Cable to Nowhere

The pool was empty at 3 AM, its surface still as glass. Marcus sat on the edge, feet dangling in lukewarm water, nursing a whiskey that had long since lost its chill. Above him, the orange security light cast long sickly shadows across the courtyard.

"They're turning off the internet," Sarah had told him three hours ago, throwing clothes into a suitcase with methodical precision. "The cable company called. Final notice."

He'd laughed, because it seemed absurd that their marriage — eight years, two dogs, a mortgage — would end not over infidelity or betrayal, but over unpaid bills and the accumulating weight of small resentments.

Now he pressed his palm against the concrete, feeling the heat still radiating from the day's sun. He'd first touched her face like this, tentative and hopeful, at a wedding rehearsal dinner in 2018. She'd been wearing orange, a bold choice that made him feel courageous just standing beside her.

The coaxial cable hung from the wall where the modem used to be, a black snake severed mid-connect. She'd taken the router too. Petty, maybe, but understandable. He'd taken the coffee maker.

Marcus pulled his feet from the water. Ripples disturbed the surface, distorting his reflection. He looked older than he'd expected. Tired around the eyes. The kind of tired that sleep wouldn't fix.

"You want to know the worst part?" she'd said at the door, suitcase handle clutched in one hand. "I stopped caring months ago. I just didn't want to be the one to say it."

He could still call her. He had his phone, the service still working. But words required something he couldn't find: the courage to either fight for it or let it go cleanly.

Instead, he sat by the pool watching the orange light reflect off still water, listening to the distant hum of the city that never slept, alone with the silence where their life used to be.