Blue Light Hours

The pool was empty at 5 AM. That's why Lena swam then—the water undisturbed, the chlorine smell sharp enough to cut through everything else. She'd leave her **iphone** in the locker, that black mirror that had been glowing with texts from David until 3 AM, his name appearing with increasing frequency, his messages growing increasingly intimate about a project Lena knew nothing about.

Forty laps. Her body moved through water the way it used to move through life—automatically, efficiently, without thought. She was forty-two and something fundamental had hollowed out. The **vitamin** supplements on her bathroom counter—D for mood, B for energy, magnesium for sleep—seemed like tiny admissions of defeat. You could optimize the body but not the life inside it.

Afterward, sitting on the bench in the steam room, skin prickling with heat, Elena found her. They hadn't spoken since Elena's divorce party, where everyone had toasted her freedom and Lena had felt nothing but an echoing hollowness.

"You're here early," Elena said, settling beside her. "Everything okay?"

Lena's laugh surprised her—sharp, bitter. "David's leaving me. His phone made me the other woman in my own marriage."

The steam swirled between them. Elena didn't offer false comfort. She did what **friends** actually do: she said, "I'll help you find a lawyer tomorrow. And you can stay with me until you figure out what's next."

They sat there as the room grew hotter, as Lena cried tears that disappeared instantly into the thick air, as something shifted—painfully, undeniably—into possibility.