The Glass Bottom

The cat sat on the windowsill, watching me with those judgmental yellow eyes. It was Marcus's cat, Barnaby—a velvety black creature who had somehow become my sole companion in the three months since Marcus left.

"You're judging me again," I said to the cat. Barnaby blinked slowly, unimpressed.

My iPhone buzzed on the kitchen counter. Probably another automated debt collector or my mother asking if I'd "heard from him." I'd stopped answering both categories of calls weeks ago. The screen lit up with another notification: *Your Apple Music subscription expires today.* The universe, it seemed, was determined to strip away every distraction.

I grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and walked out to the pool. The water was still, dark as ink in the October twilight. Marcus had insisted on putting it in, said it would increase the property value. He'd been right about the market. He'd been wrong about almost everything else.

I sat on the edge, letting my legs dangle in the cold water. The iPhone buzzed again, insistent. This time I looked.

*Marcus: Can I come by? Need to get the rest of my things.*

My thumb hovered over the screen. Three months of radio silence, and now this. The wine bottle sat empty beside me. The cat appeared at the pool's edge, tail twitching.

"What do you think?" I asked. "Should I let him come back?"

Barnaby turned and walked away without looking back. Some answers, it turned out, were feline in their simplicity.

I typed back: *Pool's drained. Come tomorrow.*

Then I dropped the iPhone into the water. It sank quickly, a bright rectangle descending into darkness, and for the first time in months, everything was perfectly quiet.