The Chlorine Season

The morning sunlight caught the water's surface, transforming the hotel pool into something resembling liquid diamonds. Elena sat on the edge, legs submerged to the calves, while Marcus stood three feet away — the exact distance they'd been maintaining for six months.

"You forgot your vitamin again," he said, not looking up from his phone. His thumb scrolled, scrolled, scrolled.

"I took it."

"The bottle's full, El."

She watched a stray cat wind itself between the lounge chairs, its ribs visible beneath matted calico fur. It moved with the casual indifference of creatures who knew exactly how disposable they were.

"Maybe I'm just done with pretending they help."

Marcus finally looked at her. His eyes had that flat quality she'd come to recognize — the look of someone performing emotion rather than feeling it. They'd both been moving through their marriage like zombies lately, animated by habit and obligation rather than anything resembling life.

"The doctor said—"

"The doctor said a lot of things." She stood up, water dripping from her legs onto the concrete. The divorce papers were in her suitcase. She'd brought them here to this anniversary trip, this monument to a relationship that had died somewhere between the second miscarriage and the silence that followed.

The cat brushed against her palm, its rough tongue briefly touching her skin before it bounded away toward the breakfast area.

"El?"

"I'm going for a walk."

"We have the couples massage at—"

"You go. I need... I need to not be us for an hour."

She didn't look back. Behind her, the pool continued its glittering pretense, indifferent to the things that drowned beneath its surface.