Foxes Don't Swim

Mia stood on the dock, the lake glass-smooth except for where Jess cut through the water, her strokes rhythmic and effortless. Some people were made for swimming—Jess, with her easy confidence and husband who still brought her flowers after seven years. Mia was not one of those people. She was a creature of solid ground, of carefully calculated risks.

A ginger cat slinked through the tall grass at the edge of the property, its movements liquid and predatory. Mia watched it stalk something in the reeds, thinking how Jess had called her that same word—predatory—when she'd caught her with Mark. 'You're like this cat,' Jess had said the night before, handing her a glass of wine with surprising gentleness. 'You don't even know you're hunting until you've caught something.'

They were still friends. That was the strangest part. Jess had forgiven Mark eventually, or said she had, but something had calcified between them. Mia had become the other woman, the warning, the living reminder of what nearly broke everything.

The water lapped against the pilings, an insistent heartbeat. Mark loved this lake. Had brought her here once, when Jess was visiting her mother. They'd swum naked at midnight, and he'd whispered promises about leaving. Now Mia wondered if he whispered the same things to the new girl in accounting.

A fox emerged from the woods, its coat burnished by sunset. It paused at the water's edge, testing the surface with one paw, then recoiled. Foxes didn't swim. They knew their limits.

Jess had reached the middle of the lake. She treaded water, waving.

'Come in!' she called. 'It's freeing!'

Mia waved back but stayed put. Some things couldn't be unlearned. Some wounds didn't heal—they just grew over, like scar tissue, stronger but less flexible. She thought about Mark, about Jess's forgiveness, about the way cat's eyes reflected what they couldn't yet see. About being the kind of person who dove in, versus the kind who watched from the shore.

The fox turned back toward the woods, abandoning the water entirely. Smart, Mia thought. Some depths were meant to remain untouched.