The Last Set

Marcus watched from the sidelines as Elena slammed the padel ball into the corner, her new partner Greg shouting encouragement. Three years ago, that would have been Marcus's position—Elena's partner on and off the court. Now he was just the guy who held their shared assets in escrow.

Their divorce had been civilized, at least in the way that slowly bleeding to death can be called peaceful. The house sold in two days. The retirement accounts split evenly. But the pets—that's where things got complicated.

"She's yours," Elena had said about the cat, a haughty Siamese named Luna who systematically rejected Marcus's affection. "You're more of a cat person anyway."

"And Buster?" Marcus had asked. The elderly golden retriever had been Elena's running companion for eleven years.

"You take him. Greg's allergic."

So Marcus found himself in a strange new apartment with Luna, who spent her days yowling at windows and sleeping on his chest like a judgment, and Buster, whose hips were failing and whose needs seemed to multiply with each vet visit. The dog required medications, special food, gentle walks. The cat required nothing except the silent accusation that Marcus had stolen her.

The goldfish was their daughter's—a carnival prize from three years ago that Maya had left behind when she moved to college. "You'll keep him alive, right Dad?" she'd asked. "He's resilient."

Marcus wasn't so sure. The fish, which Maya had inexplicably named Corporate, floated near the surface of its bowl, its orange scales dulling. Marcus found himself talking to it sometimes, late at night when the silence of his divorced life felt too heavy.

"You and me both, buddy," he'd whisper, sprinkling flakes that probably cost more than his first car.

On the padel court, Elena and Greg won the match. She hugged Greg—briefly, competitively—then spotted Marcus in the crowd. She jogged over, sweaty and radiant, and for a terrible moment, Marcus wanted her back.

"How's Luna?" she asked.

"Alive. Corporate's not looking good though."

"May's fish?" She frowned. "That's... sad."

"Yeah."

"Listen," she said, and Marcus knew what was coming. "Greg and I are thinking of getting a dog. A rescue."

Marcus looked at her—really looked at her. The woman who had shared his bed for seventeen years now felt like a stranger wearing a familiar face. Behind her, Greg was already packing their gear, checking his phone, entirely unaware of the small death happening between them.

"Buster would like that," Marcus said. "He hates being an only dog."

"That's not what I—" She stopped. "Marcus."

"Go celebrate your win, Elena."

He walked away without looking back. That night, Luna finally curled up next to him on the couch for the first time. The goldfish swam lazily toward its food. Buster rested his graying muzzle on Marcus's knee.

They were all just creatures who had lost their purpose, learning how to be whole again.