Electric Waters

The vitamin D deficiency had been draining Maya for months—bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of sleep could touch. At thirty-seven, she'd expected her body to betray her eventually, but not like this. Not with brain fog so thick she could barely remember her own passwords.

Her husband Derek's iPhone buzzed on the nightstand at 2 AM.

Maya watched from her side of the bed, breath suspended in her chest, as Derek's hand instinctively covered the screen. A reflex.

"Work email," he muttered, already turning away.

In the bathroom mirror, Maya examined her hair—still thick, still dark at thirty-seven, a small vanity she secretly cherished. She pulled it back, examining new lines around her eyes. When had they appeared?

The pool at their apartment complex was empty at dawn, which was why Maya swam then. The water suspended her in something like peace, the rhythmic strokes drowning out the questions she didn't want to ask. But this morning, as she emerged from the chlorinated blue, her phone vibrated on the pool chair.

A message from an unknown number: *He says he's staying for the kids, but I'm tired of waiting.*

Maya's fingers trembled as she scrolled through Derek's iCloud backup—something she'd never checked before, until now. The messages appeared like lightning strikes, illuminating everything: photos, heart emojis, promises about *their* future together. The other woman was twenty-six. The vitamin supplements in Maya's hand suddenly seemed absurd. What good was health when the life you'd built was already gone?

She returned to the pool as the first storm clouds gathered overhead. Other residents were clearing out, glancing nervously at the darkening sky, but Maya waded into the water fully clothed.

The first lightning strike hit somewhere close—a crack of thunder that vibrated in her chest. People were shouting from the balcony now, telling her to get out, to come inside, to be reasonable.

But swimming in electric waters felt like the only honest thing she'd done in years. Her hair spread around her like dark ink in water, and for the first time in her marriage, Maya didn't care about being appropriate.

She would divorce him. She would start over. She would be the woman who swam through lightning storms.

The thought terrified her. The thought exhilarated her.

Maya dove deeper.