Diving Into Shallow Water

The spinach leaf lodged between her teeth had been there since lunch—a small, green trespasser she couldn't dislodge with her tongue. Elena stood at the edge of the pool, watching her husband Marcus hold court with his colleagues, his laugh too loud, his hand gestures too expansive.

"He's like a fucking bull in a china shop," Sarah whispered beside her, handing her a drink. "How do you stand it?"

Elena didn't answer. She thought about the way Marcus had bulldozed through their marriage decisions—where they lived, when they had kids, how they spent their Sundays. His hair was thinning now, gray at the temples, but his certainty never wavered.

Their golden retriever, Barnaby, paddled lazily in the pool, chasing a floating tennis ball. The dog had more freedom than she felt sometimes. That thought settled heavy in her stomach, alongside the still-present spinach.

"You've got something in your teeth," Marcus announced later, pointing at her from across the patio. His coworkers laughed. Elena felt the heat rise up her neck, that familiar burn of being the butt of the joke again.

She excused herself to the bathroom, where she finally fished out the spinach with her fingernail. In the mirror, she saw herself—really saw herself—for the first time in months. When had she stopped swimming? When had she become the person standing at the edge, watching everyone else live?

Barnaby shook water onto her dress when she came back, and she didn't even flinch.

"Marcus," she said that evening, as they walked Barnaby under streetlights. "I want a separation."

He stopped walking. The dog kept pulling at the leash. "What? Because of the spinach thing?"

"No," she said, surprising herself with how calm she felt. "Because I'm tired of being the china shop."

The pool glowed blue in their rearview mirror as they drove to her sister's house—toward something new, toward diving into water that might actually be deep enough to hold her.