Chlorine and Regret

The pool at the YMCA was nearly empty at 6 AM—just the regulars, people carrying the weight of decades in their joints. Maya adjusted her swim cap, smoothing back the gray-streaked **hair** she'd finally stopped dyeing last month. Forty-two and tired of pretending otherwise.

She dove in, the chlorine immediately stinging her eyes the way it always did. Three laps in, she saw him: Daniel Fox, leaning against the far wall, watching her. They hadn't spoken since the office Christmas party five years ago, when things had fallen apart between them in the lobby while snow fell quietly outside.

Fox. Even his surname had felt like a warning—something clever and predatory beneath that boyish charm. He'd been her boss then, her mistake now.

She pulled herself out of the water, water dripping from her elbows. "You're here early."

"Couldn't sleep," he said, not meeting her eyes. His own hair was thinner now, his face drawn. "Got divorced. Moved back to the city."

Maya wrapped herself in a towel, the cold air raising gooseflesh on her arms. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He gestured toward her gym bag. "You still taking those **vitamin** supplements? Always had that pill organizer on your desk."

"Still trying to fool my body into thinking it's twenty-eight," she said. "You still betting on office pools?"

He laughed, startled. "Jesus, Maya. You remember everything."

"I remember enough."

They stood there in the humid silence, the pool's surface slowly stilling itself, like a wound beginning to heal. Maya thought about the dinner they'd never had, the hotel room they'd never booked, the life they'd never risked. Now she was shopping for **spinach** and kale on Sunday mornings, doing yoga, being sensible. The kind of woman who took vitamins and swam laps at dawn.

"I'm sorry," Fox said quietly. "For what I didn't say. Back then."

"It doesn't matter," Maya said, and realized she meant it. "We made our choices."

She picked up her bag and walked toward the locker room, leaving him there by the pool's edge. Some stories don't get second chances, and somewhere along the way, she'd made her peace with that.