Lightning Over Havana

Carlos watched Elena cut the papaya at the breakfast table, the knife sliding through soft orange flesh with practiced ease. Three days into their second honeymoon in Havana, and she still hadn't looked him in the eye.

"The sphinx has nothing on you," he said, trying for humor.

Elena didn't smile. "I'm not being mysterious, Carlos. I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"About why you felt the need to send those emails to Jessica."

The words hit like lightning — sudden, illuminating, destructive.

They'd come to the same resort where they'd celebrated their tenth anniversary, before the baseball fantasy league and the late nights at the office had carved canyons between them. The pool below their balcony glittered turquoise, a false promise of clarity. He'd thought the tropical setting would fix things. He'd been wrong.

"It was just—"

"Flirting? Emotional infidelity? You tell me." She took a bite of papaya, juice staining her lips. "Your second baseman texted you three times yesterday. I saw your phone."

"You went through my phone?"

"I didn't have to. You left it unlocked on the nightstand. Like you wanted me to see."

Thunder rumbled in the distance. The storm they'd been predicting all week was finally rolling in.

"Jessica from the league," he said, lamely. "We were just—"

"Just planning your next lineup while I was home with your mother after her surgery?"

Guilt flooded him, hot and corrosive. That had been three months ago. He'd been distracted then, too.

"I didn't—"

"You did. And that's why I spent last night with Marcus from the front desk."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Outside, the first raindrops began to fall, darkening the pool's surface.

"Marcus?" The name tasted like ash.

"He listens," she said simply. "He remembers I exist when I'm not useful to him."

Carlos stood up, the chair scraping against tile. "So that's it? We're even?"

"No. We're done."

She walked to the balcony, her silhouette framed against darkening sky. "I asked you to come here so I could say it properly. So you wouldn't have to read it in a letter."

The lightning flashed again, closer this time, illuminating everything he was about to lose.

"I love you," he said, because it was the only true thing left.

"I know," she replied, and her voice cracked. "That's why this hurts so much."

Behind them, the papaya sat on the plate, seeds exposed like secrets.