Tethered

The divorce papers sat on the kitchen counter for three weeks before Elena finally signed them. She'd spent that time at Marcus's place, drinking too much wine and pretending their late-night conversations about starting over meant something.

Now she was back, and David was still here, sleeping on the couch like some penitent saint. He'd taken up padel at the club, something they used to joke was for people who couldn't commit to real tennis. Last night she'd watched him through the window, swinging at nothing in the backyard while their cat, Miso, watched from the porch rail—judgmental and unblinking.

"You need to decide," Sarah had said over coffee that morning. Sarah, her oldest friend, the one who'd introduced them at that corporate retreat seven years ago. The one who'd been sleeping with David for six months before Elena found out.

"I know," Elena had said.

But she didn't know. That was the problem.

The cable guy was coming between four and six. David had ordered some premium package—sports channels, mostly. More padel tournaments to watch alone.

She found herself standing at the edge of the pool, now. The water was still, opaque in the gathering dusk. Last summer, they'd floated here on inflatable rafts, drunk and happy, planning renovations they'd never start. Now the pool was just another unfinished thing between them, like the marriage, like everything.

Miso wound around her ankles, purring. The cat didn't care about their problems. The cat just wanted dinner.

"Elena?" David's voice from the patio. "Cable guy's running late. Want to hit a few balls?"

She looked at the pool, at the cat, at the man who'd betrayed her with her best friend. Then she picked up Miso and walked toward the court.

"Sure," she said. "But I'm not going easy on you."

The ball cracked against their racquets in the dying light, back and forth, tethered together by the one thing they still shared: they were both too stubborn to walk away first.