The Last Resort

She watched him across the hotel bar, his face illuminated by the glow of his iPhone.

They'd come to this pyramid-shaped resort in Mexico for one last attempt at saving their marriage, but David had spent the last three days taking calls, answering emails, his attention perpetually elsewhere. The irony wasn't lost on her — he'd accused her of being distant, of living in her own world, yet here he was, obsessed with work.

Claire swirled her drink and thought about the corporate pyramid he kept climbing, each promotion taking him further from the life they'd built together. She remembered when they'd bought that goldfish together, back when they were young and broke and a twenty-cent fish seemed like a commitment. That fish had outlasted their marriage. The goldfish was probably still swimming in its bowl in their apartment, oblivious to the fact that its owners had fallen out of love.

She looked down at her own palm — the lifeline, the heartline, all those superstitious markings she'd never believed in until now. She thought about reading his palm the night they met, how she'd made up some bullshit about his future being intertwined with hers. Turns out she was right, just not in the way she'd meant.

David finally looked up from his iPhone, pocketed it without apology. "Sorry, the Tokyo deal —"

"I know," Claire said. "The Tokyo deal."

She realized she didn't want an apology anymore. She wanted what she'd come here to admit: that she wasn't angry, just done. That she'd fallen out of love the way you outgrow a favorite sweater — comfortable once, but now tight in all the wrong places.

"David," she said. "I think we should stop pretending."

The ceiling fan above them cast shadows like ripples in water. She thought of that goldfish again, swimming endless circles in its glass prison, and knew she didn't want to be that anymore — alive, certainly, but contained.

The palm trees outside bent in the wind, and somewhere below them, the ocean crashed against the shore. Claire finished her drink. She'd tell him tonight, after dinner. Tomorrow she'd book her own flight home.