Chlorine and Regret

Sarah lay by the hotel pool, sunglasses hiding eyes that hadn't slept properly in three nights. The afternoon sun baked her skin, but she barely felt it. Her phone buzzed again—David, probably. She ignored it.

They'd come to Cabo for their anniversary, or what was left of it. David was currently somewhere in the resort, probably running on the beach like he'd been doing every morning at dawn, as if cardio could burn away the years of resentment between them.

She reached into her bag and found the bottle of vitamin D supplements her doctor had prescribed. "You're deficient," she'd said, as if a pill could fix what ailed her. Sarah dry-swallowed one, grimacing. Everything these days was some kind of supplement—vitamin C for immunity, vitamin B for energy, couples therapy for marriages that had already hollowed out.

"You look deep in thought."

Sarah lowered her sunglasses. A man stood above her—maybe forty, handsome in that way that suggested he took care of himself but not obsessively. She'd seen him at the bar last night, alone.

"Just processing," she said, surprised by her own voice.

"Bad day?"

"Bad decade."

He laughed, and she found herself smiling back. When was the last time she and David had laughed like that?

"I'm Marcus."

"Sarah."

He gestured to the empty lounge chair beside hers. "Mind if I join you? I promise not to make it weird."

She should say no. She was married, technically. But something in her chest—maybe that vitamin-deficient emptiness her doctor kept talking about—made her nod.

"Sure."

As Marcus settled into the chair, his hand brushed hers briefly, and she felt something electric, terrifying. The pool's surface shimmered blue and inviting, but Sarah knew some depths weren't meant to be explored. Still, as she watched David emerge from the palm trees, sweat-slicked from his run, oblivious, she wondered if she'd already been underwater for years, and only now remembered she needed to breathe.