AT MY WEDDING, MY WIFE BLINDFOLDED ME FOR A PRANK—WHEN I TOOK IT OFF, 140 PEOPLE WERE LAUGHING, AND THE VIDEO FOLLOWED US HOME

The rain was coming down in sheets by the time I pulled my car into Nate’s driveway in Covington. The windshield wipers beat a frantic, uneven rhythm against the glass. I sat in the car for five minutes, staring at the warm, yellow light spilling from my best friend's porch. My phone had buzzed three times with missed calls from Sophie, then stopped. The silence that followed was heavier than any argument.

I killed the engine, got out without an umbrella, and jogged up the wooden steps, pounding on Nate's front door with the side of my fist.

It took thirty seconds before the deadbolt clicked. Nate swung the door open, wearing an old grey hoodie and sweatpants, holding a half-empty bottle of beer. His expression went from annoyed to absolute shock as the porch light illuminated my soaked hair and pale, drawn face.

"Jesus, Ethan," Nate said, stepping back. "What happened? Did you crash?"

"No," I muttered, brushing past him into the warm entryway. "My marriage just crashed."

Nate closed the door quickly, locking it behind us. He led me into the kitchen, shoved me down onto a barstool, and shoved a fresh bottle of beer into my hand. "Talk to me. What are you doing here at nine o'clock at night in the middle of a monsoon?"

I took a long pull from the bottle, the cold bitter liquid burning my throat. "Sophie and I had another fight. The big one."

Nate leaned against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck. "About the garter thing again?"

"About everything," I said, staring at the condensation dripping down the glass. "She told me why she picked it, Nate. Marissa didn't just spring it on her. Sophie knew it was polarizing. She knew grooms hated it. She picked it specifically because she thought I was too stiff and wanted to loosen me up in front of 140 people."

Nate winced, looking down at the floor. "Man... look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought the blindfold out. If I had known—"

"You didn't know because nobody told me," I interrupted, my voice sharp. "But that's not even the worst part. When I told her tonight that she humiliated me, do you know what her defense was? Her defense was that I deserved it because I have no sense of humor. Because I'm a machine."

Nate was quiet for a long time. He took a sip of his beer, his eyes tracking the label. "She said that?"

"Word for word."

"She's wrong," Nate said quietly. "You're not a machine, Ethan. You're just... careful. You like things structured. There's nothing wrong with that."

"There is to her," I said, resting my forehead against my cool palm. "She didn't marry me for who I am, Nate. She married the version of me she thought she could upgrade. She wanted a project. A guy she could mold into the life of the party, and when I turned out to be just a guy who designs ventilation systems and likes quiet nights, she decided to manufacture a moment to force the issue."

"That's heavy, man," Nate said softly. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," I said, looking up at him. "She told me if I walked out tonight, not to bother coming back."

Nate let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Did you mean it?"

I looked toward the front window, where the rain lashed relentlessly against the glass. I thought of the empty guest room, the silent wedding albums, the texts from Marissa, and the cold look in Sophie's eyes when she told me I was too stiff.