After the Match

Elena stood at the edge of the infinity pool, the Caribbean **water** stretching toward the horizon like liquid silver. She'd come to this Mexican resort alone—or so she'd told everyone. The **papaya** she'd eaten at breakfast had tasted like memory, bright and foreign against her tongue, reminding her of their honeymoon ten years ago in Bali. How they'd laughed then, feeding each other fruit with sticky fingers, before the distance grew between them like a slow-moving tide.

She watched from behind her oversized sunglasses as David played **padel** on the court below with a woman she didn't know. His shirt was off, the skin she knew so well glistening with sweat. He moved with that easy grace he'd always had, competitive but charming, laughing at something the woman said. The **cat** that roamed the resort grounds—a sleek black thing with one torn ear—sat watching them from the sidelines, tail twitching with judgment.

They'd booked this trip separately, a coincidence that felt like fate or cosmic cruelty. The divorce papers were signed, the house sold. This was supposed to be her fresh start, his celebration of freedom. Instead, she found herself drinking too much tequila by the pool while he lived what looked like a newer, better version of their life one court over.

The match ended. David looked up, saw her. For a moment, everything between them hung suspended like the humidity before a storm. Then he waved—that familiar, careless gesture that had once made her feel chosen and now made her feel invisible—and turned back to his opponent.

The black cat jumped onto the lounge chair beside her, stared at Elena with ancient knowing eyes. She poured the rest of her drink into the pool, watched the ripples distort the reflection of a sky that looked too blue to be real. Tomorrow she'd check out early, but tonight she'd order another papaya at dinner, and maybe finally let herself cry.