Still Water

The hotel pool was empty at 3 AM, its surface still and dark as obsidian. Elena stood at the edge, her robe cinched tight against the November chill, watching the water catch fragments of moonlight. She'd come here to escape—her phone blowing up with messages from David, her sister asking if she'd signed the divorce papers yet, her boss wondering if she'd be in for the Monday meeting.

She'd left her room key on the nightstand. No escape route but down.

The water lapped softly against the tiles, hypnotic. She'd read somewhere that drowning was peaceful, like falling asleep. Not that she would—she wasn't suicidal, just tired. So tired of being the strong one, the responsible one, the woman who held everything together while her own life dissolved like sugar in hot tea.

A movement caught her eye. A cat, gray and ragged, sat on one of the lounge chairs, watching her with unblinking yellow eyes. It looked like it'd seen better days, like it'd been through something and come out the other side scarred but still standing.

"You too, huh?" she whispered.

The cat stood, stretched elaborately, and padded toward her. When it reached her feet, it wound through her legs, purring like a tiny motor. Elena sank to the ground, burying her face in its fur. It smelled of chlorine and rain.

She thought of David's face when she told him she wanted a separation. How he'd looked like she'd reached inside his chest and torn something out. How she'd felt nothing but relief.

The cat butted its head against her chin, demanding attention. Elena laughed, the sound rusty in her throat. She'd come down here to feel something other than numbness, to let the pool's depth mirror her own, but instead she'd found this—this small, stubborn thing that refused to let her disappear into her own head.

"Okay," she said, scratching behind its ears. "Okay."

She stood up slowly, her knees popping. The cat watched her, then turned and padded back toward the hotel entrance, pausing to look over its shoulder as if checking she'd follow.

Elena did. The water would still be there tomorrow, dark and deep and waiting. But for now, she had something—someone—else to think about.