Pyramid of Regrets

The glass pyramid rose from the desert floor like a shard of frozen time, catching the dying sun in its facets. Elena stood at the base, remembering how Richard had laughed when she'd dragged him here twenty years ago. 'It's just a casino,' he'd said, but she'd insisted on the romance of it—the Luxor, Las Vegas, their tenth anniversary trip.

Now, at forty-eight, she was here alone for a corporate retreat. The irony wasn't lost on her.

She swam in the pool at dusk, the water dark as spilled wine. Bear the weight of memory, she told herself, floating on her back, watching the pyramid's light beam pierce the purple sky. Richard had been dead three years now. Cancer. Slow and cruel.

The water lapped against her skin, carrying echoes of that first night they'd spent here—how they'd made love with the curtains open, reckless and young, how Richard had promised they'd return when they were old and gray.

He'd broken that promise. But then, he'd broken so many toward the end.

Elena dove beneath the surface, holding her breath until her lungs burned. It was easier down here, in the muffled silence. No expectations. No memories demanding attention.

When she surfaced, gasping, a man in his thirties stood at the pool's edge, watching her.

'You okay?' he asked.

Elena treaded water, suddenly aware of her age, her solitude, the rawness on her face. 'Fine,' she said. 'Just... visiting an old ghost.'

He nodded, understanding somehow. 'Pyramid's got a lot of those, doesn't it?'

She smiled then, a small, genuine thing. 'Yeah. Yeah, it does.'

Later, she would pack her bags, fly home to the empty house, and learn to bear the weight of living again. But for now, she floated on her back, letting the water hold her, watching the beam of light sweep across the desert sky like a searchlight for lost things.