Still Water

Margaret stood at the edge of the pool, her iPhone clutched in a hand that trembled just enough to notice. The water reflected nothing—not the moon, not the house, not the woman she'd become. Three months since David had moved out. Ninety-two days of learning to sleep alone again, of rehearsing conversations they'd never have.

The notification had come at 2:47 AM—a calendar invite from David. Lunch, tomorrow, his office. We need to talk. The words that had unraveled her life once before, now served up cold on a glowing screen she couldn't stop checking.

She'd known this moment was coming. The divorce was stalled, papered over with temporary agreements and unspoken hopes. David wanted to be certain. Margaret just wanted to be wanted.

The pool had been David's idea. Their therapist had suggested they create something together, a project that required cooperation. They'd built it during that fragile summer when reconciliation still seemed possible. Now it was just a hole in the ground, gathering leaves and memories.

Margaret scrolled through old photos on her iPhone—David underwater, surfacing with that boyish grin that had first made her trust him. Their daughter's birthday parties, the way David had always manned the grill while Margaret orchestrated everything else. She'd borne so much weight in their marriage, his moods, his career pivots his extended periods of what he called "finding himself" while she kept all of them afloat.

The bear had come through twice this summer—rummaging through trash, leaving paw prints on the deck where they'd once danced barefoot at midnight, convinced they'd weather anything. The animal had become her unlikely companion, another creature making do with scraps, surviving on what others discarded.

She deleted the calendar invite. Then she deleted his contact information. Then stood there, phone in hand, wondering why she felt hollow instead of triumphant.

The pool water shifted slightly in the wind. Margaret realized she didn't need David's permission to move forward. She didn't need his validation or his uncertainty. She could drain this pool, fill it with earth, plant something that actually grew.

She tossed the iPhone onto the patio chair. It landed with a soft thud, screen darkening. Margaret walked toward the house, leaving the water's reflection empty. For the first time in months, she didn't check to see if David was watching.