Chapter 3: Ghosted, Unranked

The next night after work, I opened Messenger—still no messages. I frowned. Normally, no matter how late or early, he’d always send a "good morning" or "good night." Maybe he was just too tired last night?

I chewed on a cold slice of pizza, staring at his profile pic. I tried to convince myself it was no big deal, but unease settled heavy and sour in my stomach.

I pitched my voice sweet and sent a voice message: "Bro~ what are you doing? You haven’t messaged your girl all day. Do you miss me?~"

My own voice echoed back at me, a little too forced for comfort. The cats eyed me suspiciously, like they could sense my nerves.

His status instantly showed: "The other party is typing..."

I waited. Five minutes crawled by.

The silence grew, broken only by the ticking of the cheap wall clock and the distant siren down Main Street. I drummed my fingers, refreshing the chat, hoping for a miracle.

I sent: "Finished tucking in the other kid? Is it my turn now?"

Ten minutes—read, but no reply.

I tried to laugh it off, but the pit in my stomach only grew. Milo leapt onto the windowsill, tail flicking, as if he could sense my frustration.

I sent again: "Bro, I think I’ve gone blind—I can’t see your messages."

Half an hour—still read, still nothing.

I laughed in frustration: "Hello, stranger, I’m getting married tomorrow. You’re invited!"

I tried to sound breezy, like the kind of girl who doesn’t care, but my heart thudded unevenly. Milo batted at my phone, knocking it off the table with a thunk.

He called me immediately.

The ringtone startled me so much I almost dropped my phone. My hands shook as I answered.

"You’re remarrying your ex-husband?"

His voice sounded raw, almost desperate. I was too stunned to reply for a second.

I snorted and played along. "Keep ignoring me and I’ll just marry the next guy I see at Starbucks. You can be the godparent."

My dry joke hung in the air, awkward as a bad sitcom laugh track. I wondered if he could hear the strain in my voice—or if the cats could sense the tension.

He was quiet for a long time. "Sorry. I just didn’t know how to face you for a bit..."

I frowned, shifting in my chair. "What’s so hard to face? There’s nothing a game can’t fix. And if there is, we’ll just play two games."

I blurted it out. Wasn’t it just that he promised to carry me to Diamond yesterday but had to leave? Just play more tonight—I’m not mad.

"Come on, log in. We’re reaching Diamond tonight."

I tried to keep things light, but I could feel a strange chill in his reply. My fingers hovered over the mouse, waiting for his familiar invite.

But weirdly, the guy who used to effortlessly carry me kept making mistakes tonight. We played all evening and didn’t gain a single rank—a total waste of effort. The one who always called me ‘babe’ and picked me up at the base wouldn’t even let me ride on him in-game. Stranger still, the guy who would stay up late gaming and chatting with me now said he was done at eight.

The whole night felt off—like we were dancing to a song that was just a little out of tune. My cats sensed it too, circling my feet instead of napping on my lap.

"It’s only eight. Don’t tell me you’re going to bed already."

My voice sounded too sharp, even to my own ears. I tried to soften it, but the frustration was hard to hide.

"...Don’t you need to take care of the kids?"

He paused. The crackle of his headset made the silence feel even heavier.

"They’re fine—playing with their toys."

I glanced at my cats wrestling over a toy ball and grumbled, "You’re acting really weird today. Feels like your mind’s somewhere else. Did something happen?"

The tension had settled in my chest like a weight. I eyed the time, realizing the night was slipping away and with it, the easy connection we used to share.

He’d just wiped out the enemy team, then suddenly stopped moving. I heard him take a deep breath.

"I do like you. But my family is pretty old-fashioned—my parents are both in their first marriage..."

I was stunned. What does that have to do with gaming? Is it rare for someone’s parents to both be in their first marriage?

The words spun around my mind, senseless. My family’s got its own mess, but come on—it’s not the Stone Age.

I stayed silent, and he seemed to finally make up his mind.

I could hear the tremor in his voice, like he was confessing something big. The game lobby music played on, cheery and completely out of place.

"I really like kids, but I hope my future child will be my and my wife’s biological child..."

Now I was even more confused. I like kids too, but since when do you not need a man and a woman to have kids?

I wanted to laugh at the absurdity—was he picturing me with a secret toddler stashed under the bed? Milo meowed loudly, as if in agreement.

I was just about to speak when suddenly a teammate with a thick Boston accent turned on his mic:

"Dude, if you wanna talk about marriage, do it at home, okay? The dragon’s about to kill us and you’re over here talking about kids! I’m one win from Diamond!"

I ripped my headset off. Crap—did this idiot turn on team voice for everyone?

My face flamed. Somewhere out there, a guy in a Red Sox cap was probably cackling into his mic, and I was dying of secondhand embarrassment.

After the game ended, before I could ask what he meant, my boyfriend quickly said good night and logged off.

My hands hovered over the keyboard, itching to send a message. But the words wouldn’t come, and the screen felt cold. I just sat there, surrounded by the sounds of my cats, and let the silence stretch. Somewhere, a game lobby was waiting, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to log back in.