Spring Training Secrets

The palm trees surrounding the stadium cast long shadows across Section 214, where Elena sat with her husband's hand in hers. Spring training in Arizona—Frank's idea. Something about rekindling what they'd lost, though she suspected he'd simply wanted an excuse to escape Minneapolis in March.

"Your lifeline's shorter than I remember," she murmured, tracing the crease in his palm with practiced fingers. She'd taken up palm reading during their separation, a desperate attempt to find meaning in chaos.

Frank laughed, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe that means we get to stop running eventually."

On the field, the baseball game dragged on—innings stretching like the years between them. They'd been married seventeen years, together twenty-two. The woman from his office—twenty-six, with energy and optimism Elena couldn't fake anymore—had lasted three months. Frank had come back with his tail between his legs and a speech about mistakes and clarity and second chances.

Elena had accepted him back. She wasn't sure why. Maybe habit. Maybe fear of starting over at forty-five. Maybe she simply believed people could change, could grow, could somehow become who they pretended to be after shattering everything.

"I got promoted," Frank said suddenly, as the batter struck out. "Regional director."

His palm sweated in hers. He only sweated when he was lying.

"Congratulations," she said. "That's wonderful."

"It means more travel."

"I know."

"But the pay increase—it'll help with Maya's tuition."

Maya. Their daughter, starting college in September. The reason they'd tried again. The reason Elena had swallowed her pride and reopened the door to the man who'd walked out on Christmas Eve.

"Are you happy, Frank?" she asked, watching the palm trees sway in the desert wind.

"What kind of question is that?"

"A simple one."

He pulled his hand away. "Of course I am. We're together. That's what matters."

But his eyes kept drifting toward the exit, toward the parking lot, toward anywhere but her face. And in that moment, Elena understood what she'd been refusing to see: Frank wasn't running back to her. He was running away from something else entirely.

The baseball sailed over the fence—a home run. The crowd erupted. Someone spilled beer nearby, and the scent filled the air.

Elena stood up. "I'm going to the restroom."

She didn't come back.