The Fox at the Net

Elena's dog, Buster, waited by the chain-link fence, tail thumping against the hot metal. She'd forgotten his water bowl again. The second failure of the morning.

"You're distracted," Marcus said, spinning the padel racquet in his hands. His eyes held that sharp, clever glint—the one that made everyone at the firm call him 'the fox' behind his back. Though lately, Elena had started calling him that to his face. Usually over drinks. Sometimes touching his arm when she laughed at his jokes.

"Just tired." She bent to retie her shoe, avoiding his gaze. The corporate retreat had been her husband David's idea. Something about teambuilding and fresh air. David had declined to come—deadline, he'd said. But his emails had been suspiciously sparse all week.

The padel ball cracked against her racquet. Marcus returned it effortlessly, sweat gleaming on his collarbone. They'd been colleagues for three years, friends for six months. Whatever was happening now had started in a Barcelona hotel room after a merger meeting.

"Your husband's lucky," Marcus said between points. "Playing with you every weekend."

"We don't play together anymore."

"Why not?"

Elena's shoulder twinged—an old injury from a match David had never shown up to watch. "He says padel's too aggressive. He prefers golf."

Marcus let that sit between them like the water jug on the sidelines, condensation sliding down the plastic. David preferred lots of things. Solo projects. Business trips that extended into weekends. Privacy on his phone.

"Fox," Marcus said suddenly, pointing toward the woods where a russet shape slipped between trees. Buster noticed it too, springing up with a bark.

"Careful," Elena said, though she wasn't sure whether she meant the fox or something else entirely.

"The fox isn't the problem, El." Marcus stepped closer to the net. His voice dropped, intimate despite the open court. "The fox is just doing what foxes do."

The game stretched on, point after point, neither of them quite trying to win. Buster lay down again, chin on his paws, loyal and blind to everything that wasn't a ball or a treat.

Later that night, back in her hotel room, Elena would trace the fox-shaped pendant David had given her for their fifth anniversary. She'd wonder if gifts counted as evidence when a marriage was already hollow. She'd drink lukewarm water from the bathroom tap and call Buster to make sure he'd been fed.

But on the court, under the afternoon sun, she just hit the ball back to Marcus. Again and again.