The Last Palm Reading

The hotel pool was empty at 3 AM, its surface still and black as mercury. Elena sat on the edge, legs dangling in the chlorinated water, nursing the last dregs of a martini that had gone warm an hour ago.

She'd come to Cabo for the corporate retreat—the same one where Marcus had announced he was leaving her for his junior analyst. The irony wasn't lost on her. Twelve years of building their life together, dissolving like sugar in warm water, all while she watched from the back of the conference room.

The palm reader had set up shop near the hotel entrance, a white tent strung with fairy lights. Elena had visited her three hours ago, desperate for something—anything—that made sense. The old woman had taken Elena's palm, traced the lifeline with a nicotine-stained finger, and frowned.

"You've been carrying something," she'd said. "A burden that isn't yours."

Elena had thought of Buster—Marcus's Golden Retriever, the dog she'd walked and fed and loved for seven years, the dog Marcus had taken when he moved out. The custody negotiations over the dog had been more brutal than the property division.

"What do I do?" Elena had asked.

The old woman had pressed a silver coin into her palm. "Buy yourself something new. Something just for you."

Now, in the pool's reflection, Elena watched her own face distort in the ripples. She thought about the years she'd poured into Marcus's career, his happiness, his dreams. The pool of their shared resources, now divided. The way he'd called her "good old Elena"—like a faithful dog, always waiting, always glad.

She stood up, water dripping from her legs, and tossed the martini glass into the pool. It bobbed there, catching moonlight like a fallen star.

The coin burned in her pocket. Tomorrow, she'd buy a ticket somewhere. Anywhere. Maybe she'd get a dog of her own. Maybe she'd finally take those painting classes she'd deferred for a decade.

But tonight, she just watched the glass float, and for the first time in twelve years, she didn't feel like waiting for anyone to come save her.