The Last Riddle

The Great Sphinx of Heliopolites stared down from its glass case, its limestone face worn smooth by three thousand years of judgment. Elena pressed her palms against the cool display, the way she'd pressed them against Marcus's chest the morning he told her he was leaving.

"You always loved this one," Marcus said, standing three careful feet away. The air between them felt charged, electric with all the words they'd swallowed over seventeen years. "I remember you said the riddle wasn't about knowledge. It was about admitting what you don't know."

She turned to face him. In the harsh museum lighting, his handsome features looked drawn, tired. "And now I know. Isn't that ironic?"

Marcus sighed, rubbing his temples. "The lawyers say we need to decide on the portfolio today. Bull market's been riding high, but the analysts are calling for a bear run any week now. If we liquidate now—"

"Don't." The word came out sharper than she intended. "Don't talk to me about markets. About riding anything."

His mouth tightened. "I'm trying to be pragmatic, El. We have to divide the assets. The house, the investments—"

"Take it all."

He blinked. "What?"

"The house. The money. Every gain from every bull run, every loss from every bear crash. I don't care." She stepped closer to the sphinx case. "Do you know what the riddle was, Marcus? What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in the evening?"

"Man," he said softly. "Crawling as a baby, walking as an adult, leaning on a cane in old age."

"Some versions say the fourth phase is on all fours again. Crawl to you, crawl away from you, and in the end..." Her voice cracked. "Crawl back to needing someone to hold you up."

Marcus reached for her hand, then pulled back. "I never meant to—"

"Barnaby's at the apartment," she said, changing the subject because the alternative was shattering completely. "Our golden retriever. He keeps waiting by the door. Dogs don't understand divorce papers, do they? They just know that the person who used to scratch behind his ears hasn't come home."

"I can take him."

"No." Elena's voice was fierce now. "You gave up that right. He stays with me."

They stood in silence until the security guard's flashlight beam swept past, signaling closing time. Above them, the sphinx watched, its mysterious smile preserved in stone, carrying all the secrets it had kept across millennia.

"You'll get the papers tomorrow," Marcus said finally.

"I'll sign them," she replied. "But I won't be the one crawling anymore."

She walked out alone, her heels clicking on the marble floors, leaving behind everything—except the one thing Marcus couldn't take in the settlement: herself, finally whole.