Papaya Seeds and Secrets

Elena sat at the edge of the infinity pool, martini in hand, watching her husband Marcus across the water. He was laughing at something the woman in the red bikini said—head thrown back, teeth flashing, the genuine laugh she hadn't seen in years. She felt like a **zombie** moving through their marriage, performing the motions of happiness while something inside her had long since died.

The resort in Cabo was supposed to save them. Marcus's idea. The same place they'd spent their honeymoon seven years ago, when they'd shared **papaya** every morning, feeding each other sticky-sweet pieces with their fingers, promising forever. Now papaya just tasted like regret.

A small **dog** wandered over from the neighboring cabana—a terrier mix with one flopped ear. It nudged her bare foot with its wet nose, and she scratched its head without breaking eye contact with Marcus. At least someone was paying attention to her.

"You're doing it again," Marcus said, suddenly beside her in the pool, wet chest glistening. "Staring. You look like you're about to interrogate me."

"Just enjoying the view," she said, not bothering to hide the bitterness. "You seem to be having a good time with what's-her-name."

"Her name is Sofia. She's a client, Elena. We're discussing the merger."

"Right. The merger. The one you forgot to mention until I caught you texting her at dinner last week." She'd become a **spy** in her own marriage, checking his phone while he showered, memorizing his passcodes, tracking his movements through shared credit card charges. The exhaustion of constant suspicion was eating her alive.

Marcus sighed, running wet hands through his hair. "I told you. I didn't want to worry you until it was final. The promotion means we can finally start trying for that baby you keep talking about."

The baby conversation again. Always the dangling carrot.

"Is that what this trip is?" Elena asked quietly. "One last effort before you decide?"

"What?"

"Before you decide if you still want this marriage. If you still want me."

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the dog's sharp bark at a passing waiter. Marcus reached for her hand underwater, but she pulled away.

"Elena..."

"Don't," she said, standing up. "I'm going back to the room. I'll leave you to your merger discussions."

She didn't look back at the **pool**, at her husband, at the life she was leaving behind. Some deaths happened slowly, over years. Others in a single afternoon, beside turquoise water, under a Mexican sun that kept shining regardless.