The Barefoot Padel Match
Elena had stopped asking herself why she did it. The money helped — God knew the consulting gig barely covered rent in Barcelona — but it was something else too. The thrill of being the only one who knew.
She'd been Xavier's friend for seven years, since they were both analysts drowning under spreadsheets at 2 AM. They'd survived his divorce, her mother's death, countless bottles of wine on his balcony overlooking the port. He was the person she called first when anything happened. Anything.
Except this.
The Padel club smelled of expensive cologne and quiet desperation. She watched him through the glass wall, laughing with a woman she recognized from the business section of El PaÃs. The CEO of the competitor company. Xavier's back was to her, but she knew the tension in his shoulders, the way he leaned in too close when he was Selling something.
You bear the weight of your choices, her mother used to say. The phrase echoed now, useless and cruel.
She was a spy. Not the glamorous kind with gadgets and safe houses, but the sad corporate variety — forwarding emails, leaving phone unlocked during bathroom breaks, reporting back to someone who signed her checks but didn't know her last name. Three weeks ago, she'd told herself it would end soon. One more month, maybe two.
Then came the message: Get the merger documents. Today.
Xavier spotted her through the glass and waved, genuinely happy to see his friend. The woman beside him turned, and their eyes met across the court. Something flickered there — recognition, or maybe Elena was projecting.
The ball hit the wall with a hollow thud. Someone laughed.
She walked toward the clubhouse, phone heavy in her pocket, Xavier's smile widening as he opened his arms. In that moment, she realized the worst part wasn't the betrayal. It was that she still loved him, and she was about to do it anyway.