Riddles in the Blood

The sphinx had been staring at me for three thousand years, and somehow she still looked more patient than Sarah. I sat on the edge of the hotel bed in Giza, watching the ancient monument through our window while she packed her bags. Her movements were precise, efficient—like she'd been rehearsing this departure since the day we met.

"It's not about the padel tournament, David." She didn't turn around. "It's that you'd rather play than figure out why we haven't had sex in six months."

The accusation hit harder than any racquet swing. I thought about defending myself—about the cable bridge project in London that had consumed me, about how padel was my only escape from the stress. But she was right. I'd chosen the court over our bed, chose the easy rhythm of a game over the messy work of intimacy.

My phone buzzed with a message from my mother. Did I remember to take my iron supplements? Did I eat anything green today, or was I still surviving on hotel food and espresso? I thought about the spinach I'd forced down at breakfast, choking on it like medicine. Sarah had watched me from across the buffet, her eyes already saying goodbye.

"You're like a riddle I can't solve," she said now, zipping her suitcase. "Present physically, absent emotionally. And I'm tired of guessing."

Outside, the sphinx remained impassive, her lion body merged with human head in a union of opposing forces. She'd seen empires rise and fall. She'd watched countless couples stand before her, making promises that disintegrated like limestone in wind. What was one more failed marriage to eternity?

"The cable car tickets are non-refundable," I said, hating how petty it sounded. "For tomorrow."

"Keep them." Sarah finally faced me, and the sadness in her expression was worse than anger. "Maybe you'll figure out who you are when you're not performing for someone else's approval."

The door clicked shut behind her. I sat alone with the sphinx, her stone eyes knowing something I still refused to understand: some questions don't have answers, only the courage to keep asking them anyway.