The Deep End of Us

Marissa swam laps at midnight because the water demanded honesty. In the pool, she couldn't hide from herself—not like she did during the day, moving through her marriage like a zombie, automated and hollow.

Three months ago, she'd discovered the tracking app on her phone. Marcus had installed it, playing the reluctant corporate spy while monitoring her location, her texts, the coffee shops she visited. When she confronted him, he'd folded instantly: "I just needed to know you weren't leaving me."

She should have left then. Instead, she'd stayed, and now she moved through their life with dead eyes, performing the role of wife while something inside her rotted.

The water was different. It pressed against her skin, demanded her presence. Tonight, she pushed off the wall, slicing through the silence. Twelve strokes to the other end. Turn. Twelve strokes back.

Underwater, she could almost believe they were both victims of something larger—of the way love curdles into surveillance, of the terrible loneliness that makes people play spy against their own hearts.

Her fingers brushed the pool's bottom. She surfaced, gasping. The night air was cold against her wet arms. In the distance, a light flickered in their apartment window.

Marcus was probably awake, watching the tracker's dot move back and forth in the blue rectangle of the pool. He'd know she was coming back. He always knew.

Marissa tread water, suspended in the middle of the deep end. For the first time in months, she didn't feel like a zombie. She felt heavy with decision. The water held her, but she could choose to climb out—or let herself sink.

She began swimming toward the ladder.