Circles in the Dark

The goldfish had been circling the same ceramic castle for three years. Marcus watched it through the glass, the orange glow of his iPhone illuminating his face at 2 AM. Another notification from the Padel Club group chat—his former friends arranging another doubles match he hadn't been invited to since the divorce.

The apartment felt cavernous without the dog. Bella, the golden retriever, had gone with Sarah. Marcus had fought for custody of the fish instead—a pyrrhic victory, he now realized, watching the creature swim its endless laps.

He reached for the orange on the counter, something Sarah had left in the fruit bowl before moving out. The first bite released a burst of citrus that hit him like a memory—Barcelona, their honeymoon, the way she'd laughed when he'd tried to order in his broken Spanish.

His iPhone buzzed again. Sarah's name.

"Bella died tonight," she'd written. "I thought you should know."

Marcus stared at the screen until it went dark, his reflection floating in the black glass like the goldfish in its bowl.

The next morning, he drove to the Padel Club for the first time in eight months. His ex-friends stopped rallying when they saw him walk onto the court, racquet in hand. They expected anger. Instead, Marcus asked if anyone needed a partner.

"Fourth court," someone said eventually.

He played badly, his rusty returns hitting the net more often than the opposite side. But the burn in his muscles felt honest. Real.

That evening, Marcus bought a new castle for the goldfish's tank. Something with more tunnels. More possibilities.

"We're both going to figure this out," he told the fish, dropping a pinch of food into the water. "Eventually."