The Divorce Pool

The hotel pool was empty at 11 PM, the water still except for the moon's reflection. Elena sat on the edge, her feet dangling in the cool water, nursing her third gin and tonic. The wedding reception had ended hours ago, but she couldn't bring herself to go upstairs yet.

In the bathroom mirror earlier, she'd found spinach between her teeth—remnants of the appetizer she'd barely touched. She'd picked at it obsessively with her fingernail until her gums bled, wondering if anyone had noticed during the toast, if David's new business partner had seen it and smirked. Something so small, yet it felt like a metaphor for her entire marriage: messy, embarrassing, and she was always the last to know.

David was upstairs, probably asleep. Probably.

She ran a hand through her hair, now more gray than chestnut. Her coworkers had started a pool last month—betting on when she'd finally stop dyeing it. Human resources would lose their minds, but nobody had placed a bet on when she'd stop pretending her marriage was working.

"Can't sleep?" a voice called from the darkness.

She turned to see Marcus, the groom's older brother, standing poolside in a towel. Water droplets glistened on his bare chest, catching the moonlight.

"David's snoring," she said, surprised by her own honesty. "And I keep thinking about how I had spinach in my teeth during the best man's speech."

Marcus laughed softly and sat beside her, not too close. "Nobody noticed. Everyone was too busy wondering why David checked his phone during the vows."

The words hit her like something physical. She'd spent years convincing herself she was imagining his distraction, his emotional absence.

"We have a divorce pool at work," Elena said quietly. "Seven people think we'll make it to twenty years next June. Three took the under."

Marcus watched her with eyes that saw too much. "What did you bet?"

The silence stretched between them, heavy and electric. The pool's reflection shimmered, breaking apart as she stood.

"I didn't bet," she said, wringing out her hair. "I never do."

"You should," he said, and the subtext was loud enough to drown out everything else.