Electric Silence

The thunderhead had been gathering for hours, a bruised purple mass swallowing the afternoon whole. Elena stood at the edge of the community pool, her **hat** pulled low against the wind that smelled of ozone and impending rain. She'd come here every day for three weeks, since the funeral, standing in the same spot while the **swimming** pool's surface rippled in the gathering gloom.

Her **iPhone** buzzed in her pocket — David's third text tonight. *We need to talk about the house.* She'd left it on read, unable to face the logistics of untangling seven years of shared life while everything still felt raw and bleeding.

The first **lightning** strike illuminated the pool deck in harsh stroboscopic light. That's when she saw the **dog** — a golden retriever, alone, standing at the far end of the pool. No owner in sight. The animal was watching her with an intensity that made her chest ache.

"Hey," she called out, stepping forward. "You okay?"

The retriever dipped its head once, almost bow-like, then turned and walked toward the pool house, looking back as if waiting for her to follow.

Elena hesitated. The second clap of thunder shook the ground beneath her feet. Rain began to fall, hard and sudden. She found herself running toward the pool house, the dog's tail disappearing through the open door.

Inside, she found a man sitting on a bench, phone to his ear, weeping quietly.

"Just give me tonight," he was saying. "I can't do this tonight."

The dog settled between them, pressing its warm flank against Elena's leg. The stranger looked up, startled, then simply patted the space beside him. Elena sat down. Outside, the storm broke open, and for the first time in three weeks, she didn't feel alone in the darkness.