The Depths We Hide

The company retreat was her idea, of course. Elena stood at the edge of the infinity pool, clutching her wine glass like a lifeline, watching the sunset bleed across the water's surface. Thirty years of marriage, twenty-seven of them employed together at the same architecture firm, and Richard still hadn't learned to read the silence between her words.

"You're not going in?" Richard called from the shallow end, plastering on that grin that had charmed investors for decades. His hair was thinning now—she'd noticed it three years ago, the morning after his emergency gallbladder surgery, when he'd looked fragile in a way she'd never associated with him.

"I'm fine here," she said, adjusting her sun hat. The wide bram shielded her expression. Richard didn't need to see that particular emptiness today. Not when everyone was watching.

The younger partners—bright-eyed millennials who still believed passion projects could save the world—were taking selfies in the hot tub. Elena remembered being that age. remembered believing that if you worked hard enough, loved deeply enough, the universe would reward you with something lasting. She'd built an entire life on that premise, only to discover how quickly foundations could erode. Like water wearing down stone.

"Elena." Richard was beside her suddenly, dripping wet. "You've been strange all week."

She almost laughed. Strange. That's what he called three years of quiet unraveling. Three years of discovering his late-night "networking events" were actually something else entirely. She'd hired the detective on a Tuesday, received the photos on a Thursday. Richard had been celebrating their thirtieth anniversary with someone named Sofia while Elena had been choosing the perfect anniversary card.

"The pool looks lovely," she said instead, turning toward him. "You should enjoy it."

He reached for her hand, leaving wet drops on her skin. "Come in with me. Like we used to."

His eyes were so hopeful. So genuinely confused. That was the worst part—he still didn't understand. Perhaps he never had.

"No," she said, pulling away gently. "Some things don't need repeating."

The divorce papers were in her suite. The retirement announcement went out Monday. Let him have the pool. Let him have the firm. She was done swimming in waters that had turned cold years ago.