She Turned My Love Diary Into a Joke, So I Left Our Marriage

1: 1

The day tickets went on sale for the singer we'd both loved for ten years, neither my wife nor I managed to grab one.

The next day Margery's mother showed up with groceries. Oh, come on, if you couldn't get tickets, then just don't go.

Rodney Swanson just got out of the hospital after that car accident, and he's still fussing around. He's already burned through most of what we had, and he still won't sit still.

I said nothing.

But I'd had that accident because my wife hated me being home so much and pushed me out to deliver food in the pouring rain, and that was how I broke my leg.

The concert crept closer, day by day.

I wanted to give my ten years of youth some kind of closing, and I couldn't stop myself. I quietly bought a scalped ticket and went.

But at the entrance, the first thing I saw was my best friend helping my wife with her hair and makeup.

He asked, joking, "Margie, if Rodney knew you came with me, he wouldn't get mad, would he?"

My wife shook her head, grinning. "Idiot. He'll never know."

"A concert like this doesn't come around often. I just want to sit next to the person I actually like."

"So Rodney broke a leg. He plays weak every single day, so how does he suddenly have the energy the second a concert comes up? I'm not about to indulge that nasty little habit of his."

I gripped the glow stick in my hand.

Sorry about the broken leg, really.

From now on, it won't happen again.

The lights dropped, leaving a single spotlight on the singer at center stage.

I'd already decided this concert would be my last goodbye to my younger years.

The opening song began.

I stood in a corner of the stands, holding the cheap glow stick a scalper had shoved into my hands on the way in.

The venue was too big. Even inside the same space, I still felt so far from the person on that stage.

The scalper had only gotten me a standing ticket, and the longer I stood, the more my leg ached, until the pain went almost numb.

Cold sweat ran down me, and in a daze I got through two hours.

Then came the song-request segment.

On the big screen, the camera started scrolling at random across the crowd.

"Stop!" the singer called out.

The frame froze.

On the big screen were the faces of my best friend, Emmet Hudson, and my wife, Margery Jenner.

Her hairband sparkled, her makeup delicate and cute, her expression all surprise and delight.

Emmet had an arm around her shoulders and waved at the camera.

The singer smiled and asked, "Pretty lady, here at the concert with your boyfriend? What would you like to hear?"

Margery took the mic. She didn't correct anyone that Emmet wasn't her boyfriend.

She spoke softly.

"I'd like to request 'Favor' for the boy I love most."

"He's been with me through so many hard days. Tonight I want to tell him he's the person I love most."

It's my favorite song.

Back in college, every time we went to karaoke, Margery would sing it.

Emmet and I would listen quietly beside her.

Back then it never once occurred to me that the song might not have been sung for me at all.

And here I was, sitting in a corner, watching the two of them lean into each other on the big screen.

My stomach heaved harder.

I stood and walked out of the venue, almost like I was fleeing.

When I got home, there was a bag of food delivery sitting outside the door.

Margery had messaged me: *Honey, I'm still away on my business trip. I ordered you some chicken soup, remember to drink it.*

She'd also sent a photo, a small hotel table.

On it were spicy beef stew, spicy fried chicken, and crawfish.

She was careful about it. The dishes were all arranged close to her, and there was only one pair of chopsticks.

Staging the illusion that she was eating alone.

But she'd forgotten that I knew she didn't eat spicy food.

These were all Emmet's tastes.

I opened the delivery bag she'd ordered for me.

The plastic bag had "homemade chicken soup" printed on it in crude red letters, and the receipt showed three dollars and twenty cents paid.

The so-called homemade chicken soup was nothing but water mixed with bouillon powder, two leaves of vegetable floating on top.

Real effort on her part, too, digging up a place in a major city that could deliver for three-twenty.

I set the food down, opened my messages, and tapped into Margery's profile.

A single flat line.

I tapped into Emmet's profile. Another flat line.

They'd blocked me at the same time.

I closed the app and opened my video feed.

The very first clip was one Emmet had posted.

The footage was exactly that moment broadcast on the concert's big screen.

The caption read: *Favored by the person I love most, hahaha so happy*

The location tag was a five-star hotel next to the venue.

The comments were all their friends:

*Oh my god, that's so romantic!*

*Margery and Emmet really suit each other.*

*And that broke loser Rodney thinks he deserves to be at a concert too, tagging along like the hick he is.*

A wave of nausea hit me. I rushed into the bathroom and hunched over the toilet, dry-heaving.

I lifted my head and looked at myself in the mirror.

Sallow face, stubble everywhere.

Because my leg hadn't fully healed, my shoulders slumped and I couldn't stand up straight.

To save for the big place she was always dreaming about, I hadn't dared buy myself so much as a bottle of beer, and I cut my own hair in front of the mirror.

Working days, delivering food at night.

Whenever Margery's mother came over, it was always the same few lines: "A man should make more money while he's young. He can't shortchange our Margery."

But Margery would push back at her mother, saying my work wasn't easy.

I never could have imagined she'd treat me like this behind my back.

I took a deep breath and opened the calendar on my phone.

I'd planned to go to the sales office tomorrow to sign the contract, as a surprise for her.

I opened the chat with the real estate agent: *That house. Put it in my name only.*

2: 2

The next afternoon, Margery came home.

She let out an exaggerated sigh. "God, I'm exhausted. That meeting gave me a splitting headache."

Then she pulled out a bag.

"I know you were bummed you couldn't go, so when a coworker of mine managed to grab some merch, I bought a piece off him right away. Do you like it?"

I glanced inside. A concert T-shirt. Size XS.

I wear XL.

"Sure," I said, and nodded.

Seeing how flat my reaction was, Margery frowned.

"Still sulking? There was nothing I could do about the tickets."

"When you make it big someday, you can hire that singer to come sing just for the two of us. How's that?"

Just then the door opened and Emmet stuck his grinning head in.

He'd always known our door code.

Decked out in some trendy brand, he made straight for the couch and dropped down right next to me.

"Rod, buddy, thought I'd come check on you."

He fished a tub of pink-and-green ice cream out of a dessert bag.

"Brought you that ice cream everyone's raving about online. Go on, try a bite!"

Guava flavor.

Margery loved guava. I hated it most of all, that weird astringent bite to it.

Emmet had been our friend for seven years. There was no way he didn't know that.

I shook my head. "I don't want any. You have it."

Margery laughed. "You don't get it, Rod's such a hick. He won't touch any of these trendy things."

"Give it here, I'll eat it. I'll pick him up some popsicles on my way back. Those are the only thing he likes."

Fifty-cent popsicles.

Back in college, Margery once offered to buy me ice cream.

I felt bad about how hard she worked at her part-time job, so I told her I liked those cheap popsicles.

And just like that, I became the man who only deserved cheap popsicles.

Margery happily took the ice cream and started eating.

Halfway through, she scrunched up her face.

"Emmet, I can't finish this. Why'd you buy such a huge cup?"

Emmet laughed. "Because I already knew you'd want some, you little piglet."

He gave Margery's soft, boneless arm a squeeze.

"You should eat more, put some weight on. Otherwise people'll think marrying Rod's got you all miserable and starved."

Margery wrinkled her nose, pouting. "Oh please, Rod works really hard. Not everyone can measure up to you."

Then she waved the leftover ice cream at him. "So what do we do with the rest?"

Emmet took it from her, scooped up a big spoonful and shoved it in his mouth. "What else? Hand it to me, the human trash can."

I looked at Margery.

She'd told me before that she was a germaphobe.

She'd throw away her leftovers before she'd ever let me eat them.

Turns out she just didn't want it coming from me.

"Margie, there's a huge piece of coconut jelly right here, eat it."

Emmet dug out the jelly with the same spoon he'd been using and, easy as anything, held it up to Margery's mouth.

And Margery, without a second thought, closed her lips around the spoon.

I thought of the time I'd bought fried chicken and, wanting to be close to her, tried to share a single piece with Margery.

But in front of all our friends she'd turned her face away in disgust, said she didn't like it, told me to just throw out whatever I couldn't finish.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. I asked, "The two of you are sharing one ice cream?"

3: 3

Margery frowned, watching me with a flicker of displeasure. "Rodney, when did you turn so paranoid?"

"The three of us have been hanging out since college, all these years. So what if we share a bite of ice cream?"

Emmet put on the same careless look.

"Right, Rod. If Margie and I really had something going, we'd have gotten together back in college."

Right. We were college classmates. Seven years of friendship.

Back in college, Margery, Emmet, and I were all in the campus radio club.

I joined first. Then Emmet said he was bored and joined too.

Emmet knew I liked Margery.

Margery was outgoing, always joking around, always wanting to game with the guys.

It's laughable now, but I actually taught myself online games just for her,

hoping she'd play one round with me.

Emmet made a point of pushing us together, finding chances to seat me beside her.

But I was wooden and gutless, barely able to look her in the eye.

All I could do was watch Emmet mess around with her without a care.

I poured every secret feeling into scripts and read them on the radio club's show.

Little by little, the whole school knew the radio club had a gifted writer.

On Valentine's Day of my junior year, in the middle of a heavy snowfall, Margery handed me a heart-shaped box of chocolates and asked if I wanted to be her boyfriend.

My head went blank. "Are you really confessing to me? I thought you liked Emmet"

She wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her head on my chest. "Silly. Why would I ever like his type?"

"Emmet loves the spotlight too much, and he's flighty. I only like you. You're steady, dependable. You're the one I want to spend my life with."

Back then I was drowning in happiness, and I believed every word.

Steady and dependable.

In the end, those two words became the chokehold I've worn for seven years.

Because of those words, I made room for Emmet countless times.

I put up with him calling in the middle of the night for Margery to come game with him. I put up with Margery sitting up all night nursing him when he was sick.

There was even one New Year's Eve when we were playing a game,

and Margery actually dug out the diary where I'd written about my crush on her, and read it out loud in front of Emmet.

I was mortified and furious, and the two of them just laughed.

What exactly did she think my feelings for her were?

"I'm tired. I want to go lie down for a bit." I stood up.

"Go, go, get some rest." Margery waved me off, then turned to Emmet. "So tonight let's hit that new Japanese place? You've been going on about it for days."

"Sure, let's go." Emmet agreed on the spot.

I quietly got up, walked into the bedroom, and shut the door.

That Japanese restaurant I'd booked it long ago.

But Margery kept putting it off, stalling and stalling until now.

Three years dating, one year married,

and Margery and I had never once had a proper meal at a decent restaurant.

Was it that she didn't want to go, or that she didn't want to go with me?

The thought pushed me past holding back. I pulled the door open and walked back out.

4: 4

I forced out a calm smile.

"I've been thinking. Let's all go get Japanese food together after all."

The air went quiet for a second.

Margery and Emmet exchanged a look.

Margery smiled at me. "Now you want to go? A minute ago you said you were tired."

I just said, "Mm."

Emmet cleared his throat. "Then then the two of you go. I'm always the third wheel between you, Rod definitely doesn't want me around. I'll head home."

Margery clicked her tongue, glanced at Emmet, then turned back to me.

"Fine, we'll eat in, then. Emmet and I will go buy some groceries and cook. Rod, your leg's bad, you rest."

Listen to that.

As if the two of them were the close, loving couple,

and I was just some distant relative who had to be entertained.

Right then, Margery's phone rang.

"Good afternoon, ma'am, this is Matsubara Japanese Restaurant."

"The cake you had custom-made for Mr. Hudson has just arrived at the shop. Should we put it in the refrigerator for now?"

I heard every word of it.

Margery scrambled to hang up, her eyes darting away.

I looked at her calmly and asked softly, "What was that?"

"What cake for Mr. Hudson?"

Margery cleared her throat and explained, "Rod, don't get the wrong idea. Today's the birthday of that game character Emmet likes, so"

I let out a short laugh. "A birthday party for a game character?"

"Yeah, it's a thing now. People in the group even buy the big mall screens for a character's birthday. You wouldn't get it, you're such a hick."

I looked at her.

Suddenly she was so understanding.

Back when we'd just gotten married, on my birthday I'd had my eye on a mountain bike I wanted to buy. What had she said then?

She said I was making trouble over nothing, that after marriage I didn't know how to save for our little household, that a man in my position should be grateful he had a bike-share to ride.

Every birthday, no cake. No happy wishes.

So all the cakes went to Emmet, then.

I thought about the day I had my car accident. It was pouring rain and I came home early, and she'd been dead set on driving me back out.

Later, at the hospital, she and Emmet had come to see me together.

She'd just wanted me out of the way, out of the house, so she and this man could carry on.

Margery tried to smooth the whole thing over. "Enough. I'll have my mom come over and cook you some noodles, you two can have something warm."

"I'm doing this for you. Japanese food is all raw and cold, your stomach's bad, it'll just upset you."

I stood where I was and didn't back down. "I can eat the cooked things. The place has tempura, they have sukiyaki hot pot."

Margery heard that and her brow furrowed at once. "Rodney, can you not be such a hick?"

"You go to a Japanese place and order the cooked stuff? Cooked salmon, are you serious? You'd just be wasting the food."

"I'm going today." I stared at her and said it one word at a time.

Margery froze.

In seven years, I had never once spoken to her in that tone.

Seeing this, Emmet quickly stood up.

"Let it go, Margie, don't be mad at Rod. You two go eat. It's my fault, all of it. I know Rod doesn't have money for games, and here I am going on about throwing a birthday for a character"

His backing down only pushed Margery over the edge.

She strode right up in front of Emmet, and the look she turned on me was pure disgust.

She said to Emmet, "Ignore him. This orphan's so poor his brain's short-circuited, paranoid all day long, nothing's ever good enough for him. He's spoiled rotten!"

It went through me like a shock, and I stared at her, unable to believe it.

Orphan.

My parents died young. She had always known that.

And now she was throwing it at me like this.

This was the woman who'd brought me chocolate in the heavy snow, who'd said she wanted to spend her whole life with me.

When she finished, she fixed me with an ice-cold stare.

"Rodney, a little thing like this, and you just have to lose it, is that it?"

"Let me tell you, today I'm not taking you at all!"

She snatched up the car keys and dragged Emmet toward the entryway.

"Margie, this isn't fair to Rod" Emmet's voice drifted in from outside the door.

"Who cares, it just spoils him."

The security door slammed shut.

I was the only one left in the living room.

Margery sent me a message. You made me lose face in front of Emmet, so what was I supposed to do. Don't take what I said to heart.

You love sukiyaki, right? I bought the sukiyaki base and the beef, I'll have Mom make it for you.

I didn't reply.

I just packed a few clothes and booked myself a very expensive Japanese restaurant.

I ordered a whole table of sashimi, took a picture, and posted it to my feed.

The next morning, I sat in the sales office.

Margery called, furious.

"What is wrong with you?"

"How much did that table of sashimi cost? If you throw money around like this, when are we ever going to buy a bigger house?"

I glanced at the office and answered calmly. "The house gets bought today."

She paused, and her tone softened a little. "Today? Why wouldn't you wait for me to go sign together?"

"You don't need to sign."

"What?"

"The house is mine alone. It has nothing to do with you."