After the Game Ended, So Did My Marriage

Inside the car, Serina—who usually barely said two words to me—wouldn't stop talking.

"Why do you always pick fights with Beckett? What exactly did he ever do to you?"

"I'm married, not sold to you. Don't I have the right to normal social interactions?"

"If Beckett and I really had something going on, our kid would already be old enough to run errands by now. Do you really think you'd still get the chance to argue with me about it?"

That last string in my chest finally snapped.

"Yes. You're right—it's none of my business!" I roared, unable to hold it any longer. "But damn it, I've had enough!"

The emotions I'd been suppressing for too long exploded all at once.

I turned my face toward the window, head tilted back, trying to hold back the tears.

"Serina, you remember the size of his underwear. You remember that he hates cilantro. Every time there's a group dinner, you fuss over him like a servant, scalding his bowls and silverware again and again with boiling water."

My eyes burned, and this time my tears fell.

"But you somehow managed to forget that I'm allergic to mangoes. On my birthday, you ordered his favorite mango cake. I nearly died in the hospital because of it."

"It was me who drank myself into a stomach hemorrhage for your startup. It was me who mortgaged my parents' entire savings—to pull you out of the fire. And where the hell was your so-called ‘best friend’ then? Did he ever lift a finger for you?"

"So now that you’ve made it big, Miss Rodrigo, he shows up—parading as your so-called male best friend. And you—" my chest heaved, "—you enjoy it, don't you?"

The words drained out of me like poison finally expelled. I closed my eyes.

"Serina, let's get divorced."

Silence. The only sound in the car was my muffled sobs.

I turned my head.

She was leaning quietly against the window, softly snoring in her drunken sleep.

...

I sat alone until three in the morning.

Staring at the wedding photo on the coffee table, I finally picked up the phone and dialed my lawyer.

"Sorry to bother you so late. Please draft a divorce agreement for me."

Early the next morning—I was woken by the clatter of things in the bathroom.

Serina stood in front of the mirror, applying lipstick, then lowered her head and smiled stupidly at her phone.

Suddenly, my phone chimed. As I glanced at the screen, I saw the calendar reminder. Today was my birthday.

She noticed I was awake, came over, and kissed my cheek lightly.

"Go back to sleep, hubby. I've got to head out later to check out Claire's new camping project."

She spoke casually as if nothing had happened.

It was always like this.

Every fight, every conflict—so long as I didn't press, she pretended nothing was wrong, acting her way past it all.

I opened my mouth to speak, but she had already turned away, tapping rapidly on her phone screen.

A knock came at the door.

She dropped her phone on the table and practically ran to answer it.

A sudden, sharp premonition seized me. I picked up her phone.

The screen was still lit. A group chat named "The Original Crew" was buzzing with messages.

Beckett: [I'm downstairs. Come greet your Daddy.]

My heart thudded as I scrolled up. Each message stabbed me like a thousand needles.

[Still fighting? Marvin is like a whiny woman. I told you from the start, I didn't think you two would last.]

[Five years freeloading off us, eating and drinking like an outsider. Ugh. Better to just divorce and be with Beckett instead.]

Beckett had sent a smug emoji. [I'm not even mad anymore. Serina said she's buying me an amazing camping site as a gift. Some people work their whole lives and still can't match what I get from having a good best friend.]

And right beneath that was Serina's reply. [Clinging to Mommy pays off. Now you see who really matters, don't you?]

[Muah~ Let's go have fun today. And remember—we agreed, no partners allowed!]

[Serina, did you see that? Beckett said as long as you come, he'll share a tent with you tonight—and take good care of you.]

An icy chill shot straight up my spine. My vision darkened.

How laughable.

Back then, it was Beckett himself who invited me into this group—he even renamed it "Fantastic 6+1."