The Depths of Shallow Water

Maya sat at the edge of the infinity pool, legs submerged in the chlorinated water that mimicked the ocean beyond. The resort was perfect—too perfect. White cabanas, impossibly blue water, staff who materialized like ghosts the moment you considered wanting something.

David's iPhone sat on the small table between their lounge chairs, face down. It had buzzed twice in the past hour. Each buzz sent a fresh wave of nausea through her stomach—not from the tropical drinks, but from the notification previews she'd glimpsed earlier. *Heart emoji.* *Thinking of you.*

Three years of marriage, dissolved by three-inch screen glimpses.

"You coming in?" David called from the pool. He was swimming laps with the relentless precision of a man avoiding stillness. His strokes were clean, efficient. Everything about David was efficient.

"In a minute," Maya said.

She picked up his phone. She knew the code—0427, their anniversary. Her fingers trembled as she typed. The screen lit up with messages that made her chest cavity feel too small for her heart. *Last night was incredible.* *Can't wait until Thursday.* *She suspects nothing.*

Thursday. Their trip to Cabo. He'd booked it as a surprise, said they needed to reconnect. He was bringing her here to end things, apparently. Or maybe just to buy time while he figured out how to confess.

Or maybe he wasn't going to confess at all.

David finished his lap and pulled himself from the water, water streaming from him like he was some kind of mythological creature, handsome and faithless. He smiled at her, that smile that used to make her feel chosen. Now it made her feel foolish.

"Water's amazing," he said, reaching for his phone.

Maya's hand closed around it first. She met his eyes—really looked at him, perhaps for the first time in months. Saw the tension in his jaw, the way his smile didn't reach his eyes, the slight hesitation as he registered her expression.

"David," she said. "I need to tell you something."

She wasn't sure what she was going to say. But she knew, with sudden crystalline clarity, that she wouldn't be spending Thursday here with him. She would spend it alone, perhaps, or fly home early and sleep in her own bed, process the end in the privacy of their apartment.

But not here. Not in this place where everything was beautiful and nothing was real.

"What?" His voice was tight now. He knew. Of course he knew.

Maya stood up, the iPhone clutched in her hand like a weapon, a lifeline, a cable to the awful truth.

"I'm going home," she said. "Alone."