Chlorine and Regret

The pool at the Ridgewood Apartments was never quite clean enough, but at midnight, that didn't matter. Sarah found herself there again, floating on her back, staring at the security light that buzzed like a dying insect. Her third night in a row.

She'd fled her marriage with nothing but a suitcase and her cat, Barnaby, who was currently shredding the cheap welcome mat in her new apartment. The vitamins sat on the bathroom counter — a reminder of who she used to be, the woman who meal-prepped and ran half-marathons, who believed in optimization and five-year plans.

"You're going to turn into a prune," a voice said from the pool deck.

Sarah didn't look up. "You're one to talk, Marcus."

Her best friend's older brother sat on the edge, dangling his feet in the water. They'd been avoiding each other for weeks, since the night she'd showed up at his door sobbing, her marriage imploding. That night had ended with wine and secrets and the kind of complication she wasn't ready to examine.

"Barnaby yowled all evening," he said. "I could hear him through the vents."

"He's adjusting."

"Like you?"

She turned then, treading water. The chlorine stung her eyes, or maybe that was something else. Marcus was forty now, silver threading his dark hair, wearing those stupid pajama pants she'd mocked him about for years.

"I'm swimming, Marcus. That's all."

"Right. Just swimming." He stood up. "Sarah, the vitamins? They expired two years ago. You're not taking care of yourself."

The words hit harder than they should have. Because he knew — he knew about the panic attacks, the nights she couldn't sleep, the way she'd stopped recognizing her reflection.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered.

"The truth."

The truth was that her marriage had been dead for years, that she'd been swimming in shallow water pretending it was an ocean. That Marcus had been the one person who'd seen her clearly all along.

"The truth," she said, pulling herself toward the edge, "is that I'm not sure I know how to be anything other than someone's wife."

He offered his hand. She took it, his palm warm against her wet skin. The moment stretched, charged with everything they hadn't said.

"Start with swimming," he said quietly. "The rest comes after."