Swimming in Lightning

The apartment complex pool was empty at 2 AM, which was exactly why Elena chose it. She'd stopped sleeping three weeks ago—ever since Marcus left with nothing more than a *lightning* strike of a voicemail: "I think we bring out the worst in each other."

Now she sat on the concrete edge, feet dangling in the chlorinated water, clutching a bottle of B-complex *vitamins* like they might actually fix whatever was broken inside her. Her therapist had recommended them. Said her body was depleted from stress. What she didn't say was that some depletions don't replenish.

A rustle in the landscaping drew her attention. A *fox* emerged from the bushes—sleek, rusty coat gleaming under the moonlight, eyes assessing her with terrifying intelligence. It moved with that particular predator's grace, the way Marcus used to move through rooms at gallery openings, charming everyone within reach while Elena stood by his side feeling increasingly invisible.

The fox lapped water from the pool's edge, then turned to look at her directly. Something about that gaze—so utterly unimpressed, so completely lacking in sentimentality—cracked something open in her chest.

"What?" she whispered. "You think I'm pathetic too?"

The fox didn't answer. It simply slipped back into the darkness, gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Elena stripped down to her underwear and slid into the pool. The shock of cold water was immediate, absolute. She began *swimming* laps, stroke after stroke, until her arms burned and her thoughts finally went quiet. Somewhere between the fourth and fifth lap, she understood: Marcus hadn't been *lightning* at all—he'd been weather she'd mistaken for destiny.

She hauled herself out at dawn, shivering, exhausted, clearer than she'd been in years. The vitamin bottle sat where she'd left it. She left it there.

Some things you don't fix. Some things you outgrow.