The Night the Cable Died

The pool was empty at 2 AM, which was exactly why Marcus chose this hour. The water curled around his shoulders like a cold second skin, disturbing only when he moved. Six months ago, Eleanor would have been sipping wine on the lounge chair beside him, making fun of how seriously he took his laps. Now she was three months into a new marriage, and Marcus was forty-three and learning to float alone.

He'd canceled the cable that morning. Another line item in the spreadsheet of his diminished life. The technician had come at noon, friendly in that practiced way people have when they recognize they're witnessing a slow-motion collapse. "Netflix'll get you through," he'd said, clapping Marcus on the shoulder.

Marcus hadn't told him about the spreadsheet. How Eleanor's lawyer had suggested itemizing every shared expense, how Marcus had spent three weeks inputting data into columns like "Joint Assets" and "Emotional Damages." The cable bill was $127 monthly. He'd sent her the screenshot: your half is $63.50.

She'd Venmo'd him immediately. Eleanor always settled her debts.

From the balcony above, the cat — hers, technically, though Marcus hadn't corrected her when she left him behind — watched with yellow eyes that seemed to contain all the judgment Eleanor had taken with her. Barnaby meowed, a thin, complaining sound.

"I know," Marcus said to the water. "We both got left behind."

The pool's underwater lights cast wavy shadows on the concrete bottom. He remembered Eleanor standing in this exact spot last summer, her wedding ring catching the light as she gestured at their future. "This time next year," she'd said, "we'll be parents."

She'd meant a baby. He'd meant renovations. They'd been having two different conversations for years.

His phone buzzed on the deck. Eleanor's name lit up the screen.

Marcus floated there, suspended between the person he'd been when he married her and the stranger he was becoming. The water held him up. The cable was dead, the marriage was dead, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed like everything wasn't fine.

He let the phone ring until it stopped. Then he pulled himself through the water, stroke by stroke, learning again how to move forward alone.