The night before the World Cup, Reid Callister made a post on social media. In the photo, he wore a Portugal jersey and was smiling at the woman beside him. He had written something sweet: [Officially done with Argentina. It's all Ronaldo from here.]

Our mutual friends all went quiet. Everyone knew that the night Argentina won the championship four years ago, he had cried in my arms until dawn. That was also the night he slipped a ring onto my finger.

He said, "Messi got his fairy tale. Let's go get ours."

Someone in the comments section asked what happened to his Messi obsession. He replied, "I was young and stupid back then. Now, I know who's worth rooting for."

I stared at the post for a long time. I did not comment. I just set down the divorce papers on the coffee table. Before I left for my flight, I tucked the ring into the pocket of his blue-and-white jersey. This time, I would not be watching the game with him.

"Ronaldo's definitely starting this time. I'll bring your player-issue jersey over tomorrow."

Reid Callister pushed the front door open with his phone to his ear, grinning widely. His voice was bright with excitement.

I sat on the couch with the glow of my phone screen washing over my face. On it was the social media post Reid had put up ten minutes ago.

"Why are you still up?"

He kicked off his shoes and walked over, tossing his car keys onto the entryway table. When he saw me sitting in the dark, he came over and switched on the floor lamp. The warm yellow light stung my eyes.

"What are you looking at?"

He sat down beside me, easy and familiar, and reached to drape his arm around my shoulders. I shifted slightly, pulling away from his touch. His hand froze in midair, and his brow creased.

"Your post."

Reid paused for a beat, then pulled his hand back and loosened his tie.

"Oh, that." His tone was flat, dismissive. "Nola just got back to the country. She dragged me into watching the game with her. She's into Ronaldo. The post was just for fun."

He softened his voice the way someone would with a child throwing a tantrum. "It's just switching teams. I'm trying something new."

"Trying something new?"

"Yeah. You don't even follow football. Every time I ask you to watch, you fall asleep."

He leaned back against the couch and pressed his fingers between his brows. "Nola actually gets it. She's easy to talk to about this stuff. Don't overthink it."

He always did this. He would pass off his favoritism as reason and deliver it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, acting like everything I had ever done for him meant nothing because I was simply clueless.

Four years ago, I stayed up three nights in a row studying the teams so that I could watch that game with him. I memorized the name and position of every player on the Argentine roster. I even went to every store in the city to find the jersey he wanted.

Now, he was telling me I did not understand football.

"Nola was abroad for four years. She just got back and doesn't really know anyone here."

When I stayed quiet, Reid softened further and reached for my wrist. "I'm just being a good host, helping her settle back in. You're usually so easygoing about this stuff. What's gotten into you?"

His palm was warm against my skin, but all I felt was cold.

Nola Carver was not just someone Reid had grown up with. She was his first love.

Four years ago, she announced her engagement abroad, loudly and publicly. That same night, Reid got completely drunk and sobbed in my arms like his world was ending. I just thought he was overcome by Messi's championship win.

Then, a few days ago, Nola sent me a screenshot. It was a text Reid had sent her that night four years ago.

[You win. I'll just marry whoever. Be happy.]

The proposal that had moved everyone who witnessed it was nothing more than a tantrum thrown by a man who had just lost the woman he really loved. I was just the placeholder, the one he was using to fill the empty space.

"I'm not making a fuss." I slowly pulled my hand free.

Reid stared at his empty palm, irritation flickering across his face. "If you're not making a fuss, then what's with the cold shoulder?"

He let out a sigh as he continued, "I've got an early meeting at the office tomorrow and a game to watch the night after. I don't have the energy to argue with you. Just go to bed. Stop making things up in your head."

He stood and walked straight to the bathroom without a single explanation, without even asking why I was sitting alone in the living room in the middle of the night.

The sound of running water drifted from the bathroom. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Nola, containing a photo of Reid standing at a store counter with his head bowed, picking out a Portugal jersey.

The caption read: [He said he spent years wearing the wrong colors and now, he's finally switching back. Don't you think it's time you gave up a seat that was never yours, Ms. Whitley?]

I looked at the screen. I did not reply, and I did not block her. I just turned my phone facedown on the table.

The flight was already booked. It would leave in two nights, one hour before kickoff.

Reid said he did not know any better back then. That was fine. After this, everything would be fine again.

The next afternoon, I went to the sports bar Reid always went to. I left a poster there six months ago, and it was stored behind the counter. It was something I had planned to surprise him with on game night.

The bar was closed during the day, but I knew the back door was never locked. I pushed it open and made my way down the hallway. Just as I reached the private room I knew so well, the sound of laughter and voices from inside stopped me in my tracks.

"Reid, that post you put up last night was bold as hell." It was one of his friends, his voice dripping with amusement.

"Seriously. Wearing a Portugal jersey is one thing, but that caption? Did your wife not lose it when she saw that?"

"The video of your proposal is still pinned in the group chat, man. Everyone in this city knows how obsessed you were with Argentina."

The room went quiet for a moment, then came the click of a lighter.

"So what?" Reid's voice was lazy, completely indifferent. "The mood was right that night. I just got caught up in it. Looking back, pinning my emotions to someone else's win or loss is pretty childish."

My fingers curled around the doorframe until my knuckles turned white. The mood was right? He just got caught up in it? It was childish?

The proposal I had treasured for four years, the single brightest moment in my life, had been reduced to those words that came out of his mouth. I had already known the truth, but hearing it spoken aloud in his own voice still hurt.

"Come on, Reid. Brynn stood in line outside a store all night in the dead of winter just to get you that jersey." One of his friends sounded like he had heard enough.

"So she stood in line. So what?" Reid let out a dismissive laugh.

"A wife is someone you keep at home, someone steady and low-maintenance. But for something like watching a game, the real thrill is being there with someone who actually gets it. Brynn is so dull. She can't even tell what offside means. Watching a match with her is torture."

"Reid, don't say that about her." A sweet, delicate voice cut in. It was Nola. "She's definitely going to be upset when she sees that post. Maybe you should just delete it so you two don't end up fighting when you get home. I'd feel terrible if that happened."

"Delete it?" Reid's voice dropped immediately, thick with open protectiveness. "What, I can't even like whoever I want now? Don't worry about it. She won't make a scene. She cares way too much about how things look. She'll just swallow it and keep it to herself."

He paused. "Besides, all I did was switch teams. What's she going to do, divorce me?"

The room erupted into laughter.

"Reid's got her wrapped around his finger!"

"That's Brynn for you. Easy to manage. Buy her a bag and it's all good."

"Come on, let's raise a glass to Nola. Our fan club finally has a girl who actually knows the game!"

The clink of glasses mixed with Nola's shy, girlish laughter, and every sound cut straight through the door and into me.

I stood outside with my chest feeling tight, a dull ache spreading through my entire body. It turned out this was what my patience and tolerance looked like to him.

He found me convenient and easy to handle, believing I would swallow every grievance I had in silence to keep from being a distraction. These traits of mine had become something he could show off to other people.

I did not push the door open. I did not storm in to confront him. I just looked down at the cardboard box I had just picked up from the bar counter, the one that held the poster he had been searching for and could never find.

I walked to the end of the hallway and let go. The box landed in the trash bin with a dull thud.

All those nights I had stayed up until my eyes were raw were for nothing.

I turned around and walked out of the bar without looking back. The sunlight outside was blinding, and I drew in a long breath of cold air.

I should have understood a long time ago, back when he gave Nola the passenger seat, when he forgot my birthday completely but remembered that she was allergic to peanuts, when he rushed out the door in the middle of the night because she called…

This marriage had been falling apart for four years. I just had not been willing to admit it, and I kept searching for something sweet in a pile of broken glass. Now, I did not have to search anymore.

When I got home, I dragged two cardboard boxes out of the storage room and started clearing every piece of Argentina merchandise from the house.

I pulled the throw pillows with their blue and white stripes off the couch, took the signed jersey down from the wall, and cleared the custom figurines from the display case. Every single item was something I had once picked out for Reid with a full and happy heart, and now, they were all just relics of an absurd marriage.

I placed them into the boxes one by one, without tears and without even a trace of longing.

At 11:00 that night, the lock turned. Reid walked in smelling of alcohol and perfume. It was a sweet, cloying citrus scent, the same one I had caught outside the bar that afternoon. It was Nola's favorite.

"Why'd you pull all this stuff out?" He spotted the boxes in the living room and paused.

"Spring cleaning." I did not look up and kept packing a mug into the box.

"Spring cleaning doesn't have to happen in the middle of the night." He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder like he was soothing a moody pet.

"Still upset about that post from yesterday? I already told you, I was just messing around with Nola. Don't be so petty."

He let go of me and pulled a small box from his pocket, holding it out in front of me. "Here. I got this for you. See if you like it."

I opened the box. Inside was a necklace studded with small diamonds, flashy in a way that did not suit anything I would normally wear. However, the most glaring detail was the fine print at the bottom of the box—'Ronaldo Fan Club Limited Edition'.

I stared at those words, and a sharp pain hit my chest.

Ten minutes earlier, I had seen Nola's latest social media update. She had posted a photo of several necklaces laid out together, with the caption: [Men have zero taste, I swear. This gaudy one is absolutely not happening. He can give it to whoever he wants.]

The necklace she had rejected was now sitting quietly in the palm of my hand.

"So? Pretty, right?" Reid had not noticed a single thing wrong and was still going on, pleased with himself. "I spent a long time picking it out. I thought it'd really suit you."

He was giving me someone else's leftovers and calling it a gift, and he expected me to be grateful.

"It's nice." I closed the lid and tossed the box onto the coffee table. "Thanks."

When Reid saw that I had accepted it, he seemed to relax. In his mind, as long as I took the gift, the matter was settled and he could move on. He slipped off his jacket and started heading for the bathroom to shower.

"Reid." I stopped him.

"Hm? What is it?" He turned around, looking a little tired.

"The game starts the night after tomorrow." I looked him in the eye, my voice soft. "Can you stay home and watch it with me?"

This was the last test I would ever give him. It was also my final goodbye to eight years of my life.

Something flickered behind Reid's eyes, and he looked away.

"I can't do the night after tomorrow." He let out a sigh, feigning helplessness. "Something came up at work. There's an important client dinner I can't get out of. A bunch of big accounts are going to be there."

He put on an easy smile. "Be good and watch it here by yourself. I'll come home and keep you company as soon as I'm done."

He did not so much as blink when he lied.

At the very moment those words left his mouth, the phone he had set on the coffee table lit up with a notification from Nola. The message content was hidden, but her name was displayed clearly across the screen.

I knew there was no client dinner. He was going to spend that night with his soulmate, and they would watch his new team's big moment together.

"Okay." I nodded and did not call him out. "Work comes first. Go."

Reid smiled, visibly relieved, and walked over to ruffle my hair. "My wife's always so understanding. Once things calm down, I'll take you on a trip."

He grabbed his phone and hurried out to the balcony to reply to the message.

I watched the way he could not get to that screen fast enough and said under my breath, "Go. You won't have to keep me company ever again."