The Last Lap Around the Pool

Every morning at 5 AM, Elena found herself running laps around the hotel pool, the chlorine already rising from the water like ghosts. Forty-two years old and still running in circles—literally. The corporate retreat had been her husband's idea, naturally. Mark was probably still asleep in their suite, dreaming about the merger that would finally make them enough money to... what? Buy a bigger pool to run around?

She stopped at the edge of the spa, breathless, and watched a sphinx moth batter itself against the outdoor lamp. Something about its desperate determination made her chest ache. She'd felt like that lately—throwing herself against invisible barriers, wearing herself down for what?

From her robe pocket, she pulled the orange she'd swiped from the breakfast buffet. As she peeled it, the citrus spray cutting through the chemical smell of chlorine, she remembered the way Mark had looked at her across the negotiation table yesterday. Not with love. Not even with attraction. Like she was another asset to be leveraged.

A small dog—some guest's pampered yorkshire terrier—wandered past and looked up at her with ancient, knowing eyes. She thought about the life they'd talked about having when they were twenty-five: dogs, children, a house with a real backyard. Instead, they had a penthouse, a portfolio, and each other.

"Running away again?" The voice came from behind her—Mark, silhouetted in the doorway with two coffees. He thought he was being clever. He always thought he was being clever.

Elena took a segment of the orange and let the juice run down her fingers. The sphinx moth had finally stopped moving. Some things, she realized, didn't get saved just because you wanted them to.

"No," she said, and for the first time in seventeen years, she meant it. "Just getting ready to start."