Palms and Pyramids

The spinach lay wilting on her plate, steam rising in the artificial twilight of the resort restaurant. Sarah hadn't touched it. She hadn't touched much of anything since they'd arrived in Cabo, three days into what was supposed to be their second honeymoon.

"You're running again," David said, not looking up from his phone. His thumb scrolled through emails, the blue light illuminating the exhaustion around his eyes. "I can hear you pacing at 3 AM."

"I'm thinking," she corrected, though they both knew it was the same thing. Sarah had been running for months now—first from the empty spaces in their marriage, then from the promotion she'd taken and hated, now from this desperate attempt to fix what couldn't be fixed.

Outside, beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass, the infinity pool reflected the last mango light of sunset. A pyramid scheme, she thought bitterly. That's what their life had become—each level promising more happiness, more security, more everything, while they kept climbing and finding only more people to please.

"We should talk about January," David said. "The restructuring. My VP slot depends on hitting those numbers."

"Numbers," she repeated. "Always numbers."

She walked to the balcony, her bare feet silent on Mexican tile. The palm trees swayed in the evening breeze, their fronds catching the dying light like ancient fingers. She pressed her palm against the cool glass, feeling the distance between herself and the woman she used to be—the one who had believed that love alone could sustain them through everything.

"I met someone," she said quietly to the glass. "At work. We haven't done anything. But he listens, David. He asks me how I am and actually waits for the answer."

The silence stretched, thin and trembling as a wire pulled too tight. When she turned, David was standing at the balcony door, his phone forgotten on the table. For the first time in years, she couldn't read his expression.

"I know," he said. "I've known for months. I was hoping you'd choose us anyway."

The spinach was completely cold now. Below them, the pool lights flickered on, transforming the water into something artificial and perfect—a beautiful, glittering lie they'd both been living inside for far too long.