After the Divorce, the Highest-Paid Player Begs Me to Come Back

"Why didn't you come pick me up at the airport today?"

Joe pushed the front door open just as I was sitting at the coffee table peeling an orange, eyes on the pre-game analysis show.

Every time he came back from an away game, I used to be at the airport two hours early, rain or shine, holding a homemade sign, bouncing on my toes like a little girl scanning the crowd.

"Got busy." I popped an orange segment into my mouth and walked into the kitchen.

He followed, trying to wrap his arms around my waist from behind.

Every time he did that, I used to spin around with a smile and loop my arms around his neck.

But this time, my body moved faster than my brain. I stepped left, dodging him.

He didn't seem to notice. He started digging through his duffel bag. "London away game this time—didn't get a chance to buy anything good." He pulled out a silk scarf. "Just this scarf. Natalie said you women all love this stuff."

The scarf was Chiefs red and gold, the tag stamped with the NFL official store logo.

A bitter ache crept up my chest.

He always did this. A little gift to make up for it, as if that meant I got to be part of every leg of his season. And then he just assumed I'd be waiting in the same spot next time.

"You don't like it?" His brow furrowed when he didn't get the usual delight.

"It's nice." I gave him a faint smile.

His frown deepened. He tugged at the collar button—that little tell he had whenever he felt guilty or nervous.

"Babe, are you still mad I didn't take you?" He knitted his brows. "London's too far. Ten hours on a plane would be too hard on you. After the season, we'll plan something properly. I'll give you the perfect trip."

I didn't react. He seemed to think that settled it, leaned in naturally for a kiss.

I raised a hand, pressing lightly against his shoulder.

He froze.

"I'm tired, Joe."

It was the first time I'd ever turned him down. He looked a little thrown, a little impatient.

"I know you're upset. But I'm thinking about your health! Ever since last Thanksgiving, you won't let me touch you. You're always saying you're tired, you need rest. So I didn't take you on the long trip. Next time, I'll bring you a gift. Hmm?"

Last Thanksgiving... I was lying in a hospital bed, alone, grieving the child I'd lost—while my husband was having dinner with another woman. I called more than ten times. No answer.

The bitterness rose in my throat. "Long trips you don't take me. Short trips—have you ever taken me?"

Joe let out a cold laugh. "Ha. I get it. You're jealous over Natalie again."

When I didn't respond, my cold indifference seemed to get under his skin. He snapped back into that superior posture, voice icy: "Natalie said she doesn't know where to put the souvenir she brought back from London. The girl's just careless. I'm going to help her find it."

"Mm."

He didn't leave right away. He seemed to be waiting for me to blow up at him. Or beg him to stay.

After all, every time he went to Natalie before, I'd sulk and demand to know if she mattered more to him than I did.

Joe always said Natalie was just the team nutritionist, alone in Kansas City with no family. As captain, it was his duty to look after her. And then he'd walk out without a second thought.

"What, playing hard to get now? Trying to get my attention?" Joe narrowed his eyes, like he had me all figured out.

He sneered and slammed the door behind him.

The house fell into dead silence.

A long time passed before I stood and walked to the study. Joe's football memorabilia lined the shelves.

He used to point at the tactical board on the wall and say he'd take me to every away game—from Kansas City to London, from Mexico City to Munich.

I looked. A mini London helmet. A Mexico City game ball. A Munich beer stein... Five years. His team had played on four continents. I'd never even set foot in a family box at the stadium.

At the very bottom was a custom playbook. Soft leather, Chiefs logo stamped in the bottom right corner.

Beside every tactical diagram were Natalie's notes. Her handwriting was round and neat. Pressed tight against Joe's. I ran my fingers gently over the cover.

Back then, Joe had laughed and explained—Natalie just graduated, still a kid at heart. She insisted on writing in it so she wouldn't forget each tactical adjustment. Nutritionists needed to understand tactics too, to plan meals precisely.

Except this was my birthday gift to him! He'd been thrilled when he got it, holding me close: "It'll record every season we go through together!"

Now the study light fell on those unfamiliar, intimate scribbles, like they were mocking how powerless I was. But it didn't matter. I squeezed my eyes shut. One more month and I'd be gone for good.

I looked around the house, mentally cataloging what to take.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A message from my best friend Selena.

"That lawyer you asked me about—the one who specializes in athlete divorces. He wants to know when you're free to meet."

I saved the number, renamed it "Housekeeping."

This time, I was really leaving.