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

"Sydney, quit acting tough. If you're so good, play a round and show me."

The voices tangled together, swelling louder.

Morton's hand was still pulling at me.

I wrenched free, raised my arm, and brought my palm across his face.

"I said. No."

The whole room went silent.

Kathleen reacted first, hurrying to Morton's side, lifting a hand to brush his cheek.

"Morton, are you okay? Does it hurt?"

His face had gone ashen, but the moment he saw how pale I was, his voice dropped.

"Forget it. If she won't play, she won't play."

"Why do you look so awful? Are you feeling sick?"

I shook off his hand.

"I'm fine."

He reached for me again, and this time I didn't pull away.

"Let's go."

Back home, he eased me down onto the couch.

"Rest here. I'll get you a glass of water."

His phone buzzed without stopping.

He silenced it without looking.

A rare thing.

"Go ahead and check it."

"It's fine. You're not feeling well. I'm staying with you. I'm not going anywhere."

"Morton, just check it. If something's come up, go. I could use the sleep anyway."

He glanced at me, hesitation in his eyes, but also a flicker of relief.

"I'll be back soon."

I watched him go, and remembered all the times he'd promised the same thing. Not once had he ever come back.

That night I dreamed.

I saw a boy, fierce and burning with the same fire I'd once had.

The boy on the stage blurred into the girl I used to be, the arena roaring with applause.

My parents smiled and told me to do what I loved.

When I woke, the pillow was wet.

My hands were still shaking.

But something had shifted.

The thing that had been lodged in my chest for eight years finally loosened.

I cleaned myself up and went to the hospital for my post-op checkup.

On my way out, I saw Morton at the far end of the hallway, holding Kathleen up.

So careful. So anxious. Terrified of hurting her.

He used to be like that with me, back when my stomach acted up.

He saw me and froze.

"Sydney? What are you doing at the hospital?"

I slid my hand behind my back.

"Routine checkup. It's nothing."

Kathleen came over. "Sydney, this is all my fault. Something happened last night, just a small accident, and Morton was worried, so he came with me."

She paused.

"He didn't even know you were here. Don't blame him. Blame me."

Her hand rested on his forearm, and a glint of triumph crossed the corner of her eye.

"I don't blame anyone. You two are busy."

Hearing me say it without a fight, without a scene, Morton frowned.

"Sydney, what is going on with you?"

I looked at him and tightened my grip on the papers in my hand.

"Nothing. Take good care of her."

As I turned to leave, Kathleen let out a soft sigh behind me.

"Morton, Sydney's such a good person. If it were me, I could never be that gracious."

I didn't look back.

I walked out of the hospital, hailed a cab, and went to the county clerk's office.

I had the divorce certificate in my hand.

Back home.

The gardenia he'd given me sat wilting on the balcony, its leaves browned at the edges. I didn't know when it had died.

Our wedding photo hung on the living room wall, both of us laughing in it. I hadn't smiled at him in a long time.

In the bedroom drawer, his allergy medicine was still there, expired now. And his "baby girl" was gone too.

I called my assistant.

"List the house. Quick sale."

The second I hung up, my phone buzzed.

【Sydney, I can't be there with you tonight after all. Kathleen and the others set up a thing for me.

Since you're not feeling well, just rest at home. I'll come back early and ring in midnight with you.】

That was when it hit me.

Today was Morton's birthday.

In the old days, I'd start planning the surprise a month out.

Booking the restaurant, picking the gift, writing the card. I even counted the candles on the cake to make sure they were exact.

Now I'd forgotten.

So even the dates carved into your bones could fade, given enough time.

I didn't reply. I just packed everything of his into one box.

On top, I laid two things. A divorce certificate, and an abortion record.

Call it the last birthday gift I'd ever give him.

“Morton! Your wife shipped something over from across town. Birthday gift, right?”

Morton heard his teammate and crossed the room, wineglass in hand.

A second ago, my silence had been sitting in his chest like a stone.

But the moment he saw the box, the breath went out of him in relief.

“Open it, open it! Let's see what she sent!”

“She nails it every single year. No way this one's any different!”

……

Morton smiled and reached for the lid.

Then his phone buzzed.

He looked down, and went completely still.