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The pool at the Hotel Encantada shimmered like spilled mercury under the Mexican sun. Elena, forty-seven and suddenly conscious of every heartbeat, sat at the edge with her legs su...
The spinach had been stuck in Marcus's front tooth for twenty minutes. Elena watched it across the candlelit table—a tiny green flag of surrender, or perhaps accusation. They were...
The kitchen clock ticked past midnight when Elena finally turned off the burner. The soup had been simmering for three hours—a gesture of atonement she wasn't sure Richard would ac...
The corporate retreat's pool shimmered like a promise Marcus couldn't keep. He stood at the edge, iPhone clutched in his hand like a lifeline, watching his colleagues float in the ...
The goldfish in the lobby aquarium had been watching Elena for three years. Its orange scales caught the morning light, creating liquid patterns against the tank glass. Elena caugh...
Elena sat by the pool, her third whiskey sour melting in the humidity. The orange sun dipped behind the corporate pyramid—her husband's office tower, rising like a middle finger to...
The tide was coming in when Mara found him, swimming laps against the current as if he could outpace the messages piling up on her iPhone. She watched from the weathered cable rail...
The baseball game droned on the cable TV mounted above the patio, but nobody was watching. Mark stood at the edge of the pool, gin and tonic sweating against his palm, watching his...
The bull market had been good to Marcus—he'd made millions in derivatives while Eleanor withered in their Connecticut home, taking her vitamins and arranging fresh flowers in cryst...
The sky tore open, a jagged scar of lightning that illuminated everything I didn't want to see. Maggie's face, for one. She stood at the edge of the pool, clutching her wine glass ...
Maya found her in the breakroom, staring into the openmouthed gasp of a goldfish swimming lazy circles in a too-small bowl. "You look like the walking dead," Maya said, dropping ...
Elena stood in her apartment doorway, the takeout container growing cold in her hands. The spinach and garlic pasta from Carmine's—Marcus's favorite before he left. She hadn't orde...