Riddles in the Dark

Maya stood outside her boss's office at 11 PM, her takeout container growing cold. The sphinx-like creature waited inside—Elena, who made every request a riddle you had to solve before she'd give you what you needed. "Why are you here?" Elena would ask, and you'd have to guess whether she meant *why are you at this company*, *why are you working this late*, or *why are you bothering me now*. The wrong answer meant another night of spinning wheels.

Maya's phone buzzed. David again. *Come home. We need to talk.*

She'd left spinach cooking on the stove when she stormed out four hours ago. It was probably burned to slag by now—much like their marriage. David called her stubborn. He said she charged through life like a **bull** in a china shop, expecting everything to yield. He wasn't wrong.

Elena's door opened. "You're still here?"

Maya swallowed. "I need your approval on the merger docs. The client's waiting."

Elena studied her for a long moment. "Why do you think I hired you?"

Not this. Not the sphinx routine. Not when Maya's life was unraveling in her pocket.

"Because I get results," Maya said, hearing the exhaustion in her own voice.

Elena's expression softened, just slightly. "I hired you because you remind me of myself. But even I go home sometimes." She signed the document. "Go home, Maya. Fix whatever's burning."

The spinach, she meant. Or maybe everything.

Maya walked out into the cool night air, the signed papers heavy in her hand. David's message lit up her screen again. She thought about riddles and answers, about being the bull who couldn't stop charging, about the things you chose to break and the things you couldn't fix.

She typed: *I'm coming. Let's start over.*

Some riddles, she decided, you don't solve alone.