Love Game

The spinach salad sat wilting on the counter, its once-crisp leaves collapsing into themselves like everything else in their marriage. Maya watched it from the doorway, remembering when Oliver used to call her his little kale chip—before he discovered padel, before the club membership, before the Tuesday and Thursday nights that stretched into weekend tournaments with women named Petra and Sofia.

"You're doing it again," Oliver said, not looking up from his phone. The charging cable lay across the kitchen island like a dead snake, its plastic casing splitting at the neck.

"Doing what?"

"That thing. Where you look at me like I'm someone you used to know."

She almost laughed. Wasn't that the problem? The cable company had called yesterday—someone needed to update the account holder information. Oliver had been too busy. Petra had texted him during dinner. His phone had buzzed against the table like a second heartbeat.

The padel racket hung by the door, its grip worn smooth from hands that weren't always hers. Maya had bought it for their fifth anniversary, engraved with their initials entwined. Now she wondered how many other women's palms had rested against that graphite while he demonstrated his backhand.

"I made spinach," she said instead. "Your favorite."

He finally looked up. "Maya, I haven't liked spinach since college. That's something you tell yourself."

The truth hit harder than she expected—all these years, she'd been serving him dishes from a version of him that no longer existed. And worse, he'd never bothered to correct her.

"Your doubles partner likes spinach," she said quietly. "I saw you two at that café last week. She ordered it, you stole some off her plate."

Oliver's face crumbled, all his practiced charm evaporating. Behind him, the television flickered to life—some sports channel showing a padel match, commentators shouting about serves and volleys. The cable bill sat on the counter, addressed to a Petra Vermeer at Oliver's club address.

"Maya—"

"Don't," she said, reaching for the spinach. She dumped it into the trash, watched it disappear into the darkness. "Game's already over, Oliver. You just forgot to notice."