Surgery For My Signed Divorce

I had spent six months begging my wife, Janet, to go to the championship game with me. It was a pilgrimage, a chance to see my favorite player’s jersey retired, a final goodbye to an era. But as the final boarding call echoed through the terminal, Janet was nowhere to be found. I’d called her a dozen times. Every single one went straight to voicemail. Then, the notification popped up—a new post from Toby. The caption read: “Shoutout to this legend for pulling two all-nighters and still coming out to support me at the Invitational.” The photo was a punch to the gut. Toby and Janet were at a crowded e-sports arena, their arms wrapped around each other, grinning and throwing peace signs at the camera. I didn’t hesitate. I powered off my phone, turned my back on the gate, and walked toward the customer service desk to check my bags. This game was supposed to be a tribute to a legend’s final stand. As it turned out, it was the perfect wake-up call for the end of my marriage.