Electric Blue at Midnight

Mara's gray hair had been a point of pride until David left, taking with him the compliment he'd given her on their first date: 'Like storm clouds,' he'd said. Now she just saw aging. Alone at forty-two, with the divorce papers fresh on the kitchen counter.

The cat—a recent rescue from the shelter, named Storm because the timing had felt ironic—curled around her ankles as she stood at the glass door. Outside, lightning fractured the sky, illuminating the swimming pool she hadn't used in months. The water caught each flash, turning momentarily electric blue before fading back to black.

She'd been running every morning since the separation. Three miles before dawn, as if she could outpace her own thoughts. Her therapist said it was healthy. Her sister said she was avoiding. Both were probably right.

Storm meowed, impatient.

"Fine," Mara said, sliding the door open.

The humid air hit her like a physical weight. She stepped onto the concrete deck, toes curling against the cold surface. Another flash of lightning—closer now. The pool reflected it back like a mirror.

Without thinking, she pulled her t-shirt over her head and stepped out of her pajama bottoms. The cat watched from the doorway, yellow eyes gleaming.

The water was shocking, alive. She submerged herself, hair floating around her like seaweed. When she broke the surface, gasping, the sky opened up. Rain came down in sheets, warm and heavy, blurring the line between air and water.

She floated on her back, letting the rain pool on her stomach, watching the lightning illuminate clouds that looked nothing like her hair anymore. They looked like opportunity.

Storm had retreated inside, but Mara stayed. She wasn't running anymore. She was learning to tread water.