Goldfish in the Glass

The orange glow of sunset hit the water just right, making the ripples look like they were burning. Sarah sat on the edge of the fountain, her heels kicked off, toes dangling in the cold. She'd been coming here every Tuesday for three months—ever since she found out.

Inside the fountain, three goldfish swam in endless circles. She used to think they were peaceful. Now she knew the truth: they were trapped in a pyramid scheme of existence, each level dependent on the one below it, going nowhere but convinced they were ascending.

Kind of like the company.

Kind of like her marriage.

"You're going to wrinkle," Mark said behind her.

She didn't turn. "Water's good for that. People pay thousands for treatments. I'm getting it for free."

He sat beside her, close but not touching. The silence stretched, thin and trembling like old rubber. They both watched the goldfish—Goldie, Bubbles, the third one she'd never named because it seemed redundant.

"Audit committee wants to meet tomorrow," Mark said.

"I know."

"They're asking about the offshore accounts."

"I know."

"Sarah." His voice cracked. "You're my wife."

She pulled her feet from the water, droplets falling like seconds ticking away. "I'm also the CFO who discovered the CEO—your brother—has been laundering money through shell companies since before we met."

"He said you'd never—"

"Bull, Mark." She stood, grabbing her heels. "Just pure, unadulterated bull."

The goldfish broke the surface, gasping. She wondered if they'd finally realized their pond was barely deep enough to drown in.

"I'm not going to prison for your family," she said. "I'm done swimming in circles."

As she walked away, the orange light faded into gray, the water smoothed itself flat, and somewhere behind her, Mark started to cry. The goldfish kept swimming, unaware that tomorrow, their world would finally break open.