The Last Riddle

The spinach lay wilting in the colander, vibrant green fading into something sadder, something that knew its moment had passed. Emma watched it steam in the ceramic bowl, thinking how she used to be like that—fresh, eager, ready to be consumed. Now she just felt cooked.

"You're being impossible," Marcus said, not looking up from his phone. The bull in him had come out more lately—that stubborn, charging certainty that he was right, that compromise was for people who lacked vision. He'd called her unreasonable at dinner, used that word like a knife he'd sharpened over years of practiced dismissal.

The ceramic sphinx on their kitchen shelf watched them both. Emma's grandmother had brought it back from Egypt decades ago, passed down with the warning that some riddles weren't meant to be solved. She'd thought it romantic when Marcus gave it pride of place in their first apartment together. Now it felt like an accusation.

"I'm asking a question, Marcus. That's not unreasonable."

Their cat, Luna, wound around her legs, purring like a small engine. Animals knew things. They sensed the silences that stretched too thin, the cold spaces in beds that had grown too wide. Luna had started sleeping on Marcus's pillow three weeks ago, as if already claiming territory.

"We've talked about this," he said, finally meeting her eyes. "Nothing's changed. You're making problems where there aren't any."

But something had changed. Emma felt it in the hollow space behind her ribs, in the way her hands trembled as she reached for her wine glass. The spinach was cold now. She could microwave it, pretend it was fresh, force herself to swallow something that had already died.

Instead, she picked up her phone and pulled up the message she'd received that morning—his ex-girlfriend's name lighting up her screen like an accusation. She placed it on the counter between them.

"The sphinx asks a question before it devours you," she said quietly. "What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in the evening? Answer wrong, and you get eaten alive."

Marcus stared at her phone, then at her. The bull charge in him faltered.

"Emma—"

"I used to think the answer was a man," she said, turning toward the door. "But I think it's just someone who finally learns to walk away."