The Green Hours

Maya found James in the garden at dusk, pulling weeds from the spinach bed with mechanical precision. Three months ago, they would have been on the padel court by now, laughing at their missed shots, the competitive edge between them flirtatious and bright. Now the silence between them had grown substantial, like a physical object taking up space on the patio.

Their golden retriever, Barnaby, lay at James's feet, chin on paws, watching with soulful eyes that seemed to ask when things would get better. The cat, Luna, sat on the windowsill inside, rectangular face pressed against glass, judging them both.

"Zombie marriage," his sister had called it at dinner last week. James had laughed. Maya had wanted to scream.

She remembered how they used to make love before padel matches, the urgency of it, how they'd finish each other's sentences over wine and risotto with fresh spinach from the very beds James now tended with such exhausted devotion. Now they moved through shared spaces like ghosts haunting their own lives, brushing past each other in doorways, speaking only about logistics and schedules.

"The spinach is coming in well," James said, not looking up.

"Yes," Maya said. "It looks good."

Barnaby whined, standing to press his wet nose against James's hand. James stroked the dog's ears automatically, eyes still fixed on the dirt.

"James."

He looked up then, and she saw it: the same exhaustion she felt, the same terrible wanting and not knowing how to reach across the widening gap. The zombie walked inside him, but she could see the man still there, buried under the weight of months they'd somehow forgotten to live.

"Let's skip the spinach," she said. "Let's go inside and pour wine and not talk about schedules. Let's remember."

For the first time in months, something flickered behind his eyes. "Okay," he said.

Barnaby trotted ahead. Through the window, Luna abandoned her post and jumped down to meet them at the door. Some things, Maya thought, could still be salvaged from the green hours of neglect. Some things still wanted to be alive.