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

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.