The Morning After Everything

She woke at dawn to the sound of **running** — her own pulse, thundering in her ears. Marcus had moved out three days ago, taking the good blender and his collection of vintage vinyl, leaving behind a space that felt too large and utterly foreign. Elena lay there as light crept across the ceiling, counting the ways her life had become unrecognizable.

Downstairs, she uncapped the **vitamin** D supplement her doctor had insisted upon after her annual bloodwork revealed she was essentially a cave creature. 'You work indoors, you sleep indoors, you commute underground,' Dr. Patel had said, clicking through her results. 'Your body thinks you live in Seattle.' The pill tasted like nothing, which seemed appropriate.

She drove to the club at 7 AM for **padel** with Sarah, her newly divorced friend who had taken up the sport with the intensity of someone converting to religion. The court echoed with the rhythmic thwack of rackets against balls, a soundtrack to conversations about custody agreements and dating apps and the peculiar loneliness of sleeping in the center of a bed that had once been crowded with two people's worth of habits.

'You okay?' Sarah asked afterward, when they sat in the clubhouse, their knees bruised, their hair damp with sweat.

Elena looked at her **palm**, where a faint callus was forming from gripping the racket — a mark she hadn't earned a month ago. 'I keep thinking I should feel something more,' she said. 'Not even about him. About everything. Like there's a grief I'm supposed to be performing, and I forgot my lines.'

That afternoon, she went to the community center where her brother's daughters were having their **swimming** lessons. She sat on the bleachers watching them surface and dive, their small bodies breaking the water's surface again and again. The younger girl waved, and Elena waved back, suddenly aware that she was seeing time pass in real time.

Her phone buzzed — a text from Marcus about picking up the mail. She deleted it without responding. The water shimmered turquoise in the afternoon light, and she thought about how she had spent years bracing for waves that never came, when all along she could have simply learned to swim.

Later, she would buy fresh sheets. She would rearrange the furniture. She would let Sarah teach her how to serve properly. But for now, in the humid air of the pool deck, Elena sat very still and listened to the splash of bodies moving through water, thinking that maybe, just maybe, she was finally beginning to surface herself.