Riddles in the Heat

The dog lay panting on the sidelines, its golden fur matted with sweat as Elena watched from the chain-link fence. Marco's shirt clung to his back, darker patches spreading beneath his arms as he reached for the padel racket, his swing wild, desperate. She hadn't seen him this unhinged in years.

"You're running yourself into the ground," she called out, but Marco didn't turn.

The padel ball cracked against the glass wall, echoing like a gunshot across the empty court. They used to play here every Sunday morning, back when they still had things to say to each other. Now the court was just another battlefield, another place to fail.

Marco collapsed against the fence, sliding down until he sat on the artificial turf, head between his knees. Elena approached slowly, the way she'd approach a wounded animal.

"I saw her," he said, not looking up. "At the water station by the marina. She was buying cigarettes."

The sphinx in Elena's chest uncurled, the riddle she'd been living with for eighteen months finally revealing its answer. She'd suspected, of course—the late nights, the sudden business trips, the way his phone stayed screen-down on the table. But suspicion and certainty were different beasts. One was a shadow; the other, something solid you could touch.

"Does she make you happy?" Elena asked, and her voice surprised her with its steadiness.

Marco lifted his head, eyes red-rimmed. "I don't know. I don't think happy is the word."

"What word, then?"

He thought about it. "Seen."

The dog whimpered, sensing something in the air. Elena felt her heart cracking open, not breaking—breaking would have been easier—but becoming something else entirely.

"I see you," she said. "I've always seen you. Maybe that's the problem."

She walked toward the parking lot without looking back, leaving Marco sitting on the court's edge beside the dog. The water in her eyes didn't fall. Some things, she decided, didn't need to be witnessed anymore.