The Last Game

The padel court echoed with the sharp *thwack* of racquet against ball, a rhythm that had become the soundtrack to my Tuesday evenings with Mark. We'd been friends since college, two decades of shared history compressed into these weekly matches. But tonight felt different.

Between games, I noticed him fidgeting with his iPhone, the screen illuminating his furrowed brow in the dim light of the court. 'Everything okay?' I asked, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

He hesitated, then shoved the phone deep into his bag. 'Sarah's moving out.' The words hung between us, heavier than the humidity hanging in the air. 'She found someone else. Someone... available.' The irony tasted bitter—Mark had been separated for two years, still technically married, still living in that gray area of almost-divorce.

I leaned against the glass wall, the heat radiating against my palm. 'I'm sorry, man.' What else was there to say?

He pulled a peeled orange from his gear bag, tearing into segments with aggressive precision. Citrus scent cut through the stale air. 'You know what kills me? I finally bought the ring. After all these years of saying I'd make it official, I actually did it.' He laughed, a dark, humorless sound. 'Timing's always been my weakest opponent.' We finished our game in silence, each point a small victory in a match that suddenly seemed meaningless. Driving home, I thought about how friendship sometimes means watching someone you care about lose the most important game of their life, and staying on the court anyway.