The Drowning Room

Marcus stood at the edge of the infinity pool, watching the water lap against the tiles. Below, the ocean stretched dark and endless, matching the hollow ache in his chest. Three weeks ago, Elena had walked out with nothing but a suitcase and his palm still tingling from where she'd pressed her keys into it—some final, cruel handshake.

The corporate retreat had been her idea. 'Swimming in the ocean of opportunity,' she'd called it during better times, back when they'd still laughed at the corporate bullshit together. Now he was running on fumes and empty hotel minibars, stuck in paradise with the colleagues who'd watched his marriage disintegrate over Slack messages and cancelled meetings.

A splash broke his reverie. Sarah from accounting surfaced near the edge, slicking back wet hair. She waved, and Marcus hated that he noticed the way the water clung to her skin. 'Join us,' she called. 'It's gorgeous.'

He almost did. Almost stripped off his shirt and dove into the chlorine-scented oblivion, let it wash away the spreadsheet projections and the careful way everyone avoided his eyes in the breakout sessions. Instead, he imagined what the ocean below would feel like—cold, heavy, pulling him under.

'Tomorrow,' he said, though there would be no tomorrow for them. Just tonight, one last drink at the hotel bar, maybe let Sarah buy him one. Maybe let someone else hold his hand, even briefly, before he went back to the empty apartment and the job that now felt like swimming upstream against a current he couldn't name.

The pool lights flickered on, turning the water electric blue. Marcus watched his reflection distort in the ripples—already someone else, already gone.