The Last Set

The dog waited beneath the padel court's chain-link fence, golden fur matted from morning dew. Max had been Sarah's idea—a therapy companion for her anxiety, now the sole living thing that still looked at Marco like he mattered.

Marco gripped his racket, sweat stinging his eyes. Forty-two and learning padel, a sport for people who hadn't yet admitted their glory days were done. Across the net, David served—the man who'd introduced Marco to Sarah at a corporate retreat five years ago. The ball hit the glass wall with a hollow thud.

"You're running on empty, mate," David called, as Marco scrambled for a drop shot he had no chance of reaching. His knee screamed. He missed.

At the changeover, Marco gulped from his water bottle. The plastic was warped from Sarah's orange juice—she'd accidentally used it for breakfast mimosas on their anniversary, and he'd never washed it properly. Three months since she'd left, and he was still drinking from tainted containers.

"She's seeing someone," David said, not meeting his eyes. "Someone from her pilates class."

The dog whined. Marco's throat tightened. He thought of Sarah's laughter in that padel clubhouse, how she'd insisted orange was the color of joy. Now every sunset mocked him.

"Another set?" David asked.

Marco looked at his trembling hands. The dog stood, tail wagging, ready to follow him anywhere.

"No," Marco said, surprised by his steadiness. "I'm done running."