I stood outside the stadium in the freezing wind for three hours on Valentine’s Day, waiting for my wife, Sarah, to finally show up. But when the ticket checker urged us to go inside, she pulled a nosebleed-section ticket out of her purse and shoved it into my hand. "I gave the VIP front-row ticket to Leo. You can just make do in the upper deck and listen from there." I stared at the seat number on the ticket, completely stunned. Sarah spoke as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "Leo grew up poor. He’s never been to a real concert in his entire life." "He wanted to see his idol up close, and I already promised him the best seat." I turned around. The college student she sponsored, Leo, was already swaggering toward the VIP entrance, waving a glow stick. Seeing me standing frozen in place, Sarah grew impatient. "You’re just here to listen to the music anyway. It sounds the same from up there. We’ll all go home together when it’s over." "Let Leo experience the VIP atmosphere for once. You’re the adult here, why are you being so petty?" With that, she didn’t even look back. She followed right behind Leo, laughing and chatting as they walked through the security gates. I stood there in silence, watching their retreating backs. Since the day we got married, this "underprivileged student" had haunted our lives like a ghost. Because Leo said he’d never worn designer brands, the limited-edition sneakers in my closet were simply taken and worn by him. Because Leo said he’d never seen the ocean, our wedding anniversary trip turned into a graduation vacation for him in Miami. And now, the VIP Valentine's Day concert tickets I had pulled strings to get, he had to take over those, too. A scalper wandered over, sizing me up. "Hey man, the show's about to start. Are you going in or what?" I looked at the nosebleed ticket in my hand and sold it to him at a massive discount. "I'm not going. Take it." I had decided to walk out on this concert—and this marriage. …… "Are you serious? It's the Valentine's Day show! They're about to come on stage." The scalper counted the cash, glancing up at me as if trying to figure me out. "I'm not going," I repeated, my voice eerily calm as I shoved the money into my pocket. "It’s no fun watching alone." The scalper shook his head and turned away to find his next buyer. Deafening cheers erupted from inside the stadium. The concert had officially begun. I stood outside the gates, looking through the massive glass walls at the sea of flashing lights. In the very first row of the VIP section, Sarah and Leo were sitting shoulder to shoulder. Leo was wildly waving his glow stick, looking ecstatic. Sarah turned her head to look at his profile, a tender smile on her lips that I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. I watched them quietly for a few moments, then turned and walked away into the night. The wind was bitter cold, biting into my skin. I didn't call an Uber. I just walked slowly down the empty streets. Passing a convenience store, I went in and bought a cheap beer. I sat on a bench by the river, popped the tab, and took a long sip. The bitter liquid slid down my throat, making my stomach churn. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Sarah. "Did you get inside? Why don't I see you?" "Leo said he's craving boba. Go buy two warm cups from the shop outside the venue and bring them in. Make sure they're warm; his stomach is sensitive." I stared at the words on the screen. I didn't reply. I just locked my phone. In her mind, I was nothing more than her personal, on-call assistant. Even though she had literally just given my VIP ticket to another man, she genuinely believed I would happily run errands for them without a second thought. I leaned back against the bench, looking at the city lights reflecting on the water. Seven years together. Three years of marriage. I didn't know exactly when, but at some point, Leo became the third person in our relationship. Sarah always said he had a tragic life. He fought so hard to get into college, and as his sponsor, it was her duty to take care of him. At first, I understood. I even joined her in buying him clothes and a laptop. Until I noticed that all his clothes were high-end designer brands, and his laptop was a top-tier Alienware gaming rig. Meanwhile, for my birthday, Sarah bought me a discounted tie. "You're a married man, why do you need to dress up? We should save the money to pay for Leo's extra tutoring classes." Those were her exact words. I finished the last sip of beer, crushed the can, and tossed it into the trash. I stood up and hailed a cab. "To the Westridge Condos, please." When I pushed the front door open, the apartment was pitch black. I didn't turn on the lights. I walked over to the sofa guided by the moonlight and sat down. On the coffee table sat a bowl of the chicken noodle soup I had spent all afternoon slow-cooking. It was completely cold now. Sarah had mentioned her throat was dry, so I made it specifically for her. She hadn't taken a single bite before rushing out the door to pick up Leo. I stood up, dumped the soup down the sink, and threw the expensive ceramic bowl I had carefully picked out straight into the trash. At 1:30 AM, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the apartment. Sarah walked in, bringing with her the faint scent of expensive perfume. She flicked on the lights, startled when she saw me sitting in the dark. "What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark like a ghost in the middle of the night?" She frowned, complaining as she kicked off her heels. "Where's the boba I asked for? Do you have any idea how thirsty Leo was? He had to settle for the overpriced bottled water at the venue." I looked at her, my voice completely flat. "I didn't go." Sarah stopped halfway through taking off her shoes. She looked up, a flash of irritation crossing her face. "What is that supposed to mean? Did you not see my text?" "I saw it." I leaned back into the sofa, clasping my hands over my knees. "You saw it and you didn't go? Ethan, is this your new thing? Throwing a tantrum over every little thing?" She marched over and glared down at me. "Are you still giving me attitude over a stupid ticket?" "Leo is just a student. Why are you competing with him? Can't you be the bigger person?" Looking at her aggressive, entitled expression, I suddenly found it all incredibly funny. "The bigger person, or a pathetic doormat?" I asked quietly. Sarah froze for a second before her face darkened. "Don't speak to me like that! I sponsor his education. What is wrong with showing him the world a little?" "If you're going to sit here and act like a victim, I'll just buy you another concert ticket next time!" She was always like this. Habitually making empty promises. Habitually dismissing my feelings. "Don't bother." I stood up and walked past her toward the bedroom. "I'm sleeping in the guest room tonight." Sarah let out a cold scoff behind me. "Whatever. You better stay in there for the rest of your life." I didn't look back. I just quietly shut the door behind me. The next morning, I woke up to the sound of drawers being slammed open and shut. I walked out of the guest room and saw Sarah tearing through our master closet. "Where did you put the Rolex?" She asked, not even bothering to look at me. It was the Rolex Submariner I had saved up for months to buy myself for my thirtieth birthday last year. "Why are you looking for it?" I leaned against the doorframe, watching her calmly. "Leo has an interview for an internship at a major corporate firm tomorrow. He doesn't have a decent watch to make a good impression." Sarah answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You barely wear it anyway. Just let him borrow it for a few days." I watched her digging through my personal belongings, and I realized I didn't even feel angry anymore. "I sold it." I said plainly. Sarah's hand froze mid-air. She whipped her head around, staring at me in absolute disbelief. "You sold it? You have no right to sell it! You bought that watch!" "Because it's mine, I can sell it." I turned and walked toward the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. Sarah stormed out after me. "Ethan, did you do this on purpose? You knew Leo had an important interview today!" "His interview has absolutely nothing to do with me." I took a sip of water, my tone completely indifferent. "He's your charity case, not my illegitimate son." "You—" Sarah choked on her words, her face turning crimson with rage. "You are being completely unreasonable! When did you become so cold-blooded and selfish?!" She grabbed her purse from the sofa and glared at me viciously. "Fine! Keep your stupid watch! I'll just go to the boutique and buy him a brand new one!" With that, she turned on her heels and stormed out, slamming the door hard behind her. As the deafening slam echoed through the apartment, silence finally returned. I set down my glass and walked out to the balcony. Down below, Sarah hopped into the Porsche I had bought her and sped out of the complex. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. "Hello, Mr. Davis? This is Ethan." "Yes, I'd like to consult with you about property division in a divorce." "There won't be a dispute. I only want what legally belongs to me." Hanging up, I walked back into the bedroom and started packing my things. Honestly, I didn't have much. Over our three years of marriage, the apartment had mostly been filled with Sarah's designer clothes and bags, or the expensive "school supplies" she bought for Leo. I pulled out a suitcase and packed a few sets of clothes. At the very bottom of a drawer, I found an old photo album. Inside were pictures of us from college. Back then, Sarah would cry if I pushed myself too hard working part-time jobs and got a fever. In the winter, she used to slip her freezing hands into my collar to warm them up. I looked at the girl in the photos, smiling so brightly, and quietly closed the album. Then, I tossed it into a trash bag along with some old books. Some things expire. And when they do, you throw them away. That afternoon, I went into the office. My boss looked surprised when he saw me. "Ethan? Didn't you take PTO to spend Valentine's Day with your wife? Why are you here?" I smiled and handed him an envelope. "Mr. King, I'm planning to move back to my hometown. This is my letter of resignation." Mr. King was stunned. "Moving back? You're doing great here! You're next in line to be the department manager. Why the sudden exit?" "Family issues." I didn't elaborate, but my tone was resolute. Mr. King sighed. He knew he couldn't change my mind, so he signed the paperwork. "Alright. Just wrap up your handovers. I'll make sure you get your full salary for the month." "Thank you, sir." Walking out of his office, I started clearing out my desk. My coworkers gathered around, asking questions, but I just brushed them off with the "moving back home" excuse. After packing everything into a cardboard box, I walked out of the corporate building. The sun was blinding. I squinted slightly. My phone buzzed. It was an Instagram update from Leo. In the photo, a brand-new Rolex Submariner was strapped to his wrist. The caption read: [Thank you, sis, for the interview gift! I promise to work hard.] The location was tagged at the most expensive, high-end steakhouse in the city center. I liked the post, then calmly closed the app. For the next few days, Sarah and I engaged in a complete cold war. I left early and came back late, busy handing over my work and terminating our apartment lease. Sarah spent every waking moment catering to Leo—prepping him for his interview, celebrating his new job. We lived under the same roof, but we acted like the other was invisible. On Friday afternoon, while I was finalizing my last report at the office, a sharp, stabbing pain ripped through my stomach. My irregular eating habits over the last few days had triggered my chronic gastritis. I gritted my teeth through the pain and took a cab to the hospital. The doctor diagnosed it as acute gastroenteritis and hooked me up to an IV drip. I sat alone in the corner of the infusion room, watching the cold medication drip slowly into my vein. Everyone else around me was accompanied by family. I was the only one sitting alone. The intense cramping in my stomach caused a layer of cold sweat to break out on my forehead. I closed my eyes, trying to endure the discomfort. Right then, my phone rang. It was Sarah. This was the first time she had initiated contact in five days. I hesitated for a second before answering. "Hello." My voice was weak. "Ethan, are you off work?" Her voice sounded cheerful, the background noise loud and chaotic. "I'm still out. What do you want?" "It's Leo's first day on the job! His coworkers are throwing him a welcome party. Swing by the 'Midnight' club on your way home and cover the tab." She ordered me around with absolute entitlement. I looked at the IV needle in my hand and let out a dry, quiet laugh. "I'm busy." "What do you mean you're busy? You get off at 5:30!" Sarah's tone instantly turned impatient. "Leo just graduated. He doesn't have that kind of money. His coworkers expect him to treat them, he can't just lose face on his first day." "You're his brother-in-law. What's the big deal if you pay for it?" Brother-in-law. What a pathetic joke. "Whether he loses face or not is his problem." I closed my eyes, my voice devoid of any emotion. "Sarah, I don't print money. I have zero obligation to fund your precious 'little brother'." The line went dead silent for a second. Then, Sarah exploded. "Ethan! Do you really have to be this petty right now?!" "I'm the one calling you first! How long are you going to hold this grudge?!" "Do you know the senior employees bullied him today? He's really upset. I just wanted to cheer him up!" Listening to her rapid-fire accusations, the pain in my stomach seemed to twist even harder. "If he's upset, you stay and comfort him." "Stop bothering me." With that, I hung up. I immediately muted my phone. It was past 9:00 PM when the IV finally finished. I pressed a cotton swab against my bruised hand and walked out of the hospital. The night air was freezing. I pulled my jacket tighter around myself. When I got back to the apartment, it was pitch black. I didn't bother turning on the lights and walked straight into the guest room. Lying in bed, I unlocked my phone. Sarah hadn't called or texted again. But on Instagram, I saw a post she had uploaded five minutes ago. The photo was taken under the dim neon lights of the club. Leo was in the center of a group of young people, holding up a shot glass, grinning cockily. Sarah was sitting right next to him, leaning in close, looking at him with absolute adoration. The caption read: [My little man is all grown up and ready to face the real world. Your big sister will always have your back.] In the comments, a few of our mutual friends were teasing her. "Whoa, Sarah is so protective! Doesn't Ethan get jealous?" Sarah replied directly: [He’s not that petty. He knows Leo is just a little brother to me.] I stared at her reply and let out a cynical scoff. Yeah. I wasn't that petty. Because I didn't care anymore. I tapped on her profile and muted her posts. Then, I texted my lawyer. "Mr. Davis, are the divorce papers ready? I want to sign them as soon as possible." Saturday was our three-year wedding anniversary. In previous years, I would have booked an expensive restaurant weeks in advance and meticulously planned a gift. But this year, I did nothing. When I woke up, I packed my last few shirts into my suitcase. Mr. Davis had emailed me the finalized divorce agreement. I printed two copies and placed them neatly on the living room coffee table. Around noon, Sarah came home on time—a rare occurrence these days. She was carrying an elegant cake box from an expensive bakery, a tentative, apologetic smile on her face. "Ethan, today is our three-year anniversary. I waited in line all morning to get your favorite matcha mousse cake." She set the cake on the dining table and walked over, trying to loop her arm through mine. I stepped sideways, dodging her touch. Sarah's hand froze in mid-air, her smile hardening. "Are you still mad about last night?" She sighed, softening her tone. "I already explained it. Leo just started his job, he was stressed out. I just went to check on him." "I'm not going anywhere today. I'm staying right here to celebrate with you, okay?" She spoke like a queen bestowing a grand favor upon a peasant. I looked at her and said nothing. Just then, her phone rang. Sarah glanced at the caller ID, her expression shifting instantly. She stepped out onto the balcony, lowering her voice as she answered. Despite her attempt to whisper, I heard everything. "Leo? What's wrong? Why are you crying?" "Your landlord is kicking you out? Why? Don't panic, I'm coming right now." Hanging up, she rushed back into the living room and grabbed her purse from the sofa. "Ethan, there's a huge issue with Leo's apartment. His landlord is evicting him. I have to go see what's going on." She spoke rapidly, slipping on her shoes. "You go ahead and eat the cake. I made reservations for dinner tonight. I'll come pick you up as soon as I sort this out." I stared at her frantic movements, my voice completely dead. "Today is our wedding anniversary." Sarah paused halfway through putting on her shoe. She looked back at me, pure irritation flashing in her eyes. "I know it's our anniversary! But I can't just let Leo end up homeless on the street, can I?!" "I told you we'd have dinner tonight! Can you please just be mature and stop throwing a tantrum at the worst possible time?" Mature. There was that word again. I looked at her, and suddenly, I felt incredibly light. "Okay. Go." Sarah seemed shocked by how easily I agreed. She froze for a second. Then, she exhaled a sigh of relief. "See? That's more like it. Be a good boy and wait for me." With that, she yanked the door open and rushed out. As the heavy door clicked shut, the apartment plunged into absolute silence. I walked over to the dining table and opened the cake box. Matcha mousse. It was exquisite. Beautifully crafted. But I'm severely allergic to matcha. After three years of marriage, she still didn't even know that. I picked up the little plastic fork, scooped a tiny piece, and put it in my mouth. The bitter taste flooded my tongue. I dumped the rest of the cake, box and all, into the trash can. Walking over to the coffee table, I picked up a pen. At the bottom of the divorce agreement, I signed my name. The strokes were sharp and deliberate. There was no hesitation. At 5:00 PM, Sarah sent me a text. "Leo's lease is totally canceled. I'm helping him move all his stuff. I probably won't make it back tonight. I canceled the dinner reservations. I'll make it up to you tomorrow." I stared at the text on the screen, calmly typing my reply. "Don't bother coming back." I hit send. Then, I blocked her on Instagram. I went into my contacts and blocked her phone number. I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, took the keychain with our wedding photo charm off my ring, and placed the keys directly on top of the signed divorce papers. Click. The front door locked behind me. This three-year marriage was officially over.
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