Poolside Confession

The layoff notice arrived via coaxial cable, flickering across the TV screen in jagged pixels. Sarah's palm went slick against the tumbler of scotch. She'd trusted Marcus with everything—her projections, her contacts, her friendship.

Twelve years they'd built that division together. He'd taken the promotion last month, promised they'd climb as a pair. Now his email forwarded her to HR with a single sentence: *Recommended for transition.*

She walked to the hotel pool, where their families had vacationed together last spring. The palm trees cast spiderweb shadows on the water where Marcus's daughter had learned to swim. Sarah remembered holding the girl's hand, laughing, while Marcus poured wine and talked about their future.

"You're overthinking it," he'd said when she expressed doubts about the merger. "Trust me."

The pool light shimmered like static, like that TV screen. She thought of all the times she'd covered for him—the missed deadlines, the fudged numbers. The way he'd sweated through presentations, palms glistening, while she smoothed his mistakes into competence.

Her phone buzzed. A text from him: *Can we talk?*

The cocktail umbrella in her drink drooped. She'd been the best friend he'd ever had. The first to defend him when whispers started about the Embezzlement investigation. The one who'd said, *Marcus wouldn't.*

Now she wondered if those whispers had been right all along.

Sarah scrolled through two decades of messages. The way he'd ghosted after his first divorce. The time he'd borrowed five grand and "forgotten." The promotion he'd taken credit for—her project, her design.

The pool water darkened as evening fell. She realized she'd been the friend who always forgave. Always trusted. Always saw the best in him.

Maybe that was the real betrayal—her own willful blindness.

Marcus's text showed *Read.* Then dots. Then nothing.

Sarah finished her scotch and left the glass by the pool. She didn't need the conversation. She needed cable cut. A new network. A hard reset.