Service Fault

It was the hat that did it—that ridiculous straw thing Elena had bought in Marbella, sitting crooked on her head like she didn't care about anything anymore. Including us.

"Your serve," she said from across the padel court. Her voice was flat. No "honey," no "come on, you can do better." Just the facts, delivered like someone reading a grocery list.

I adjusted my grip on the racket. My palms were sweating. They always did when she looked at me like that—like I was a stranger she'd been forced to sit next to on a long flight.

"You've been distant," I said instead of hitting the ball.

Elena laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "We're at a couples retreat, David. The therapist said we needed to reconnect. So here we are. Reconnecting."

She gestured at the resort grounds. At the shimmering blue pool where we'd almost drowned in silence over breakfast. At the palm trees swaying in the breeze, mocking us with their perfect coupledom.

"I didn't mean—" I started.

"To sleep with her?" Elena stepped forward, right up to the service line. "No, I'm sure it just happened. Accidentally. Over and over for three months."

The ball dropped from my hand and rolled across the court. I didn't pick it up.

"The hat," I said, grasping for something—anything—that felt like us. "You hate hats. You always say they give you hat hair."

Elena reached up and pulled it off. Her hair was perfect. She'd been inside most of the morning, probably crying in that oversized suite we'd splurged on, trying to pretend we could fix what we'd broken.

"I'm trying," she said, and something cracked in her voice. "I'm trying to want to be here. With you. But every time I look at you, I see him. I see the messages. I see the hotel receipts."

She stepped back behind the line. "Hit the ball, David."

I didn't. I walked to the net instead. Through the chain-link fence, I could see the pool, where another couple was laughing, wrapped in each other's arms like they hadn't invented betrayal yet.

"I don't want to play anymore," I said.

Elena set down her racket. She didn't look surprised. She looked relieved.

"Me neither," she said. "Let's go get a drink. Not together. Just—let's stop pretending."

She walked off the court without the hat. I watched her go toward the bar, and for the first time in months, I didn't follow.