The Last Serve

Marcus stepped onto the padel court, the glass walls reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights. At forty-seven, his knees clicked with every movement, a symphony of regret he'd learned to ignore. He'd started playing after Elena left—something to fill the endless evenings that had once held conversation and laughter.

"You're late again," Sarah said from across the net. She was thirty-two, with the kind of effortless beauty that made Marcus feel ancient. "You missed the warm-up."

"Work ran late." He adjusted his grip on the racket. "The merger's falling apart."

"Everything falls apart eventually," she said, serving the ball. It hit the glass behind him.

They played in silence after that. Marcus had taken to carrying a plastic organizer of vitamin supplements in his gear bag—B12 for energy, D3 for mood, magnesium for sleep. Elena had called them his "hope in a capsule." Now they were just another ritual, like the padel, like the occasional drink with Sarah afterward.

The bull had been the final straw. Not a literal one, though Elena's father's ranch had plenty. The bull was Marcus's stubborn refusal to sell their condo when the market peaked. "It'll go higher," he'd insisted, week after month, until the crash wiped out half their equity. That was when she'd stopped believing in his judgment about anything.

"You're thinking about her," Sarah said later at the bar. She traced the rim of her glass. "I can tell. You get this look."

Marcus swallowed a vitamin D capsule dry, right there at the bar. Sarah laughed.

"You really think those are going to fix you?"

"They're not supposed to fix anything," Marcus said. "They're supposed to help. There's a difference."

"Is there?" She leaned closer. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're just postponing the inevitable. Whatever you're running from—whatever's eating at you—vitamins and padel and sleeping with your partner's daughter isn't going to make it go away."

Marcus went still. "You know?"

"Elena told me. She's my mother, Marcus."

The revelation hit him like a physical blow. He'd been sleeping with his ex-wife's daughter for three months, and somehow, he'd never made the connection. The same stubborn bull-headedness that had cost them their savings had blinded him to this too.

"She knew," Sarah continued. "She wanted to see if you'd tell me yourself. You didn't."

Marcus signaled the bartender for another drink. The vitamins sat in his pocket like stones.

"What happens now?" he asked.

"Now?" Sarah finished her drink and stood up. "Now you stop pretending. Start living. Or don't. But stop expecting the world to wait while you make up your mind."

She walked out, leaving him with his vitamins and his drink and the sudden, crushing understanding that some games, once lost, can never be replayed.