The Architecture of Regret

Mia sat alone at O'Malley's, her finger tracing the condensation on her glass of water. The baseball game flickered on the mounted TV—Red Sox against the Yankees, bottom of the ninth, but she couldn't have said who was winning. Her attention was fixed on the man walking through the door, the one she'd ruined.

"Thought I might find you here," Mark said, sliding onto the adjacent stool. He smelled like expensive cologne and expensive mistakes.

"I'm not doing this," she said, not turning.

"That pyramid scheme you got me into—"

"I didn't KNOW it was a pyramid scheme when I invested. You knew. You still got in."

"Because you said it was 'different this time.'" His voice cracked. "That was our savings, Mia. Our life."

The dog at her feet, an ancient golden retriever she'd found wandering the streets three months ago, rested its chin on her sneaker. She'd named him Lucky, because irony had become the only currency she trusted.

Outside, water streamed down the windows in relentless sheets. The whole city was weeping.

"You were my best friend," he said softly. "Before everything else. That was supposed to mean something."

"It did." She finally looked at him. At the lines she'd helped etch around his eyes. At the way his hands shook when he reached for his drink. "That's why it hurts so much."

The baseball game cut to commercial. A jingle played—something about investing in your future. Mia almost laughed.

"I'm leaving town," she said.

"Running away?"

"No. Starting over." She finished her water. "Lucky needs a bigger backyard anyway."

He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded once, abruptly. "Don't do it again, Mia. Whatever you do next."

"I won't."

She stood, the dog rising with her, and walked out into the rain. The door closed behind her, shutting out the bar and the man she'd broken and the baseball game that no one was really watching.

For the first time in years, she didn't feel like she was drowning.