He Chose His Gaming Girl Over Our Wedding Night, Then Learned I Funded His Team

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.