The Last Set

The padel court echoed with the sharp crack of racquet against ball, each volley more aggressive than the last. Sweat dripped down Mark's back, cold despite the midday heat, as if his body was already preparing for the chill of what was coming.

"You're not even trying anymore," Elena said between points, her voice flat in that way that scared him more than shouting ever could.

"I'm trying," he said, swinging at another serve and missing. The ball bounced into the corner, a small yellow rejection.

They'd been playing padel together every Sunday for three years, ever since the miscarriage. Neither of them had said the word out loud since the hospital, but this game had become their ritual—their way of moving together without speaking, the glass walls of the court somehow safer than the walls of their bedroom.

Now he watched her wipe sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, that gesture he'd found endearing once, now feeling like something he was observing from a distance, like a scientist watching an experiment go wrong.

"I'm done," she said suddenly, letting her racquet drop to the ground.

"Done with the match?"

"Done with this. With us."

The words hit him harder than any ball ever could. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Just like that night in the hospital, when the doctor had said there was no heartbeat and he'd stood there stupid, useless, while Elena's face crumpled.

Buster, their golden retriever, was waiting at the fence, tail thumping against the wire mesh, oblivious. The dog had been the only thing keeping them tethered to each other these past months—a shared responsibility, a living thing that still needed walks and feeding and love, even if they'd forgotten how to give it to each other.

"When?" Mark managed.

"When are you going to tell me you stopped swimming?" Elena asked instead. "I saw the charge on the credit card. You haven't been to the pool in months."

He hadn't. He'd been sitting in his car during his supposed swim times, staring at nothing, the silence the only place he could breathe.

"I didn't want to worry you."

"You're already not worrying me," she said, her voice breaking. "You're not even here anymore."

He looked at her really looked at her, and saw how tired she was. The water in his eyes finally spilled over, hot and humiliating, and he realized he'd been drowning for years without ever getting wet.

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

They left the court together without finishing the match, Buster trotting beside them on the leash, and for the first time in three years, the silence between them felt honest instead of heavy.