Breathless

The pool at the Hilton was empty at 11 PM, which is exactly what Elena needed. She pulled her swim cap down, her red knit hat already discarded on the lounge chair beside her silent iphone. The water was cold — shocking, perfect — as she slipped beneath the surface.

Twelve laps later, her phone's screen lit up in the darkness. Marco again.

She didn't stop swimming.

Her arms moved mechanically through the water. Fourteen years of marriage reduced to notification pulses she refused to read. The cat sitting Marco had insisted they adopt, the one she'd secretly named Bastard, was waiting in room 412. She was catsitting for her own failed marriage while Marco was God-knows-where, probably wearing that ridiculous straw hat she'd bought him in Puerto Vallarta.

Her phone lit up again. And again.

Elena's strokes faltered. She surfaced, gasping, and grabbed the pool's edge. The phone stared back like a accusation. What if he was hurt? What if it was an emergency? What if—

She dragged herself out of the water, dripping and shivering, and unlocked it.

The messages weren't from Marco.

They were from her sister. First message: "I know it's late but you need to know." Second: "I saw him. At O'Malley's. With HER."

Elena stood motionless as water pooled around her feet on the concrete deck. The cat in room 412. The hat in their closet. The iphone glowing with truth she'd been swimming away from for six months.

She didn't cry. Instead, she typed back: "I know."

Then she blocked Marco's number, deleted every photo, and walked back to the pool. The water was still cold. Still perfect. She began lap thirteen, and for the first time in years, she could breathe.