Salt Water Echoes

The jar of vitamin D supplements sat on our bedside table, a daily reminder of the winter we'd barely survived. Marcus took one every morning with the religious devotion he once reserved for our Sunday morning padel matches at the club. That was before everything changed.

'You coming?' he asked, racket already in hand, though we both knew I wouldn't. The padel court had become another language we no longer spoke together, its enclosed glass walls now reflecting back all the ways we'd drifted apart.

'I'm going to the pool,' I said, pulling on my swimsuit. 'Join me?'

He shook his head, already checking his phone for match notifications. Swimming had always been my solitary meditation, each lap a prayer whispered into chlorinated water. But lately, it had become something more—a way to feel my body move through something that offered resistance, then surrendered. Unlike marriage, which felt like pushing against something that would never yield.

The pool was nearly empty at six in the morning. I slipped into the cold water and began my laps, counting strokes instead of the days since Marcus had really looked at me. Somewhere around lap twenty, I realized I wasn't swimming to get fit or clear my head anymore. I was swimming to remember what it felt like to be held by something that didn't demand anything in return.

When I returned home, the vitamin jar was still there, morning dose untouched. Marcus's side of the bed was made, his padel bag missing from the closet. On the kitchen counter, a note: 'Met someone at the club. She plays differently than you.'

I swallowed two vitamins with a glass of water—first time I'd ever taken his dose. The pool called again. This time, I would stay until my skin wrinkled, until I forgot what it felt like to walk on land, until the water washed away everything that couldn't swim.