Exit Strategies

The lightning cracked somewhere over the valley as Elena backed away from the padel court, her racquet still gripped tight enough to whiten her knuckles. Behind her, Marco stood panting, sweat stinging his eyes, the final point unplayed between them like an unspoken sentence.

"We can't keep doing this," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. "This game. Us. Any of it."

Their tabby cat, Bull — named for his stubborn refusal to be moved once he'd claimed a spot — watched from the apartment balcony above. The animal had been Marco's idea, a clumsy anniversary surprise delivered with that sheepish grin she'd once found endearing. Now Bull's yellow gaze seemed to judge them both, demanding dinner and quite possibly better humans.

"One more set," Marco said, stepping forward. "Just finish what we started. For once."

The irony landed like a body check. Three miscarriages and two rounds of IVF later, nothing about them had been finished. Every attempt had ended in waiting rooms, silent car rides home, the accumulating debris of hope abandoned piece by piece until all that remained was this: arguments about whose turn it was to buy spinach, who forgot to schedule the cat's vet appointment, who had stopped trying first.

She remembered their wedding day, how his vows had rambled beautifully off-script, how she'd cried-laughed when he promised to love her through bulls and bears — a confused mashup of market metaphors that had made perfect sense in the moment. The market had crashed since then. Their portfolio, their plans, the biological calculations they'd made with such naïve confidence.

"The storm's coming," she said instead, as thunder rolled closer. "I'm going inside."

"Elena."

She turned at the door, one hand on the handle that had stuck since they moved in — something else they'd never fixed.

"What?"

"The cat," Marco said quietly. "Who gets Bull?"

She looked up at the balcony where the cat sat, indifferent and eternal, and felt something crack inside her chest, not like lightning but slower, like ice giving way underfoot.

"You should keep him," she said. "He always liked you better anyway."

The first heavy drops began to fall as she let herself inside, leaving Marco alone on the padel court with the storm arriving and the cat watching, as the sky finally, beautifully, opened up.