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The padel court vibrated with the echo of his final serve, a sound that always reminded Marcus of doors slamming shut. At forty-two, he'd traded passion for this: Thursday evening ...
The iphone buzzed against the nightstand at 3:14 AM, its screen illuminating the ceiling in a ghostly blue. Elena should have been at the baseball stadium—her company had season ti...
The iphone lit up at 2:47 AM, its blue glow cutting through the darkness of our bedroom like an accusation. Maya's face illuminated beside me, her breathing steady and deceivingly ...
Elena stood at the net of the padel court, her racket dangling from exhausted fingers. At forty-two, she'd taken up the sport because her therapist said she needed to reconnect wit...
The palm fronds rustled overhead as Elena sat alone at the edge of the resort's infinity pool, her legs dangling in the water. She'd told Marcus she needed some time alone—half tru...
The goldfish swam in endless circles inside its glass prison on Elena's desk, its orange scales catching the fluorescent light of the open-plan office. Three years she'd been here,...
Mara stood at the hotel room window, watching the orange light of sunset bleed across the Dallas skyline. Behind her, Thomas was already dressing, his movements efficient, practice...
The morning sun hit the orange juice in Elena's glass, casting amber light across the kitchen counter where Marco stood, his back to her. She'd been noticing things lately—how he a...
Mara had been running for forty-five minutes when her knees began to whisper their old complaints—echoes of that half-marathon she'd foolishly signed up for during what she now cal...
Marcus stood on the balcony of his Cancún hotel room, nursing a papaya he'd ripped open with his bare hands. The juice dripped down his wrists, sticky and sweet, as he watched the ...
Marcus stood before the bathroom mirror at 3:17 AM, pulling a grey hair from his temple. His forty-third birthday approached like a deadline he'd forgotten to negotiate. The corpor...
Maya watched the papaya ripen on the counter, its skin turning from green to angry yellow, like a bruise learning to announce itself. Forty-two years old and still waiting for frui...