Electric Waters

The stray **dog** had been following Marcus for three blocks, its matted gray fur dripping from the storm. He should have brought an umbrella. He should have done a lot of things differently.

He found shelter under the awning of the closed hotel bar, the outdoor **pool** illuminated from beneath—ghostly blue water undulating in the wind. Lightning cracked across the sky, and for a second, everything was stark white.

That's when he saw Elena sitting at the edge of the pool, her legs in the water, fully clothed.

"You're late," she said without turning.

"Work ran long." Marcus stepped closer, his shoes squelching. "The **bull**shit pipeline they sold us—it's collapsing. Monday's meeting is going to be a massacre."

"That's not why I asked you to come."

She turned then, and Marcus saw she'd been crying. He hadn't seen Elena cry in seven years of marriage, not even when her mother died.

"The doctor called," she said. "It's not happening. We can't—" She broke off, her voice thinning. "There's no baby, Marcus."

The words hit him like a physical blow. They'd been trying for eighteen months. He'd finally let himself hope.

"I'm sorry," he said, inadequate and hollow. "Elena, I'm—"

"I don't want your sorry." She stood up, water streaming down her dress. "I want you to actually be here. Not at work, not planning the next move, not climbing some ladder that doesn't matter. HERE. With me."

Another flash of **lightning** illuminated her face—the raw hurt, the anger he hadn't let himself notice was growing. She looked like a stranger. She looked like a **sphinx** posing him the riddle that would determine whether their marriage lived or died, and he realized with terrifying clarity that he didn't know the answer.

The dog whined from the shelter of the bushes.

"I'm tired," Elena said quietly. "I'm so tired of competing for your attention." She started walking toward the hotel, dripping water like a modern Ophelia.

Marcus stood alone by the electric blue pool as the rain intensified, watching his wife walk away, and finally understood that some things, once broken, cannot be fixed by working harder at them.