Scoring Points in the Dark

The lightning cracked the sky open as Elena stood at the net, her paddle raised, breath caught in her throat. Beside her, Marcus wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand — that familiar gesture she'd once found charming, now just another habit in a catalog of them.

"Your serve," he said, not meeting her eyes.

They'd been playing padel every Tuesday night for six months, ever since the divorce papers were signed. Some couples kept the house. Others kept the dog. They'd kept the court reservations.

The first fat drops of rain began to fall as Elena served. The ball hit the wire fence instead.

"We should go," Marcus said.

"One more game."

"Elena, it's pouring."

Another flash of lightning illuminated the court, and for a moment, she could see them clearly: two people who'd promised forever, now measured by games they wouldn't finish.

She drove to the pool instead of home. The indoor pool was empty at 10 PM, fluorescent lights reflecting off the water's surface. She swam lap after lap, counting strokes, trying to outrun the image of Marcus's hands — the way they'd once held hers, the way they'd held someone else's three months into their marriage.

When she finally pulled herself from the water, her limbs felt heavy, used.

The stray cat was waiting by her car as always. Elena opened the trunk to retrieve the food she kept there now. The cat ate from her palm, its rough tongue against her skin, another creature learning to survive on what remained.

At home, her dog greeted her with that desperate enthusiasm only animals can offer — as if her absence might have been permanent this time. She buried her face in his fur and let herself cry, finally, the tears she'd been holding back since the lightning.

Some wounds you didn't heal. You just learned to swim through them.