Riddles in the Afternoon

The ball hit the padel court with a satisfying crack, but Elena's mind was somewhere else. Across the net, Sarah wiped sweat from her forehead, her dark hair plastered against her neck in the heat.

"You're playing like shit today," Sarah called, grinning. "Everything okay?"

Elena forced a smile. "Fine. Just tired."

It wasn't tiredness. It was the weight of what she'd discovered yesterday, scrolling through Sarah's phone while Sarah was in the shower—the messages between Sarah and Elena's husband. The months of deception. The casual betrayal.

Sarah's cat, a haughty sphinx of a creature named Cleo, sat on the sidelines of the court, watching them with ancient, judgmental eyes. Elena had always found the cat unnerving, hairless and wrinkled like something that had seen too many lifetimes of human foolishness.

"Remember when we talked about what kind of friend we'd each be?" Elena asked suddenly, letting the ball bounce twice between them.

Sarah's smile faltered. "What?"

"That night after your divorce. We got drunk on your balcony and made those promises. About loyalty. About how we'd never be those women."

The silence stretched between them, heavier than the afternoon heat. Sarah's face went still.

"Elena—"

"I saw the messages, Sarah."

The sphinx cat meowed, a sound that might have been sympathy or might have been amusement. Elena felt something hollow open in her chest—a space where thirteen years of friendship had been.

"It's not what you think," Sarah started, but stopped. They both knew it was exactly what she thought.

Elena walked to the net, closer to her oldest friend, now feeling like a stranger. "I don't want explanations. I just want to know why."

Sarah's eyes filled with tears. "I don't know. I don't fucking know."

The riddle, Elena realized, had no answer. Some questions destroy you whether you ask them or not.