Deep Water

The ocean pressed against the viewport, three miles of **water** overhead. Elena's legs ached from six hours underwater, welding the **cable** that connected the offshore rig to the mainland. The job paid well—better than anything on land—but the isolation was wearing her thin, like sandpaper on bone.

She surfaced to find a message from Marcus: *We need to talk.* Again.

Back in their apartment, the **orange** sunset spilled through windows they'd stopped cleaning months ago. Marcus sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by charts and diagrams. His face lit up when he saw her.

"You're home! I have to show you this new opportunity. It's not like the others—this one's different. Look at the compensation **pyramid**." He rotated his laptop screen toward her. "At the platinum level, we're looking at six months, maybe a year to financial independence."

Elena rubbed her eyes. Saltwater still crusted behind her ears. "Marcus, you said that about the essential oils. And the cryptocurrency. And the—you know what? Just tell me how much."

His jaw tightened. "It's three grand to start, but—"

"Three thousand dollars." She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I weld cables at the bottom of the ocean so we can pay rent, and you're chasing **bull**shit dreams while our savings evaporate."

"You think you're so much better than me," he snapped. "Ms. Important, Ms. High-Powered Welder. Well, at least I'm trying to build something for us. You're just—you're just existing, Elena. You're not even here."

The truth of it hit her like a physical blow. She wasn't there. She was miles underwater, or mentally already gone, planning an exit strategy she hadn't confessed to anyone.

"I'm tired," she said finally. "I'm going to shower."

In the bathroom, she caught her reflection in the mirror—salt-streaked, hollow-eyed, younger than she felt. She turned the faucet. **Water** rushed out, and she remembered the pressure at depth, how the ocean wanted to crush her, how sometimes she wanted to let it.

Marcus knocked on the door. "Elena?"

She stared at her hands. They were strong hands. They could fix things underwater that no one else could reach.

"Yeah?"

"The company has a position in Chile. Better pay. Would you... would you consider starting over?"

She turned off the water. In the silence, she heard the **cable** outside the window, humming with the city's electricity.

"Yes," she said. "But alone."

The word hung between them, heavier than three miles of **water**.