Blue Light at Midnight

The pool's surface was still, perfect glass reflecting the moonlight, until Mark's phone buzzed again on the patio table. The blue light cut through the darkness like an accusation. Sarah watched it from the kitchen window, stirring spinach into a pan, the leaves wilting exactly the way her patience had—gradually, then all at once.

He'd been running every evening for three weeks. That's what he told her. Clearing his head, preparing for the merger, getting in shape. The running shoes by the door were pristine. Not a speck of dirt on the soles.

She'd found the iphone's second account last Tuesday. An email notification she couldn't unsee: "Your reservation at The Sterling is confirmed." She'd pretended not to notice when he came home smelling of hotel soap instead of sweat.

Tonight, she'd confronted him. His response: a sigh, like he was the one being inconvenienced. "It's not what you think. You're overthinking again."

Now she watched him stand at the edge of the pool, phone in hand, backlit against the water. He typed something, then set it down. The blue light pulsed with each new message.

Sarah turned off the stove. The spinach was reduced to nothing, a dark, shapeless mass that used to be something vibrant. She walked to the patio door and slid it open.

"Who are you texting?" she asked, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

Mark didn't turn. "Work. Always work with you."

"It's midnight, Mark."

"The merger doesn't sleep."

"Neither does she, apparently."

He stiffened. "What?"

Sarah moved closer, the scent of chlorine heavy in the air. "I'm not an idiot. I haven't been one for years, though you seem to think I'll believe anything."

"Sarah, you're exhausted. You're imagining things again."

She'd heard this before. The gaslighting had become so routine she barely registered it anymore. She reached for his iphone. Mark moved to intercept, but she was faster. The screen lit up in her hand.

A message thread with someone named "E." The last message: "Can't wait to see you tomorrow. Same time?"

The same time he went "running."

Sarah dropped the phone into the pool. It sank with a soft plop, the blue light flickering, then dying beneath the water.

"What the fuck—"

"We're done," she said. "I'm done." She walked back into the house, the sound of Mark shouting behind her, and began packing her bag. For the first time in twelve years, she felt lighter than air.