The Cord That Held

David found himself on the padel court at 6 AM again, the third time this week, chasing a small blue ball across an enclosed enclosure that felt increasingly like the boundaries of his own life. His business partner, Elena, smashed a forehand past him.

"You're distracted," she said, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Again."

"It's nothing."

"It's always nothing with you." She retrieved her water bottle. "How's Sarah?"

"Fine." The lie tasted metallic, like the vitamin D supplements he choked down every morning — expensive, organic, recommended by a specialist who promised they'd fix the exhaustion that had been hollowing him out for months.

They'd tried everything: couples therapy, weekend retreats, date nights scheduled like quarterly reviews. The vitamin regimen was Sarah's latest attempt, a daily reminder that their marriage had become a project to be managed rather than a life to be lived.

After the match, Elena drove him to the industrial park where their startup operated from a converted warehouse. The fiber optic cable was down again — third time this month — leaving their team of twelve developers unable to access the servers hosted in the building's basement.

"I'll handle it," David said, grabbing a flashlight.

"You hate the basement."

"I need the distraction."

The cable room was a labyrinth of black wires snaking across walls like something dead. He traced the severed connection with his fingers, remembering how he and Sarah had spent their first anniversary building this company together, tangled in cables and takeout containers, believing they were building something that would outlast them.

The vitamin bottle in his pocket clinked against the flashlight as he worked. His phone buzzed — a text from Sarah: "Moved your vitamins to the counter. Don't forget."

She'd stopped asking if he was happy three months ago.

He spliced the cable back together, the copper wires gleaming in the flashlight beam like exposed nerves. When the connection light flickered green, he didn't head back upstairs. Instead, he sat on the concrete floor and called Elena.

"I can't go back up there," he said.

"I know."

"I think I've been dead for a long time."

"David."

"No, really. I think the vitamins are the only thing keeping me upright. And the padel. And this fucking cable."

"Come to the court," she said. "We'll play until something makes sense."

He stood up, leaving his phone on the basement floor. The vitamin bottle remained in his pocket, but for the first time in months, he didn't reach for it.