Swimming in Your Palm

The divorce papers sat on the kitchen counter for three weeks before Marcus finally signed them. Elena had spent that time swimming through the hollow spaces of their condo, testing how it felt to be alone in what used to be their shared life.

She found the goldfish in the bathroom, floating near the surface of its neglected bowl. Marcus had bought it on a whim during their anniversary trip to Vegas — he'd won it at a carnival booth, grinning like he'd just conquered the world. "We'll name him Lucky," he'd said, "because we got lucky finding each other."

Now Lucky was dying, and Elena wasn't sure if she should save him or let him go. The symbolism felt too heavy-handed, like something from a creative writing workshop.

Marcus came by that afternoon to pick up his things. He'd been staying at his brother's place, though Elena suspected he was actually shacked up with the new associate from his firm — the one with the perfectly manicured nails and expensive highlights. Marcus had always had a type.

"You going to do something about the fish?" he asked, not quite meeting her eyes.

Elena extended her palm, letting him see the trembling there. "I don't know what the protocol is. Do we take turns with joint custody, or does one of us get sole custody of a dying goldfish?"

Marcus laughed, but it was thin, hollow. "Jesus, El. You always had to make everything deep."

"That's why you loved me."

"That's why I can't do this anymore." His voice cracked. "It's exhausting, always swimming upstream with you. Everything was so heavy."

Elena reached into the bowl and cupped the fish in her palm, feeling its delicate heartbeat against her skin. "You wanted light, Marcus. You wanted easy. But life isn't easy — it's just what we make of the heavy parts."

He left without taking the fish. Elena stood at the window, watching his car disappear down the street, the goldfish swimming weak circles in her palm, both of them suspended between ending and beginning, learning how to breathe in their new element.