The Fox at Sunset

Mara sat at the edge of the hotel pool, legs dangling in the chemically-blue water, nursing her third orange soda of the afternoon. The ice had melted into nothing, leaving just the sweet, artificial taste of wasted time.

A fox emerged from the manicured hedges—sleek russet fur, alert ears, eyes that had seen too many hotel guests and none of them interesting. It moved with that casual confidence of wild animals who'd learned that humans were mostly harmless.

"You here for the conference too?" she asked it.

The fox tilted its head, then trotted toward a discarded candy wrapper.

Mara's phone buzzed. Another text from Julian. *Miss your hair. Miss you. Miss us.*

She hadn't missed him in six months, not really. But God, she missed the version of herself that existed when they'd sit on his couch watching baseball, her head on his shoulder, his fingers absently twisting through her hair while some pitcher she didn't know threw a ball she didn't care about. It wasn't about the game. It was about the ritual, the comfortable silence, the way two people could occupy the same space without needing to fill it.

Now she filled silence with flights to cities she'd never visit again. Hotels with pools she didn't swim in. Conferences where she nodded at presentations she'd forget before lunch.

The fox returned with the wrapper, then abandoned it for a moth.

*You're free,* she thought. *You get to just exist.*

What would that be like? To just exist? To not perform competence, to not fake interest in mergers and market share, to not pretend her heart wasn't still sitting on some couch in Chicago watching baseball with a man who'd loved her until she'd made herself unloveable?

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in impossible oranges and pinks. The fox disappeared into the hedges.

Mara finished her soda, crushed the can.

She didn't text Julian back. Some things, once broken, stay broken. Some games, once lost, can't be replayed.

The pool lights flickered on. Somewhere, a baseball game was ending. Somewhere, someone was happy.

Mara stood up, dripping, and went back to her room alone.