Connection Lost

The internet went down at 8:47 PM, right as Elena was serving for match point. The padel ball hit the mesh fence with a dull thud—our relationship's perfect metaphor, really. Thirty-seven years old, successful by every metric that mattered to our parents, and yet we stood in separate rooms, neither willing to cross the twenty feet of hallway that had become a demilitarized zone.

Marcus was already in the study, running diagnostics on the router with the same clinical precision he'd applied to our marriage counseling sessions. 'It's the cable,' he called out, voice flat. 'Always the fucking cable.'

Outside, lightning fractured the sky, illuminating the rain streaking against the sliding glass door like tears on a face refusing to be wiped. Barnaby—our rescue lab, the one compromise we'd both actually wanted—pressed his warm flank against my leg. His tail thumped nervously against the baseboard. Animals sensed atmospheric pressure changes, they said. They also sensed when people were about to leave.

'Technician can't come until Tuesday,' Marcus said from the doorway, not looking at me. 'Two more days without WiFi.'

'I'll stay at Sarah's,' I said, and the words hung there, heavier than I'd intended.

His eyes finally met mine. In the blue-white flash of another lightning strike, I saw what I'd been refusing to see for eight months: he wasn't disappointed anymore. He was relieved.

'Tuesday works,' he said softly.

Barnaby whimpered as the thunder rolled in, a low guttural sound that lived somewhere in his chest. I patted his head, already calculating which apartment buildings allowed dogs. The padel court would have to wait. Some games don't finish—you just walk off while the ball's still in play.