The Green Divorce

The padel court echoed with the rhythmic thwack of racquets against ball, a sound that had become the soundtrack to Maria's unraveling marriage. She watched from the balcony of their Cabo San Lucas rental as David played with their host's wife, laughing at something she couldn't hear. His palm had grazed the other woman's shoulder earlier that morning—a casual touch, nothing, except that David never touched Maria like that anymore.

They'd come here to fix things. Three years of infertility treatments, two years of therapy, and finally, this "last chance" vacation that Maria had planned with military precision. She'd researched restaurants, booked excursions, packed their swimsuits for swimming in the resort's infinity pool.

Now she sat alone at breakfast, pushing sautéed spinach around her plate. The vegetable had been David's addition to their diet—part of his whole-health kick that coincided, cruelly, with his withdrawal from her. Eat clean, live clean, feel nothing. She swallowed a forkful, tasting bitterness and remembering how he used to cook her spinach risotto when she had her period, back when he still tracked her cycle.

"Maria?" David stood in the doorway of their suite, fresh from the shower. "You coming down? Everyone's going to the beach."

The palm fronds outside rustled in the breeze, casting dancing shadows across his chest. He looked good—tanned, relaxed, the man she'd fallen in love with in graduate school. The man who now existed only in photographs and memories.

"I think I'll stay here," she said. "Need some time."

He hesitated, then nodded. Whatever relief he felt at her absence was poorly concealed. "Okay. Maybe later?"

"Maybe."

Maria watched him walk away, already checking his phone, already gone. She went to the minibar and poured a tequila, neat. The padel game continued below, the sound of balls being hit back and forth like accusations neither dared to voice. She swallowed the burning liquid and made her decision: some games end when the score reaches zero, and some marriages end when you finally stop playing.