Marriage Scoreboard

My husband, Mark, lost a point every time he ditched me for his childhood sweetheart, Sarah. By our second anniversary, our score was dangerously low, and then I miscarried our first child.

...

When they wheeled me out of the operating room, the hallway was empty. A raging thunderstorm outside D Sarahs always been terrified of storms. Mark never showed up, not even when I was discharged. I pulled up my phone and deleted the remaining ten points. Zero. We were done.

It started with a mango pudding. Mark came home from a business trip, handed it to me like a peace offering. But Im allergic to mangoes. Mark knew that. In the beginning, hed be so careful, shielding me from anything mango-flavored. He doesnt even like sweet stuff. Sarahs the one with the mango obsession.

I glanced at the pudding, then tossed it aside, going back to my instant ramen. Mark frowned. "Why are you eating that junk again? I thought you loved dessert? This place is famous, I brought it back specially for you." It was from some trendy dessert place in Austin, all over Instagram. Mark hates those kinds of places. He would never go there himself.

Im allergic to mangoes, I said, finally looking up after finishing my noodles. Mark flinched, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. SorryIts their signature dish. I forgot about your allergy He tried to recover. Didnt you mention that new steakhouse? We could go tonight?

No, I said, wiping my mouth and standing up. Our anniversarys over. No point. Hed forgotten. He was the one who insisted we celebrate every anniversary. Mr. Romance, always saying love needed to be celebrated. This was the first time we hadn't.

Marks loaded, good-looking, young and successful. Everyone thinks Im lucky to have him. They dont see the scorecard on my phone, the endless string of minus signs. Only my phone knew the truth about our marriage. I was about to deduct point number 491 when a sharp pain ripped through my abdomen. Warm liquid trickled down my legs. I didnt dare look at the stain spreading across the white sofa. I just stared at Mark, my face pale. "Hospitaltake me"

I hadnt seen panic in his eyes in a long time. As they wheeled me into surgery, I heard the doctor lecturing him. Shes pregnant! How could you let her overwork herself? She was just here a few days ago, collapsed from exhaustion! I told you she needed rest! Why arent you taking this seriously?

Marks business trip was actually a concert in Austin with Sarah. Hed dropped everything, leaving me to clean up his mess at the company, finishing his proposals, working late. I never thought it would cost me my baby. Before the operating room doors swung shut, I saw the dazed look on his face.

When I woke up, the room was empty. The nurse gave me a pitying look. Your husband said he had something important to take care of. He left. Ill help you back to your room The anesthesia was wearing off, leaving me in a haze.

Thunder cracked, illuminating the hospital room. I woke up with a dry throat. The room was still empty. I struggled out of bed and poured myself a glass of water. It was ice cold. Thinking about everything, I poured it out and made myself a fresh, warm one. Sipping slowly, I touched my abdomen. There had been a life there.

I pulled out my phone and switched to my burner account. One contact: Sarah. Id added her on a whim. Back when Mark and I first started dating, Id made a private Instagram account to document our relationship D no faces, just little everyday moments. Sarah stumbled across it and messaged me. Girl, your boyfriend sounds just like mine! He hates sweets, but hell drive all over town to get me fresh mangoes! My post had been about Mark picking out the mango pieces from my fruit salad. On impulse, I added her. Thats how I found out her boyfriend was Mark.

I confronted him, demanded a break-up. He begged, swore he hadnt cheated. Shes just a childhood friend, we grew up together. Shes not well, she has thisfantasy about us. His mother even called, backing up his story. I believed him. But why, even after we were married, did he always drop everything for Sarah?

Sarah hadn't deleted my burner account. Whether it was intentional or not, I didnt know. She'd posted a new picture. Mark, wearing a pink teddy bear apron, carefully tending to a pot on the stove. The caption: Marks the best! Knows Im scared of thunderstorms, so he came over to keep me company. A man who cooks is super hot!

Marks an amazing cook. He won me over with a shrimp and vermicelli stir-fry when we first started dating. Thinking back, I hadn't had a home-cooked meal from him in years. Every time I asked, hed say he was too tired. Turns out, I was just asking the wrong person.

Three days in the hospital, no Mark, no word. I called him. His phone was off. I thought about the little condo down south. I had a sudden urge to see it. Bundling up, I snuck out of the hospital and grabbed a cab. I hoped they werent there.

The condo wasnt big, a pre-wedding gift from Mark, in my name. Wed decorated it together. Hed sourced every piece of furniture and material I wanted, no questions asked. He proposed there, after we finished decorating. Marry me, Claire. I want this place to be your security. Youre not adrift. Let me be your anchor. My parents died young, leaving me with nothing. Mark told his family I'd always have a home of my own. So please, anywhere but there.

As I reached the door, laughter drifted out, shattering my hopes. Mark, this rug stains so easily. Can we replace it? That rug was a piece by Marks favorite Italian designer, some elusive artist whose work only popped up in small galleries. Mark had always wanted one. Id pulled strings, paid a fortune to get it for him. Marks voice, indulgent: Whatever you want, sweetheart.

The last flicker of hope died.

I tried the door code. The cold, electronic beep mocked me. Incorrect Password. I took a deep breath and tried my fingerprint. Thankfully, he hadnt deleted that yet.

The condo felt alien. The minimalist, cream-colored dcor was gone, replaced with warm, girly touches. My bedroom the mattress was the same. Even the sheets were the ones Id bought. But my picture on the nightstand was turned face down. My closet was overflowing with Sarahs clothes. The price tag was still on my new pajamas. A strange perfume hung in the air. Sarahs underwear lay sprawled across the bed.

Back in the living room, the clashing dcor D my cool tones against Sarahs warm ones D made me nauseous. She was slowly, methodically taking over my life. My carefully curated home felt violated. I reached for a pink teacup and hurled it against the wall. The shattering sound was strangely satisfying, like a release valve. I stood there, amidst the shards, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over me.

I went back to the hospital, hired a nurse, ignored work, and focused on healing. A few days later, Mark called. His voice was hesitant. "Claire, did you go back to the condo recently?"

No, I said, sipping chicken broth.

Mark, Im still in the hospital. Remember?

He stammered. "Sorry, things have been crazy at work, I've been so busy"

I understand, I cut him off. Im being discharged tomorrow. Will you be there?

Mark, I cant find my teddy bear slippers! Theyre my favorite! Sarahs whine cut through the phone. Mark quickly mumbled something about trying his best and hung up. Teddy bear slippers? Did I cut them up? Throw them away? I couldn't remember.

He didn't show. I stood outside the hospital, watching a young couple walk in. The wifes bump was barely there, but her husband hovered protectively, both hands on her, as if she might shatter. She gave him a playful shove. He grinned. Happiness is contagious. I smiled, too. Until the wind stung my eyes and a few tears escaped. The wind quickly dried them.

I pulled up my phone, deleted the last ten points. When I found out about Sarah, Id given our marriage a score. One point deducted every time he chose her over me. I loved him, so Id started with 500. Two years. Gone. 500 times Mark had chosen Sarah over me.

That night, he finally showed up. Not to check on me, but to accuse me. "Claire, when did you start lying?" The disappointment in his eyes was almost comical.

"Lying about what?" I asked, making myself some hot chocolate.

He threw his jacket on the couch, his voice tight. "You were at the condo! The security cameras across the street caught you! Are you insane? Trashing your own place?"

I laughed. "Mark, you actually remember it's my place?"

"So? Sarah's back in town, she hasn't found a place yet. Given our families history, its only natural Id help her out. Why are you being so petty? Arguing with a young girl, Claire, don't you have anything better to do?" He rubbed his temples, looking tired. "You know, she was really upset when she saw the mess. You owe her an apology."

I looked him straight in the eye, not caring if he was delusional or not. "Mark, I want a divorce."