The Goldfish at the Edge of the Pool

The reception was in full swing when Elena found herself standing at the edge of the infinity pool, clutching her iphone like a lifeline. Her screen lit up every thirty seconds—work emails, Slack notifications, the constant digital hum that had become the background radiation of her marriage.

"You're missing it," Marcus said, appearing beside her with two champagne flutes. "The toasts. CEO gave a speech about synergy."

"I needed air," Elena said, though what she needed was to not be here, at this company retreat, watching her husband hold court with junior analysts half his age.

In the pool's dark water, a single goldfish darted between the reflection of moonlight and the submerged lights—a pet someone had abandoned, or perhaps escaped from its bowl. It kept swimming to the edge, mouth opening and closing in silent desperation, as if asking the same question over and over.

"Like the sphinx," Elena murmured.

"What?"

"The sphinx. It asked riddles, and if you couldn't answer, it destroyed you. Marriage is like that. The riddles just keep coming until you don't know the answers anymore."

Marcus set down the champagne. "You've been drinking."

"I've been thinking." She turned toward him, really looked at him for the first time in months. "When did we become people who stand by pools at company retreats and pretend everything is fine?"

The goldfish surfaced, gasping.

"Elena—"

"No, really. When?" Her phone vibrated again. She looked at the screen, then dropped it into her purse. "I'm not coming back to the room tonight."

"Don't be dramatic," he said, but she was already walking away, toward the lobby doors, toward whatever came after the riddle you finally refused to answer anymore.

Behind her, the goldfish slipped beneath the water's surface, still swimming, still searching.