The Lifeline You Cut
The pool was empty at 6 AM—that's why I chose it. Swimming laps while the city slept was the only time I didn't feel like a zombie going through the motions of a life I'd stopped recognizing six months ago. Sarah had left me for someone she'd met playing padel, of all things. The absurdity of it still stung. Our ten-year marriage ended on a racquet sport court, played with foam balls and forced laughter.
I surfaced, gasping, water streaming from my hair. My old Dodgers hat sat on the pool deck where I'd left it, the brim curled from years of use. Sarah bought it for me at our first baseball game, back when we still made each other laugh without effort. I should throw it away. I should throw away everything she touched.
But there I was, still wearing my wedding ring, still swimming toward a wall I'd hit a thousand times.
The problem with burning your life down, even when someone else lit the match, is that you're left standing in the ashes with nowhere to go. I'd started showing up to work and barely speaking. My boss called me into his office yesterday, told me to take time off. Said I looked like I was walking through my days underwater.
I climbed out of the pool, grabbed my hat, and walked to my car. My phone sat on the passenger seat, the charging cable still connected from the night before. Sarah had texted at 2 AM: *I think I left my favorite earrings at the place.*
Her new place. With the padel player.
I sat in the driver's seat, dripping water onto the upholstery, and realized something that made me laugh until my chest ached. She wasn't asking about earrings. She was asking if I was still there, if I was still the person who would help her find things she'd lost. If I was still her safety net.
I threw the hat onto the passenger seat. I unplugged the charging cable and dropped it in the center console. I didn't respond.
Tomorrow I'd go back to the pool at 6 AM. But maybe after that, I'd try something new. Anything new. The zombie was waking up, and for the first time in months, he was hungry.