She Married Him In Game

On the day of our engagement party, Gwen got married.

Just not to me.

She did it in a fantasy MMO, in front of thousands of digital spectators, while virtual fireworks exploded across her screen for five straight minutes.

My mother stood beside her, slightly bent over, waiting for those same five minutes.

Gwen casually slid off her noise-canceling headphones. "Sorry, Mrs. Mitchell. Did you say something? I didn't catch that."

My mother forced a small, apologetic smile. "Gwen, sweetie, I was looking at the catering invoice. It says we only have four tables reserved for Devon's side of the family. Is that a mistake? I thought we agreed on ten?"

Gwen didn't even look up from her screen. "Are you saying I made a mistake?"

My mothers face went pale. She waved her hands in a flurry of panic. "No, no! Of course not. It must be my Southern drawlI probably mumbled and got it all twisted. I'm so sorry."

Only after Gwen finished typing out a thank-you to her virtual wedding guests did she offer a solution. "If we're short on tables, then just tell your family to invite fewer people."

My throat tightened.

Ten minutes ago, the venue manager had sent me a text that was still glowing on my screen:

Mr. Mitchell, I am so sorry. Ms. Foster gave us strict instructions. Toby Ward's sister is returning to town, and she needs the extra ballroom space to host her welcome-back party.

In the corner of the living room, my mothers eyes brimmed with tears as she unlocked her phone to start texting our relatives in Charleston.

I reached over and gently pressed my hand over hers. "Mom, don't. If she wants fewer of us there, let's make it easy for her. None of us are going."

She had married Toby in the digital world. In the real world, I was about to give her exactly what she wanted.

My moms eyes grew redder as she patted the back of my hand.

"I know how hard things are for you two," she whispered.

She thought I was just throwing a temper tantrum. Eager to smooth things over, she told me shed make my favorite Southern comfort dish tonightspicy blackened catfish with homemade green tomato relishand left for the local market with her canvas tote bag.

I unlocked my phone and sent a message to our family group chat:

The wedding is off. Don't worry about booking flights or hotels anymore. Thank you all.

After hitting send, I opened my chat with Gwen, tapped her profile, and removed her from my pinned chats.

Hands slid around my waist from behind. Gwen rested her chin in the crook of my shoulder. "Why the long face, Devon? Is your cold still acting up?"

Last Wednesday, during a torrential downpour, she had taken my car to pick up Toby from work because he didn't have an umbrella. I had been left stranded at a bus stop for two hours in the freezing rain. By the time I checked myself into the ER with a 103-degree fever to get an IV drip, she was sitting in a darkened theater, sharing popcorn with Toby.

I unwrapped her hands from my waist and took a step back. "That was quite the grand wedding you had in the game."

Gwens brow immediately furrowed. "Toby isn't good at the game. He keeps getting targeted by high-level players. Getting 'married' in-game just makes it easier for me to carry him through the high-level dungeons." She sighed, sounding thoroughly exasperated. "Devon, I know the difference between fantasy and reality. Its literally just lines of code. Are you really going to start a fight over some pixels?"

Years ago, when I begged her to play that exact game with me, she wouldn't even bother setting up an account, calling it a childish waste of time. Now, for Toby, she had grinded all the way to max level.

"When I asked you to play with me, you said it was childish."

A flicker of guilt crossed her face, but she quickly masked it. "Come on, that was years ago. People change. Tell you whatnext time I'm helping Toby farm, you can tag along."

I shook my head. "No thanks. I already uninstalled it."

Her shoulders relaxed, as if she had just escaped a tedious chore. "By the way, when is your mother heading back to Charleston?"

Gwen had complained that the engagement prep was too tedious, which was the only reason I brought my mother up to Chicago to help. My mom had been here for exactly two days. She was so terrified of making a mess in this sleek, minimalist penthouse that she barely sat on the edges of the sofas. And now Gwen couldn't wait to throw her out?

She reached out to ruffle my hair, a gesture she used when she wanted to placate me. "Toby's sister is being released from prison tomorrow." She said it so casually. "She has nowhere to go. I need you to have your mom pack up so we can clear out the guest room for her."

The blood rushed to my ears, drowning out the ambient hum of the apartment with a deafening ring. My voice shook. "You're kicking my mother out to make room for Tabitha Ward?"

"Devon..."

"Do you even remember why she went to prison, Gwen? She stole my high school transcripts and sabotaged my Ivy League enrollment! Because of her, my admissions offer was revoked, and I ended up trapped at a sketchy, unaccredited diploma mill!"

Gwen frowned, her tone hardening into irritation. "She paid her debt to society. She spent three years in prison, Devon. What more do you want from her?"

"She ruined my entire life!" I choked out, the pain ripping through my chest.

"And her life is ruined too," Gwen cut in.

The words hit me like a physical blow. The warmth drained from my face. Gwen sighed, stepping forward to pull me into a tight embrace. She stroked my back with slow, practiced movements, as if soothing a stray cat that had bared its claws.

"Because you insisted on pressing charges, Toby had to carry the weight of his entire family alone. These past few years have been incredibly hard on him. You didn't just lock up Tabitha; you shattered their entire household." She kissed the top of my head. "Be good, Devon. Stop making a scene over nothing."

I held onto a desperate shred of reality. "This is my home."

Her voice turned ice-cold. "It's my penthouse, Devon."

The last flickering ember of hope inside me died right then. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and forced a faint, lifeless smile.

"Fine." I pulled back. "I bought my mom a train ticket back home for three days from now. She'll be gone."

Gwen blinked, momentarily taken aback by how easily I'd surrendered. She leaned in to press a kiss to my forehead. "I know this has been stressful for you. Once the wedding is over, I'll take you to Bali. You've always wanted to go there."

She was wrong. The one who had always dreamed of Bali was Toby.

I had already booked the tickets. Two of them. One for my mother, and one for me.

Around noon, my mother returned with her groceries. She whipped up a fragrant, spicy blackened catfish, then reached deep into her suitcase to pull out a sealed glass jar, a conspiratorial grin on her face.

"Devon, look what I brought all the way from Charleston!"

The moment she unscrewed the lid, the sharp, pungent aroma of homemade pickled green tomatoes and okra filled the air. It was a Southern staple from my childhood, the perfect, tangy side dish to cut through the heat of the fish.

"You always know exactly what I need, Mom," I said, a genuine smile breaking across my face as I reached for a fork.

Gwen emerged from the kitchen holding a mug of artisanal pour-over coffee. The moment the scent hit her nose, her brow contorted into a tight, disgusted knot.

"Ugh, what is that awful smell?" She covered her nose and mouth with her hand, her expression sour. "Throw that out. Now."

My mothers hand froze mid-air. The warmth on her face crumbled into raw embarrassment. She hurriedly screwed the lid back on, looking like a child who had just broken a valuable vase. "Oh, Gwen, sweetie... Devon told me you've been exhausted with work. These pickled tomatoes are supposed to help boost your appetite. I packed them in a double-sealed jar so they wouldn't leak on the trip..."

I didn't wait. I jabbed a fork into the jar, pulled out a slice of pickled tomato, and popped it in my mouth. "I think it smells amazing."

Gwens face darkened completely. "Devon Mitchell, are you actively trying to push my buttons today?"

Back in college, when we first started dating, she had eaten half a jar of these exact pickles that my mother had mailed us. She had smiled, her eyes bright, and told me it was the most comforting, soulful thing shed ever tasted.

But then, a year ago, Toby had wrinkled his nose at a jar and offhandedly muttered, "Ugh, smells like trailer-park trash."

Since that day, Gwen had never touched another pickled tomato. In fact, she acted as though the mere scent disgusted her. She loved what Toby loved; she despised what Toby despised. She had mastered the art of aligning her tastes with his.

I tightened the lid and pulled the jar protectively behind my back. "If the smell bothers you, you're welcome to stay in your office."

Gwen let out a dry, harsh laugh, turned on her heel, and slammed her office door shut.

My mothers eyes brimmed with tears. She gently tugged at my sleeve. "Devon, please don't fight with her because of me. You have to spend the rest of your life with this girl. I don't want her holding a grudge against you because of some silly pickles."

My throat burned with a sudden, sharp ache. I turned and squeezed her calloused, worn hand. "Mom, this has nothing to do with you. And I'm not marrying her."

She stared at me, stunned. I looked back at her with absolute, unwavering certainty. Realizing I meant every word, she pulled me into her arms, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. "Oh, my sweet boy... you've been hurting so much, and I didn't even see it. It's okay. We won't marry her. We don't need her. You and I can make a good life back home."

Gwen didn't come to bed until well past midnight. I lay under the covers, pretending to be asleep.

The shower was running, and through the frosted glass of the master bath, I could hear her laughinga soft, intimate sound reserved only for one person. She was on a speaker call with Toby.

"You want to see my abs?" she teased over the sound of rushing water. "If I show you now, what's next? You going to want to touch them too?"

A pause, then she chuckled. "Don't worry, I've taken care of everything for your sister. A reward? What kind of reward are you giving me?"

The line went quiet for a moment. She cleared her throat, her voice dropping to a slightly flustered register. "Alright, that's enough. Don't you dare show that photo to anyone else."

My stomach violently churned. I gripped the edge of the blanket until my knuckles turned white.

Gwen stepped out of the bathroom, her cheeks flushed, smelling of jasmine and hot steam. She slid under the covers and immediately reached for the buttons of my pajama shirt. It was her usual pattern: get worked up by Toby's flirting, then come to my bed to relieve the tension.

"Don't touch me," I snapped, a wave of revulsion washing over me as I shoved her away.

"Are you still throwing a tantrum?" she asked, sighing.

As I pushed her, her silk robe parted slightly. There, etched into the pale skin just beneath her left collarbone, was a fresh tattoo.

A black hawk with spread wings. It was the exact same design that Tabitha Ward had tattooed on her arm.

I stared at the dark ink, my voice trembling with cold rage. "You got a tattoo of that?"

Gwen glanced down, casually pulling her collar closed as if it were nothing. "Toby has had terrible nightmares these past few years because his sister was locked up. I got the tattoo to help soothe his anxiety. It's not like I tattooed his name on my body, Devon. Why are you making a big deal out of this?"

She had permanently branded herself with the mark of the woman who destroyed my future, placing it right over her heart. All to soothe Toby's "anxiety."

Without a word, I threw off the duvet and stood up.

"Devon!" she called out behind me, but I didn't stop. I walked into the study, shut the door, and spent the night on the small leather sofa.

When I woke up the next morning and opened the door, the guest room was completely empty. My mother's canvas tote bag, her old suitcaseeverything was gone.

Gwen was standing by the entryway, slipping off her designer heels.

"Where is my mother?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"I booked her an early train and sent her on her way," Gwen said smoothly. "Toby and his sister are arriving soon. I didn't want any awkward run-ins to ruin the mood."

She had kicked my mother out while I was asleep. And my mom, terrified of causing a scene or making things harder for me, hadn't made a single sound. She had just quietly packed her things and slipped away in the dark.

My hands shook as I dialed my mothers number.

"Devon, sweetie! I'm at the hotel near the station," her voice came through the line, forced and bright. "It's beautiful here, really. Don't you worry about me."

My eyes stung with hot tears. Only after verifying she was safe did I let out a trembling breath and hang up.

The moment the call ended, the doorbell rang.

It was Toby, and standing right beside him was Tabitha.

"Gwen!" Toby beamed, stepping inside and kicking off his sneakers as if he owned the place.

Gwen instantly closed the laptop on the dining table and went to greet them.

The laptop screen was still glowing with the files of a high-stakes multi-million-dollar merger she had claimed was so urgent that "the world could end and she couldn't afford a single distraction." But now, with Toby here, she abandoned it without a second thought.

I remembered the night I lay shivering on this very sofa, burning with a fever, begging her to take me to the emergency room.

She hadn't even looked up from her screen. "Let me finish this email first," she had said.

That email took three hours.

"Come on in, Tabitha! This is the room Gwen set up for you," Toby said proudly, pointing toward the guest room my mother had just been forced to vacate.

Tabitha's eyes slowly swept over me, her gaze slimy and patronizing. "Devon Mitchell. Long time no see."

Swallowing a surge of nausea, I took a step back.

Toby strolled over, wrapping his arm familiarly around Gwen's. He looked at me with an insufferable air of magnanimity. "Hey, Devon. My sister told me she's willing to let bygones be bygones. She's a bigger person than most, and she forgives you for putting her away. Now that we're all living under one roof, we're basically family."

My hands clenches into tight fists, my nails biting so hard into my palms that they nearly drew blood. "She falsified my transcripts and got me kicked out of Columbia! How dare she talk about forgiving me!"

"Devon!" Gwens voice cut through the air, sharp and heavy with disappointment. "That was years ago. You have a stable, comfortable job now, don't you? Why do you have to keep dragging up the past?" She shook her head. "You need to move forward. Stop being so petty."

My vision blurred.

Seven years ago, on the day we finally uncovered the truth, Gwen had been the one with tear-filled eyes. She had slapped Tabitha across the face, held my shaking body close, and sworn that she would spend the rest of her life making things up to me, protecting me from ever feeling that kind of pain again.

Now, she was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with my abuser, lecturing me on grace.

I lowered my gaze, staring down at my shoes. "Right," I whispered. "You're right. I need to move forward."

That afternoon, I quietly rescheduled my flight to Charleston for the next day.

At nine the next morning, I walked into the offices of Tidal Ventures with my printed resignation letter tucked neatly inside my bag.

When I first graduated from that unaccredited, joke of a college, my resume was a black mark. Every prestigious firm shut its doors in my face. I had spent countless nights in a cramped, moldy studio apartment, crying until I physically retched from the sheer despair of a stolen future.

Back then, Gwen had held me tight, wiping away my tears. "If none of these corporate bastards will hire you," she had whispered, "then I'll build a company just for you."

And she did. Tidal Ventures grew from a tiny startup into a private equity giant. To protect her reputation and avoid any whispers of nepotism, I had refused a high-level entry role. I started at the very bottom, working eighty-hour weeks, slowly grinding my way up to Chief of Staff. My entire youth, my blood, and my tears were poured into these foundations.

But before I could even hand in my resignation, HR called me.

I was being let go.

The very company built on the promise of my salvation was throwing me out like garbage.

I pushed open the door to my office. Toby was sitting in my ergonomic chair, casually sipping coffee from my favorite black ceramic mug.

I turned to look at Gwen, who was standing by the window. My voice shook. "You gave him my job?"

Gwen adjusted the silver cufflinks of her blazer, her face completely indifferent. "Toby was getting lonely sitting around the penthouse all day. Having him here gives him something to do, and keeping him close makes it easier for me to look after him."

"And what about me?" I asked.

"You can stay home and focus on the wedding plans," she said, as if she were doing me a favor. "You need a break anyway. Toby has had a rough life, and with his sister just getting out of prison, he has no safety net. Giving up your seat to him is the least you can do. Consider it a way to make amends."

Toby spun my expensive pen between his fingers, a smug, gloating smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah, Devon. After all, my sister spent three years in prison because of you, even though she didn't really do anything wrong. She only altered your college records back then because of me, so I could"

He froze, abruptly cutting himself off and slapping a hand over his mouth.

Every drop of warmth drained from my body. "What did you just say?"

Gwen let out a heavy sigh, looking almost relieved. "Alright, since it's out in the open, there's no point in hiding it anymore."

She looked me straight in the eye. "I've always known, Devon. Tabitha didn't act alone. Toby was the one who begged her to sabotage your transcripts."

"Why?" My voice was barely a whisper.

"Because he was terrified of losing me," Gwen said, her voice soft with pity. "He was scared that if you got into Columbia with me, you'd be too perfect, too successful, and he'd be left behind. He was just insecure, Devon."

She wasn't just letting them steal my past; she was romanticizing the theft.

"But since we're being completely honest," Gwen continued, her tone chillingly casual, "there's one more thing you should know."

"The night your mother arrived in Chicago and had that severe asthma attack... Toby was the one who swapped her inhaler with a dummy cartridge."

My lungs seized. I couldn't breathe.

I remembered that night vividly. My mother had collapsed on the hardwood floor, her face turning a terrifying shade of blue. If the paramedics had arrived even five minutes later, she would have died.

And Gwen had stood outside the ICU, her arms crossed, murmuring coldly, "People from the South are tough, Devon. She's fine. Don't make a mountain out of a molehill."

"But in the end, she was fine," Gwen said now, dismissing the horror with a wave of her hand. "She only spent a couple of days in the hospital."

She knew. She knew Toby had stolen my future, and she knew he had nearly murdered my mother. Yet she still shielded him, excused him, and loved him through it all.

Something inside me didn't just break; it ground down into dust. I let out a dry, hollow laugh. "Gwen... do you honestly think my mothers life and my own are that worthless to you?"

She frowned, stepping forward to wrap her arms around me, but I flinched away.

"Devon, don't be like this," she pleaded. "I know Toby can be selfish and reckless. I know he makes terrible mistakes, but deep down, he's just a broken kid who didn't know how to handle his fear."

She reached for my hands. "But I will make it up to you. I promise. Once we're married, I'll give you anything you want. Whatever you want to buy, wherever you want to go, we'll do it." She smiled softly, trying to coax me back into submission. "Be reasonable, sweetheart. Go home and get ready for the wedding. Let me take care of the rest."

Her promises were like rubber checks from a bankrupt bank, and I was done waiting in line to cash them. I didn't even have the energy to cry. The anger was gone, replaced by a cold, vast emptiness.

I nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll go home."

She smiled, reaching up to gently ruffle my hair. "That's my boy. I'll have the driver take you."

"No," I said, stepping back. "I'll take a cab."

At 3:00 PM, I sat on a cold plastic chair at O'Hare International Airport. I pulled out my phone and sent one last text to Toby:

You can have her. The groom's spot is yours.

My mother sat beside me, her worn hands clutching mine. Her eyes were filled with quiet anxiety. "Devon... are you sure about this? Ten years is a long time. You two were supposed to get married next week."

I smiled gently, reaching over to tuck a loose strand of gray hair behind her ear. "Mom, I just want to go home."

The tears spilled over her lashes, and she nodded fiercely, squeezing my hand. "Okay. Let's go home. We don't need their fancy high life. We'll go back to Charleston, and I'll make you the best blackened catfish you've ever had."

I took her hand, stood up, and walked down the boarding bridge without looking back.