The Last Wellness Retreat

Elena stood by the hotel pool at 6 AM, watching the **water** ripple in the artificial breeze. The corporate retreat had been her boss's idea — some team-building bullshit about "synergy" and "breaking barriers." She adjusted her sun **hat**, feeling ridiculous at forty-two, playing at relaxation while her inbox overflowed three states away.

Marcus found her there. He looked worse than usual — hollowed out, moving through morning like a **zombie** animated only by caffeine and spite.

"The HDMI **cable** in the conference room is fried," he said by way of greeting. "Team-building exercises cancelled. Richardson's furious."

"Good," Elena said, surprising herself.

She'd been eating **spinach** salad for three days, trying to care about wellness while her mortgage loomed and her marriage quietly dissolved across text messages. The spinach tasted like sacrifice.

Marcus sat beside her, dangling his legs in the water. "I'm leaving Elena. The firm, I mean. Got an offer yesterday."

The silence stretched between them. In the distance, the corporate trainer arrived with yoga mats and forced enthusiasm.

"Take me with you," Elena said, half-joking, half-desperate.

Marcus turned, really looked at her for the first time in three years of shared office space. "I mean it. There's a place doing real work. Not this." He gestured at the pool, the retreat, everything.

Elena's phone buzzed — her husband, or her boss, or the life she'd assembled like furniture she hated but couldn't afford to replace. She didn't check.

Instead she took off her hat and let her hair down. "Tell me more."

Behind them, the wellness retreat began without them, and neither of them looked back.