The Color of Goodbye

The padel court echoed with the rhythmic thwack of rubber against ball, a sound that used to make her feel alive. Now, watching him from the sidelines, Elena felt only the dull ache of something that had been beautiful once, like a bruise fading to yellow-green. His hair, once the color of autumn leaves, was thinning at the temples — she'd noticed it this morning when he stepped out of the shower, unaware of her gaze tracking his decline. They'd been running from something for years, though neither could name what. Not anymore.

"Your serve," he called, grinning that boyish grin that still made her chest tighten. She'd loved that grin for fifteen years. Had built a life around it.

The orange slice she'd packed sat untouched in her bag, its bright rind already beginning to brown at the edges. She'd been bringing them to his matches since their twenties, this small ritual of care, like prayer or superstition. Today the fruit seemed obscene — too vivid, too demanding of joy in a world gone gray.

Her phone buzzed. The divorce lawyer. Again.

Elena didn't pick up. Instead, she watched David laugh with his opponent, head thrown back, throat exposed. He looked younger somehow in motion, all the years of their shared disappointments momentarily suspended. They'd been running so long she'd forgotten what it felt like to stand still. To want something.

She opened her bag and took out the orange. Peeling it, she let the spray hit her wrist, sharp and shocking. The scent hit her memory: their honeymoon in Seville, the way the light had caught his hair then, how he'd kissed the juice from her fingers in a crowded plaza, unembarrassed, voracious. That version of him felt like someone she'd invented.

The game ended. David jogged over, sweat on his upper lip, eyes searching hers for approval she didn't feel anymore. "You okay? You missed the last set."

Elena placed the orange segments in his palm. Their fingers didn't touch. "Just thinking," she said, and for the first time in years, it wasn't a lie. "About how things end."