to climb the ranked ladder, he canceled our marriage license appointment without a second thought and stayed up all night grinding wins with her.

The day we booked the wedding banquet, he let three of my calls ring out, then chartered a red-eye flight to whisk her off to Miami for seafood.

My bridal portraits went through three rounds of edits and he never found the time to look. Yet he spent two whole hours cutting together her gameplay highlight reel, hand-picking the background track song by song.

“If you like her that much, then there's no point getting married.”

He didn't even lift his eyelids. “We're just squadding up online. You're seriously jealous of a game?”

Wait, I need to re-check the symbol tokens for line 8. Let me redo from L0008 carefully.

He didn't even lift his eyelids. “We're just squadding up online. You're jealous of a game now?

Our wedding night. Red candles, red dates, peanuts scattered across the bed.

His hands, working at the buttons of my gown, suddenly went still.

His phone lit up.

“They're a player short. I'm gonna go run a few matches with her.”

The door closed.

A red date dug into my leg. The candle sank lower, inch by inch. The sky went from black to white.

He didn't come back.

I slid off my ring and booked the divorce.

His team's funding for next season.

I wasn't renewing it.

——

I picked up a single red date and tasted it.

Turned out it wasn't sweet at all.

The wedding quilt was strewn with “early blessings of a son,” scattered across the bed, a red so bright it stung.

I gathered them into a pile, and together with the pregnancy report I'd never gotten the chance to show him, I dropped them all into the trash.

My hand rested on my stomach for a long, long time.

I changed my clothes, hailed a cab, and went to the hospital.

Alone.

Morton Fox didn't come home until three days later.

“Syd, I'm starving. I want a bowl of your homemade gravy noodles.”

He walked over, putting on a face like he was about to faint from hunger, leaning in close to win me over.

When I didn't move, he paused.

“You mad?”

“Okay, this one's on me. I shouldn't have left you alone on our wedding night.”

He fished a little dog charm out of his pocket.

“Picked it out just for you. You love dogs, right?”

What he didn't know was that Kathleen Henson had just shown it off on her socials.

“Somebody spoiled me rotten today. Don't want the free giveaway. Anyone want it?”

The freebie she didn't want, he brought to me as a peace offering.

And yet there had been a time when he cared.

I got carsick, so the glovebox always had motion sickness pills and dried plums in it, never once empty.

I loved gardenias, so he planted a pot of them on the balcony and watered them every day.

I wanted a Samoyed, and the very next day he came home with a little ball of white fluff and named it “Sydbear.”

It was only later that I found out he was allergic to dog hair. He'd been secretly taking allergy meds every day, for two whole years.

I asked him why he never said anything.

He said, as long as you're happy.

How much do you have to love someone to make yourself miserable every single day for them?

I thought this man would be my whole life.

A whole life. Turned out it was so short.

Morton tossed the charm into my arms like it was nothing.

“All right, go cook already!”

“Make extra while you're at it. Kathleen said she's coming over to squad up. That way I won't be out every night and leave my new bride neglected!”

“See? Kathleen's so thoughtful, always looking out for you.”

All at once, I felt tired.

I stood. The dog charm hit the floor with a sharp “clack.”

I didn't pick it up. I walked straight toward the bedroom.

Morton's face darkened. He grabbed my wrist.

“Sydney Wendell, what the hell are you throwing a fit about?”

“I came home, I brought you a gift. What more do you want?”

I glanced at the dog on the floor.

“You forgot. I don't like dogs anymore.”

The week I was away on business, I'd told him over and over to take good care of “Sydbear.”

He said he would.

But Kathleen came over to squad up, and she thought the dog was too noisy.

So he kicked it into a corner.

And when it still wouldn't stop barking, he had someone stuff it into a sack, cinch it shut, and toss it out onto the balcony.

The day I came home, "Sweet Syd" in the burlap sack had already gone stiff.

Something flickered across Morton's face, unnatural and quick.

"There's no point dragging up old grievances, Sydney."

"Fine, if you don't want to do it! I'll go eat out."

He turned to leave.

"Morton."

He glanced back, impatient.

"I went to the hospital."

His footsteps stopped.

"You…"

The notification tone he'd set just for Kathleen chimed.

He looked down at his phone.

And smiled.

That smile burned, stinging the backs of my eyes.

"Whatever it is, we'll talk when I get back."

The door shut, sealing him off from me completely.

Once, every little thing about me had mattered to him.

And I had cared about him caring.

Cared so much that I'd nearly forgotten what I used to be.

I picked up my phone and called my secretary.

"Morton's team. Next season's funding. We're not renewing it."

In the middle of the night, my phone buzzed. A text from Morton.

"Hey, Morton's wasted, come pick him up!"

In the past, every time we'd had a falling-out, he'd pretend to be drunk.

I would panic, ask where he was, and rush over the second I knew.

And he'd use the moment to make up with me.

This time, I only sent back one line. "Thanks for looking after him."

So he finally sensed something was off.

In under ten minutes he was home, a bouquet of red roses now in his hand.

"Syd, I bought these just for you. Don't be mad anymore, okay?"

He shoved the roses into my arms, leaned down, his kiss aiming for my lips.

I turned my head away.

"I'm tired."

"Syd, our wedding night, let me make it up to you, okay?"

"I'm tired. If you don't want to sleep, go squad up online with Kathleen."

He frowned. "You're still hung up on the wedding night?"

"Besides, it wasn't even our first time. It was just a formality."

"I played a few rounds of a game. It's not like I did anything to wrong you."

I had no patience left to listen. I closed my eyes and turned my back to him.

He wouldn't let it go, gripping my shoulder and pulling me back around.

"Sydney, if you've got a problem, just say it."

Listening to him demand answers like he was the wronged one, I spoke, perfectly calm.

"Morton, do you think I'll just keep waiting for you forever?"

Morton blinked, then laughed.

"You're my wife. If you don't wait for me, who would you wait for?"

He didn't know.

Once, joking around, he'd given me a divorce agreement with his name already on it.

"Syd, if I ever betray you, I'll walk away with nothing."

His signature was right there.

On our wedding night, in my own column, I'd signed mine too.

Once the paperwork went through, this marriage would no longer exist.

A whole night, back to back.

At six in the morning, the doorbell rang. It was Kathleen.

"Sydney, I came to apologize on Morton's behalf."

She said apologize with a smile, but her eyes flicked toward the bedroom.

"I brought breakfast. Hurry, go wake Morton up so we can eat together."

"Go wake him yourself."

She walked straight into the bedroom, like she'd been there many times before.

Soon, laughter drifted out.

She led Morton out by the hand, setting dish after dish of breakfast in front of him.

Every single one of them was his favorite.

"Sydney, you should eat too."

I didn't move.

She tilted her head, looking at Morton. "Morton, is Sydney still angry?"

"I really did just ask you to play a game. I didn't think it through."

Morton looked at me, impatient.

"Kathleen got up early to buy you breakfast. The least you can do is take a bite."

He picked up a shrimp dumpling and brought it to my lips.

"Eat one."

Before, every time we went out to eat, he used to remind me over and over: no shrimp, not even the tiny dried flakes.

Because I was allergic.

Now he was holding a shrimp dumpling up to my mouth, telling me to eat.

"Morton, I'm allergic."

His hand froze.

Something blank flickered across his face.

I took the dumpling from his fingers and set it gently back on the plate.

Stood up, grabbed my bag, walked out.

At the office, my assistant handed me the funding-suspension approval form.

She added something while she was at it.

Ever since Kathleen showed up, the budget had been getting siphoned off.

At the rate it was burning, there'd be nothing left for next season's tournament. No point even competing.

I picked up the pen and signed my name in the box marked Halt Disbursement.

Over the next few days, Morton came home early for once.

He'd bring me a milk tea, sit with me on the couch for a while.

Just like before.

But I knew it wasn't the same anymore.

When Kathleen's call came in, he hesitated, then took it.

"Haven't you been saying I'm always out all night?"

"Come with me today. See for yourself. It's just gaming, nothing else."

I didn't want to go.

But I didn't want any complications in these last few days before the divorce either.

So I let him pull me along, to the team's club.

The players saw me and called out with grins.

"Morton, you finally brought your wife out."

Kathleen peeked out from behind her screen and smiled.

"You came, Sydney. Want to sit beside us and watch us play? Might be a little boring, though."

Morton dragged over a chair and set it next to his.

"Syd, just watch us play. I'll teach you the basics when we get home."

"It's a ranked match right now. I have to focus."

I sat down.

The screen glowed, the action fast.

My fingers twitched on instinct.

When the round ended, Kathleen stretched, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.

"Morton, Sydney's been watching forever. Want me to give up my seat and show her a few things?"

She stood and patted the chair.

"Come on, Sydney. I'll teach you the absolute basics. Just learn to move around first."

"No need."

"Don't be shy. Everybody starts from zero."

Morton frowned and looked at me.

"Kathleen's being nice enough to teach you. Just learn a little. Then you can play with me down the line."

"Aren't you always bothered that I squad up online with her? If you learn it yourself, problem solved, right?"

Kathleen had already bent down, one hand on my shoulder, the other closing over mine to guide my fingers to the keys.

"Here, this is the skill button."

"No need."

"Sydney, it's really easy."

"I said no need. Your level isn't good enough to teach me."

Kathleen's hand went stiff on my shoulder.

Morton's face darkened.

"Sydney, you don't even know how to play. What are you talking about?"

"If Kathleen's not good enough, then you do it."

The year I was eighteen.

ZGL finals, my team and I turned the whole thing around in the last round.

The applause was deafening, so loud that standing up on that stage, my ears rang with it.

My parents watched me from the crowd, cheering.

They'd never wanted me to go pro, but that day they flew four hours to get there, sat in the front row, watched from start to finish.

It was the brightest day of my life.

Then their flight home went down.

After that, I inherited the Wendell Group my parents left behind, and never touched a game again.

The ringing was back in my ears.

The roar of applause, tangled with the sound of a plane going down, looped through my head and wouldn't stop.