Yeah, Totally About the Reward Card

The night I got back from my work trip, the drugstore called—said my rewards card got declined that afternoon. I needed to reload it.

Adrian was in the kitchen, laser-focused on dinner. I asked what he'd bought.

He grinned, pulled out a box of supplements. "Been working late. Heart's been acting up, so I grabbed some support vitamins."

I didn't say anything.

He sighed, dug out a bank card. "I know you're all about money. Used your rewards card by accident. I'll pay you back ten times. Deal?"

Normally, I'd take it. This time, I didn't.

I just looked at him.

"Let's get a divorce."

Adrian flinched—barely.

Then he grabbed my hand, slapped on that clueless smile. "What is this? You lose a bet? I mean, I love that you hang with your friends, but this joke's kinda brutal, babe."

I yanked my hand back. "Not joking. I'm serious."

His face cracked. "Wait, for real? Because I didn't pick you up from the airport? Or did your BFF talk trash again?

"Oh—video calls? I told you I've been slammed. You're reading into it. I'll make it up to you tonight, alright?"

He leaned in, breath warm, too close.

I slapped him. "I said I want a divorce. Not playing."

The room shifted. His eyes? Fire.

But he dialed it back, voice soft like he was trying to play nice. "So it's not that, or that... What, then? You're not actually leaving me over a rewards card, right? Just 'cause you had to reload it?"

I looked him dead in the eye. "Yep. Divorcing you over a rewards card. Even a dime spent on you makes me gag."

He blinked. "You hear yourself? Over money? You didn't even ask why I bought the vitamins. I didn't flip out about yours. Said I'd pay you back ten times—you still said no. Now this?"

I didn't bother. Just turned, started packing. "Save it. Courthouse tomorrow."

He followed me, still throwing lines. I slammed the bedroom door—caught his hand on the edge.

"Raelyn! Just say it. Why? Why a divorce?"

His eyes were red, swelling up. I didn't blink.

Slammed the door again. "Be there. That's it."

He kept thudding on the door for a while.

"I'm not signing anything! Forget it!"

Then footsteps. Then—slam.

Once he was gone, I swallowed the chaos and called Betty, my lawyer friend.

"Draft the divorce. I'm keeping the house and car. Split the rest."

Adrian didn't come back.

Me? Slept like a rock.

***

Next morning, I got a message—Adrian's parents wanted me over for dinner.

Classic. Every time he messed up, he'd crash at their place, they'd huddle with his brother's widow, cook some "family" meal, and drag me over to "talk."

Worked every time.

We'd eat, smooth things over, and by the end of the night, we were fine.

Not this time.

When they asked about babies, I didn't smile or dodge.

I brushed off Adrian's hand when he tried to serve me and grabbed the fork myself.

"Donald, Monica, you might not get that grandkid. We're getting divorced."