Riddles by the Pool

Elena sat by the infinity pool, the sound of **padel** balls ricocheting off the back wall like gunshots in the distance. Her husband Marcus played with his new business partner, laughing too loudly, his shirt already damp with sweat. At fifty, he'd discovered a sudden passion for competitive sports and younger women.

She took a sip of her sparkling **water**, the bubbles sharp against her tongue, and adjusted her sunglasses to watch them through the dark lenses. The pool's surface shimmered like melted glass, blurring the reflection of the luxury resort they'd mortgaged their future to afford.

Three years ago in Egypt, they'd stood before the Great **Sphinx** at dawn. Marcus had complained about the entry fee while Elena stared into those ancient, eroded eyes, wondering what riddles the stone creature might ask them. She'd wanted to ask: When does a marriage become a monument to something that no longer lives?

She'd said nothing then, either.

The waiter brought her lunch—a salad dotted with organic **spinach**, quinoa, and goat cheese. Healthy, expensive, joyless. She chewed slowly, thinking of her mother's wilted spinach with vinegar, how the bitterness had once made her wrinkle her nose. Now she paid too much for meals that tasted like duty.

"Elena!" Marcus waved from the **padel** court, flushed with victory. "Come play mixed doubles!"

She almost stood, almost went. But she was so tired of performing happiness, tired of the riddle she'd been living: How do you leave when you've built everything together?

Instead, she waved back and returned to her **water**, watching the pool's artificial infinity stretch toward a sea that looked nothing like the one they'd promised each other thirty years ago. The **sphinx** had kept its secrets. So would she.