The Last Set

The ball hit the padel racket with a satisfying thwack, ricocheting off the glass wall at a perfect angle. Elena watched it soar past her husband, unable to summon the energy to chase it down.

"That's match," Marcus said, though he didn't sound victorious. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt. "Same time next Tuesday?"

"Sure." Elena collected her gear, avoiding his eyes. Tuesday padel had been their ritual for seven years—since before the promotions, before the house in the suburbs, before the quiet that had settled between them like heavy snow.

They walked to the parking lot in silence. The sun was setting, painting the sky in bruising shades of orange and purple. It had been orange, that dress she'd worn to their anniversary dinner three weeks ago, while Marcus had checked his phone every seven minutes. His boss—everyone at the firm called him The Bear behind his back—had been demanding updates on the merger. Marcus said it was just work. Elena wasn't so sure anymore.

"Elena, wait." Marcus caught her arm at her car. His grip was tighter than necessary. "Can we—"

"I have an early meeting tomorrow."

"The Bear wants me in Chicago next month. Opening the new office."

She studied him carefully. The man she'd married at twenty-five had laughed freely, danced in their kitchen to terrible music, been spontaneous. This version calculated everything. "Chicago? For how long?"

"Six months minimum. Possibly permanent."

An orange leaf drifted between them, catching the last light. It felt like a sign, though she didn't believe in signs anymore. Elena remembered Marcus's absences lately, the texts he'd deleted in front of her, his sudden interest in expensive suits.

"You've already decided, haven't you?"

Marcus's jaw worked. "It's a good opportunity, El."

"For you."

"For us."

She laughed then—a sharp, surprised sound. "Marcus, we haven't been 'us' in years. We're just two people who happen to play padel together and sleep in the same bed."

He looked stricken, and for a moment she almost relented. But then she remembered all the Tuesday evenings he'd spent staring at his phone instead of talking to her, all the dinners cut short by The Bear's demands, all the intimacies they'd sacrificed to ambition.

"Go to Chicago," she said. "But when you come back, don't expect me to be waiting."

"Elena—"

"I mean it. I turned forty last week, Marcus. I don't want to spend the next decade as an accessory to someone else's life."

She got into her car and drove away without looking back, watching the orange sunset bleed into darkness in her rearview mirror, finally free.