The Last Match

The goldfish floated at the surface of its bowl, its orange scales catching the morning light through the kitchen window. It had been three days since Elena left, and David hadn't remembered to feed it.

He stood before the mirror, adjusting his hat — a fedora she'd bought him in Rome, back when they still made each other laugh. The brim hid the gray at his temples, but nothing could hide the exhaustion that had settled into his bones like heavy sediment.

The padel court was empty when he arrived. Sunday mornings used to be their sacred time, grunting and laughing across the net, her competitive streak matching his own. Now the glass walls echoed with just the sound of his own footsteps, squeaking against the blue surface.

He served. The ball hit the glass and bounced back, mocking him.

"You're playing with yourself again?"

David turned. Marcus, his former colleague, stood at the fence with a woman who looked like she'd never heard of emotional baggage. "Just practicing," David said, though they both knew he'd come here because everywhere else in their apartment still smelled like her perfume — vanilla and something metallic.

They joined him, and soon David was hitting harder than necessary, channeling every unanswered text into each swing. The woman, Lena, kept glancing at him. During a water break, she leaned close. "You've got spinach between your teeth."

David laughed bitterly. "That figures."

"She didn't tell you?" Elena used to point it out gently, her fingers brushing his lip. That intimacy — that care — was gone now.

"She's not here anymore."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." David checked his phone again. Still nothing from her. "She said I was stagnant. Like a body of water with no current. She said I'd been content to just float along while she wanted to — " He couldn't finish it. Lightning flickered across the sky, a sudden violent illumination. "She wanted someone who'd fight for something."

"What do you want?" Lena asked, and it wasn't flirtation — it was genuine curiosity.

David looked at the padel racket in his hands, at the empty side of the court where his wife should have been wiping sweat from her forehead, challenging him to another match.

"I thought I wanted this," he said. "This comfortable life. The routine. Coming here on Sundays. But maybe she was right. Maybe I've been just... swimming in circles."