The Padel Court at Sunset

The vitamin supplements rattled in her hand as Elena stood at the edge of the padel court, watching Mark serve. His movements were fluid, practiced—the way they'd been when they first met at this same club three years ago. Now, the glass walls reflected a marriage fraying at the edges.

"You're staring again," Mark called out, bouncing the ball.

"Just thinking," she said, though she wasn't sure thinking was the right word. It was more like drowning.

Their golden retriever, Buster, lay curled on the bench behind her, oblivious to the tension thickening the air between them. The dog had been Mark's idea—something to "ground us," he'd said. Instead, Elena found herself walking Buster at 2 AM, sleepless and spiraling, while Mark worked late hours that never seemed to end.

"Your turn," Mark said, softer this time. He knew.

Elena stepped onto the court, the vitamin D tablets still clutched in her palm. Her doctor had prescribed them after she'd complained of fatigue, of bones that felt hollow. "You're not getting enough sunlight," she'd said. Elena wanted to laugh. She wasn't getting enough of anything.

"Do you remember," she started, racket dangling at her side, "that baseball game we went to? Our second date?"

Mark's expression shifted. "Of course. You spilled beer on my jersey."

"You laughed," she said. "You said it was perfect." She swallowed hard. "When did we stop laughing at spilled beer?"

The silence stretched between them, longer than the court itself. Buster lifted his head, sensing something, then rested it back on his paws.

"I'm not happy, Mark," she said, the words finally breaking free. "I haven't been for a long time."

He lowered his racket slowly. The sun was setting now, painting the glass walls in shades of amber and rose—beautiful and fleeting, like something you couldn't hold onto no matter how hard you tried.

"I know," he said, and the defeat in his voice was worse than anger. "I've been waiting for you to say it."

Elena opened her hand and looked at the vitamins. Small, yellow, useless things. She let them fall to the court, where they scattered like seeds on concrete.

"I don't think these are what I need," she said.

"No," Mark agreed. "I don't suppose they are."

Buster stood up and stretched, his tags jingling in the gathering dusk. Some things, Elena realized, you couldn't supplement or fix. Some things you just had to let end.