Still Water

The hotel pool was empty at 11 PM, which was exactly why Elena chose it. Forty-two years old and still running from the sensation of being looked at, evaluated, found wanting. The water was still and dark, reflecting nothing—a mercy.

She'd cut her hair that morning. The stylist had called it a 'refresh,' but Elena knew it was erasure. Ten inches of dark curls now sweeping some salon floor, gone like the last decade of her marriage. Marcus had loved her hair. Had loved to wrap it around his fist during arguments, during sex, during the long silences that had swallowed them both.

The door clicked open. David.

Of course. The universe had a sick sense of humor. David from Accounting, with his cable-knit sweaters and careful smiles and eyes that lingered too long during meetings. The kind of man who noticed things.

'Couldn't sleep either?' he asked, already loosening his tie.

Elena's heart was running a marathon against her ribs. 'No.'

He sat on the edge of a lounge chair, not too close. Not far enough. 'They put spinach in the omelets at breakfast,' he said, apropos of nothing. 'I had it stuck in my teeth through two meetings before anyone told me.'

She laughed before she could stop herself. It came out rusty, unused. 'That happened to me once. During a presentation. In front of the board.'

David looked at her then—really looked at her. Not the way Marcus had, like she was a possession to be polished. Like she was a person. A person who'd just cut off all her hair and was sitting alone in a hotel pool at midnight, carrying ten years of silent grief like stones in her pockets.

'I like it,' he said softly. 'The hair. It's brave.'

Brave. The word settled in her chest, lighter than she expected. The water was waiting. The night was endless. For the first time in years, Elena didn't want to run anymore.