Seventh Inning Stretch

The iPhone glowed on the nightstand, its screen illuminating the darkness like a guilty conscience. Elena had never been a jealous woman, but something in David's eyes when he'd come home from work tonight — that slight flinch when she'd asked about his day — had sent a cold finger of panic tracing down her spine. She waited for his breathing to deepen, for the familiar rhythm of his sleep, before she reached for the device.

He'd changed his password. Again.

Elena's thumb hovered over the screen as she tried every combination that mattered: their anniversary, the day they'd adopted Buster from that shelter outside Austin, the birthdate of his mother who'd died last spring. Nothing worked. She felt like a spy in her own marriage, reduced to surveillance tactics she'd never imagined she'd use against someone she loved.

Buster, their golden retriever mix, stirred at the foot of the bed. His chocolate eyes found hers in the dim light, knowing and sad. He'd been acting strange lately too — whining when David's phone buzzed, curling away from David's touch. Dogs sensed these things. Dogs knew.

Outside, summer pressed against the windows, thick with humidity and the distant sounds of the neighborhood. It had been a baseball summer, one of those rare perfect stretches where they'd watched every Rangers game together, David explaining pitches she'd never understand, both of them drinking beer on the back porch while Buster chased fireflies. She'd thought they were happy. She'd thought they were building something.

The iPhone buzzed in her hand. A text message preview flashed on the locked screen: "Can't wait to see you tomorrow. Same place as last week?"

No name. Just a local number she didn't recognize.

Elena's stomach twisted. She'd heard about the stadium — the way men would meet there during weekday games, using the crowds as cover. Baseball games lasted three hours. That was a long time to disappear.

She set the phone back on the nightstand, her hands trembling. Buster licked her palm, his tongue rough and comforting. She curled around him, burying her face in his warm fur, and let herself cry for the first time in years. The game wasn't over yet, but she knew the score. Some innings, you can't come back from. Some losses define the whole season.