Married for the XP

My husband lived in my computer, and I was twenty-three minutes late getting home to him. Since we’d never met in person, shared a meal, or exchanged photographs, I thought that made me a committed wife. The customer standing at the returns counter didn’t share my priorities. He held a toilet seat in one hand and a receipt in the other, glaring as if I’d personally ruined his evening. “You’re telling me I can’t return it because I installed it?”

“Sir, I’m telling you I can’t take back a used toilet seat.” Eight hours into my shift, my patience was running dangerously low. He inspected the evidence in his hand and asked whether cleaning it would change anything. I repeated the policy, resisted the urge to lecture him on hygiene, and watched him storm toward the exit. My phone vibrated against my hip before I could celebrate.

Ash: Your husband has been abandoned on our anniversary.

The message came with a screenshot of his character outside our cottage, wearing a flower crown and holding a fishing rod like a weapon. Behind him, Willowbrook glowed beneath a pink sunset, every building a reminder of six years spent together. I balanced my phone against a box of misplaced plumbing fittings and typed a response.

Briar: We’re not having an anniversary until tomorrow.

My name was Kate Miller, twenty-nine, assistant manager at a hardware store where people blamed me for corporate policies. Online, I was Briar, a level thirty-eight Runesmith with crafting supplies and unfinished projects. Jack Sullivan was Ash, a level forty-one Vanguard obsessed with swords. We’d played Everrealm Online together almost every evening for six years, though we’d never exchanged pictures. He knew my coffee order, my sister’s birthday, and my temper.

I finished counting registers, locked the office, and hurried into the parking lot with aching feet and an empty stomach. Jack had sent another screenshot showing an empty chair beside our virtual fireplace. Underneath, he’d written, Cold, hungry, and neglected. I called him on our voice chat app while I waited for my windshield to clear. “Most husbands would be concerned their wives were working late,” I said.

“Most wives would remember their husbands need feeding,” he replied, his laugh filling my car. “There’s fish in the kitchen chest,” I reminded him. “Raw fish, Kate, and we both know I can’t cook,” I told him, adding that defeating the Grave Warden twelve times ought to qualify him to operate a frying pan. He threatened to invite Eli, the village blacksmith, to dinner instead.

The drive home took fifteen minutes, which Jack spent describing festival decorations already appearing throughout Willowbrook. He’d apparently stopped someone from replacing my flower beds with enormous anniversary statues, and he wanted to be thanked. I reminded him those flowers had survived three raids and his disastrous chicken-raising experiment. When I pulled into my apartment complex, he asked whether I’d eaten anything since lunch. I lied badly enough that he ordered me to get dinner.

My apartment was small, quiet, and permanently one laundry basket away from disaster. I ordered noodles, changed into leggings, and sat at the desk beside a framed picture of my younger sister. Unopened bills sat beside the keyboard, but I pushed them aside; I couldn’t deal with anything else tonight. The Everrealm launcher filled my monitor, and familiar music spilled through my headset. Six years in, that login song still made me feel like I’d finally gotten home.

The anniversary banner advertised new kingdoms, professions, and social systems. Dragons circled a castle, undoubtedly advertising overpriced outfits. I selected Briar from the character screen, where her silver-haired avatar stood in a green cloak, a hammer at her belt. She looked nothing like me, which was the fun. A moment later, Willowbrook loaded around her.

Evening sunlight washed over cobblestone streets, wooden rooftops, and flower-overflowing gardens. We’d built it while arguing about storage sheds. Our cottage sat by the river, its shutters crooked and herb beds tidy. Ash waited on the front steps in dark armor, still wearing that ridiculous flower crown. He waved despite our open voice chat.

“There she is, the woman who abandoned me for plumbing supplies,” Jack announced. I moved my character closer and examined the flowers drooping across his helmet. “You look like a bridesmaid who lost a fight with a garden.” He rotated slowly, making the crown wobble in every direction. “I dressed up for you, and this is the thanks I get?”

Our marriage started four years earlier with a patch that introduced household bonuses. Marriage meant shared storage, cheaper taxes, and ten percent extra quest experience. Jack proposed in town hall while crunching chips into his microphone. I’d accepted because we needed another building plot, the bonuses were too good to waste, and his awful proposal had made me laugh until my stomach hurt. He’d called me his wife whenever he broke something.

I opened the household menu and checked the familiar entries: Registered Spouse, Ash; Partnership Rank, Veteran; Shared Residence, Willowbrook Cottage. “Still haven’t found the divorce button?” Jack asked. “I stopped looking when I realized you pay half the taxes,” I replied. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” he answered. His laughter felt so familiar that I caught myself smiling at my monitor.

We walked toward the village square to check the preparations before traveling to the anniversary festival. Eli Briggs stood at his forge, offering his usual line about sharpening blades before sunset. Nora Finch waited outside her bakery with three quests involving flour, cinnamon, and a delivery she’d apparently needed for years. Jack bought bread because he insisted our digital pantry required emotional support. I accepted Nora’s quests because leaving those bright exclamation marks untouched bothered me.

We’d built a strange life without ever discussing what it meant. Jack knew when I needed distraction and when silence helped more. I knew his father’s appointments and the sound of his exhausted laugh. Sometimes we stayed connected after logging out, talking until one of us fell asleep. Neither acknowledged how strange that was for ordinary friends.

“Your sister still visiting Sunday?” Jack asked while we approached the river bridge. I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me, and told him she was coming unless her boyfriend created another emergency. “Tell her I said hi,” he replied, as casually as if they’d met a hundred times. They hadn’t met at all, but he always remembered to ask about her. Sometimes that made the distance between us feel smaller than it really was.

The festival countdown showed forty minutes remaining, and Jack suggested fixing the fence behind the animal pens before we left. I protested that I hadn’t spent my entire shift at work just to come home and do more construction. He’d heard me complain about crooked posts all week. Five minutes later, I pulled lumber while he smirked. “This,” he informed me, “is why our marriage works.”

I carved runes into fence posts, earning light bursts and crafting experience. Jack guarded the chickens against a level-six fox, narrating each sword swing like an epic hero. I promised the chickens would compose songs about him if they survived his next cooking attempt. He complained that I didn’t appreciate his courage, then accidentally stepped into the pond beside the pen. By the time we finished laughing, my noodles were cold.

“One day, we should actually meet,” Jack said while I struggled with a packet of soy sauce. We’d mentioned it before, then joked our way out. We’d avoided photographs since a first-year bet, back when we’d agreed that mystery made the game more fun and neither of us knew how permanent the joke would become. Would he sound comfortable standing in my actual kitchen? “Careful,” I said, “you might discover I look like an angry raccoon.”

“I’ve heard you fight with a printer for forty minutes, Kate, so appearances aren’t my concern.” His answer warmed me in a way I didn’t bother examining. I remembered him staying on the phone during my car breakdown and sending groceries when my hours were cut last winter. “Fine,” I said, looking at our characters together beneath the lanterns, “but you’re buying dinner.” “Deal, as long as you don’t expect me to cook.”

Festival music drifted through Willowbrook as glowing lanterns appeared along the village paths. An invitation flashed in our party window, accompanied by fireworks. Jack asked if I was ready, and I clicked Accept as our avatars turned toward the road together. Another notification covered my screen in brilliant white. I leaned forward as the music faded to a single sustained note.

EVERREALM ONLINE: SEVENTH ANNIVERSARY EXPERIENCE. This year’s update will redefine immersion for every connected player. Explore a world where your choices have lasting consequences and every connection becomes more meaningful. Prepare for a gaming experience more real than anything you’ve ever imagined.

For the first time in six years, Jack didn’t have a joke ready.