Bearing the Weight

The resort pool was unnaturally still at 3 AM, a turquoise mirror reflecting nothing but moonlight and Mara's own hollowed-out face. She'd left the suite—their suite—after David mumbled another woman's name in his sleep. Again.

Her bare feet made no sound on the concrete as she walked to the edge, the chlorine smell stinging her nostrils. This was supposed to be their second honeymoon, a fresh start after the affair. But some things couldn't be polished clean.

A shadow detached itself from the palm tree near the gate—a man in his thirties, smoking with trembling hands. "Couldn't sleep either," he said, more statement than question.

Mara considered retreating. Instead, she sat in the adjacent lounge chair. "Something like that."

"I'm Marcus." He offered his palm, and she shook it automatically. His grip was firm, his eyes tired. "I'm here for my brother's wedding. He's marrying my ex."

Despite herself, Mara huffed a laugh. "That's impressively terrible."

"What about you?"

She told him everything—the twelve years of marriage, David's promotion to VP, the way he'd started coming home late and smelling of someone else's perfume. The corporate bear market had been good to him; he'd embraced every bullish opportunity, including the twenty-something analyst who'd been shadowing him.

"And yet you're still here," Marcus observed.

"I keep hoping—" She broke off as a calico cat appeared from the darkness, weaving between their chairs with imperious grace. It hopped onto Marcus's lap, and he stroked its fur with practiced hands.

"Hope is the heaviest thing we bear," he said quietly. "My therapist says that's why my shoulders are always tight."

Mara looked at the pool again, its surface rippled by a sudden breeze. She thought about all the things she'd carried: David's mistakes, his mother's judgment, the crushing weight of being the bigger person.

"I don't want to bear it anymore," she realized aloud.

Marcus flicked his cigarette into an ashtray. "Then don't."

It was so simple. So impossibly simple.

The first light of dawn was bleeding into the sky when she stood up. "Thank you, Marcus."

"For what?"

"For helping me remember I could leave."

Back in the suite, David was still asleep, oblivious. Mara packed her bag in ten minutes, leaving her key card on the bedside table. Outside, the morning sun gilded the palm fronds, and somewhere nearby, the cat called out—a territorial, triumphant sound.

She hailed a taxi to the airport, and somewhere over the Pacific, finally released the weight she'd been carrying all along.