Poolside

Maya balanced her phone on the pool's concrete edge, the screen reflecting the turquoise water like a second moon. Her thumb hovered over Ethan's latest text—another excuse about why he'd missed their dinner reservation. The iPhone buzzed again: a photo from the company gala, Ethan laughing with the new VP of Marketing, his hand lingering on her bare shoulder.

She'd spent three months taking the prenatal vitamins he'd insisted upon, watching her body change while he watched everything but her. Now the pills sat in the bathroom cabinet like tiny white accusations.

The rooftop pool was empty at 11 PM. Perfect. She'd told the concierge she was waiting for her husband, enjoyed the sympathy in the woman's eyes. The story was close enough to truth.

Maya slipped into the water, letting it erase the sweat and the city grime. She'd spent the evening at his office, watching him charm investors with that bull market patter she'd once found so magnetic. Now she knew it wasn't charisma—it was rehearsal. He'd been practicing on her for six years.

Her phone illuminated the water's surface. Another message: "We need to talk." Classic.

She thought about their wedding day, how he'd promised to carry her across the threshold of their new life. Instead, he'd carried his assistant across the dance floor at the Christmas party. Everyone had seen it except her.

The vitamins. The iPhone tracking app he'd insisted they install "for safety." The way he'd bought the house with the pool because she'd mentioned she'd always wanted one. All of it—every gesture, every promise—had been part of the performance.

Maya reached for the phone. The glass was slick against her wet fingers. She didn't read his next message. Instead, she dropped the phone into the deep end and watched it sink, a tiny screen of light descending into darkness.

For the first time in three years, she could see the stars.