The Cat Always Lands

The padel court echoed with the sharp crack of ball against glass, a rhythm that had become the soundtrack to our unraveling. Elena's hair—once the same rich brown as our daughter's, now streaked with silver she refused to dye—fell across her face as she bent to retrieve the ball. She didn't push it back. That small omission told me everything.

'You're not coming home afterward, are you?' I asked, though it wasn't really a question. The cat, Luna, had been waiting at the door that morning when I left, her yellow eyes knowing. Cats sense earthquakes before the ground shakes.

Elena straightened, the ball in her hand like a burden. 'Marcus came back. The Singapore project finished early.'

Marcus. The name landed like acid on my tongue. Her brilliant, charismatic colleague who understood her ambitions in ways my CPA spreadsheets never could. The one who'd confided in her about his marriage crumbling over Christmas cocktails, while I talked about the new lawn mower.

'And?' I gestured at the court between us, the blue surface that had hosted our Sunday matches for seven years. 'This? Padel with your husband, what—closure exercise?'

'I thought...' She looked at the ball, not me. 'I thought if we played, if it felt normal, maybe I'd remember why I stayed.' Her voice cracked. 'Instead I just kept thinking about Marcus's farewell dinner on Thursday. How he asked if I'd ever really been happy.'

The cat had been sitting by his bowl for three days, the vet said. Not eating, just waiting. Some cats do that when their people leave.

'Thursday,' I repeated. 'The night you worked late.' The realization hit me with the force of something physical—not betrayal, but relief. The terrible, liberating relief of finally knowing.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

'Don't be.' I walked to the net, picked up a ball from my side. 'One more game? For old times' sake?'

She hesitated, then nodded. We played in silence, the ball arcing between us like history, like memory, like all the things we'd said and left unsaid. Luna would be waiting when I got home. Some creatures, I thought as Elena's return shot sailed wide, know when to walk away.