Lightning at the Palm

Margot stood on the balcony of the Palm Court Hotel, her cigarette smoke curling into the humid Egyptian night. Below, the pool glowed with that artificial turquoise that always made her think of lies—beautiful, chlorinated lies. Inside the room, David was sleeping, or pretending to. She knew his breathing patterns too well after seven years of marriage, and this was the rhythm of avoidance.

The hotel's centerpiece was a terrible replica of the Great Sphinx, its chipped concrete face staring impassively at guests who'd had too much to drink. It was ridiculous, really—a riddle without an answer, just like whatever had happened between her and Marcus from Accounting. That's what David called it, anyway: "bullshit." But it wasn't bullshit. It was electric and terrifying and had made her feel something she hadn't felt in years.

A stray cat wound around her ankles, its rough tongue against her skin bringing her back to the moment. She'd been feeding it leftovers from room service for three days. It was the only thing that didn't want anything from her.

"You coming back to bed?" David's voice came from behind her, thick with sleep and something else—resignation, maybe. Or the calm before the final storm.

"In a minute."

Lightning shattered the sky, illuminating the sphinx's face in a strobe flash of revelation. For that split second, Margot saw everything clearly: the decay that had been eating their marriage from the inside, the way they'd both stopped trying, the cowardice that kept them trapped in this comfortable misery. The cat hissed and bolted under the chaise lounge.

She crushed her cigarette out against the railing, watching the embers die. Tomorrow she would tell David about Marcus. Tomorrow she would demand honesty from him, too. Tomorrow she would either break everything or finally begin to build something real.

But tonight, she would just stand here in the dark, watching the lightning rip through the sky like it was trying to tell her something she'd always known: some things have to burn before they can live.