The Last Vitamin

The sun beat down on the **padel** court, merciless as an ulcer. Elena wiped her **palm** against her skirt, leaving a dark streak of sweat on the white fabric. Across the net, Marcus served with that vicious efficiency he applied to everything—marriage, mergers, now this.

She missed the return. The ball skittered past, mocking her.

'Your backhand's getting tight,' Marcus called, not unkindly. 'Need to loosen up.'

They'd come to this wellness retreat to fix things. Or at least, that's what the brochure had promised: 'Reconnect, Rejuvenate, Rediscover.' Instead, she'd spent four days watching him take **vitamin** supplements with religious precision, while she secretly smoked on the balcony and wondered when they'd become strangers who shared a king bed.

After the match, they sat by the poolside bar. The bartender set down two bowls: one of **papaya** cubes glistening in the heat, one of wilted **spinach** salad that looked like something that had already died.

'Health is wealth,' Marcus said, spearing a piece of spinach. 'You're not eating.'

'I'm not hungry.' She watched a lizard scale a **palm** tree, its movements quick and purposeful. 'Do you remember when we used to talk about things that mattered?'

Marcus sighed, the sound of a man who'd had this conversation too many times. 'We're talking now.'

'No, we're not. We're just waiting.' She stood up, the metal chair screeching against concrete. 'I'm done waiting.'

He looked at her then—really looked at her—and for the first time in years, she saw fear in his eyes. Not the fear of losing her, but the fear of change. Of having to become someone else.

'Elena,' he started.

'No.' She walked away, toward the ocean. Behind her, the papaya sat uneaten on the bar, sweet and rotting in the sun. Somewhere, a **padel** ball hit the court with a sharp, decisive crack. She kept walking, into the water, fully clothed, finally ready to drown or swim. The choice, she realized, had always been hers.