The Papaya at the Edge of the Pool

Mara sat at the edge of the swimming pool, legs submerged in the cool water, watching the ripples distort her reflection. The papaya in her hand had gone warm and soft in the tropical sun, its bright orange flesh weeping juice onto her fingers. It was supposed to be a celebratory weekend—the company's fififth anniversary, all expenses paid at this Caribbean resort. She'd earned it. Her promotion had been signed, sealed, delivered last Tuesday.

Her iPhone buzzed against the lounge chair, drawing her eyes away from the water. She'd been avoiding it all morning, but something pulled her toward the screen now.

The text from David wasn't what she expected. *Thinking of you. Missing our morning walks with Buster.*

Buster—their golden retriever, waiting back in Chicago. The mention of their dog should have been sweet. But it was 11 AM on a Tuesday, and David should have been at work. And there was something in the phrasing, too casual, too distant.

Then the photo came through. Not Buster. Not their apartment. A woman's hand with a familiar engagement ring, resting on a white tablecloth. A half-eaten brunch. A mimosa.

Mara's stomach turned. The papaya suddenly tasted cloying, wrong.

She stood up, water dripping from her legs onto the hot concrete. The dog paddled toward her from the other end of the pool—one of the executives' retrievers, somehow escaped, now swimming toward her with that terrible hopeful look dogs always have.

"Good boy," she whispered, but the words felt hollow.

Her iPhone lit up again. *Can we talk?*

Mara watched the water lapping against the pool's edge, steady and indifferent. She thought about the promotion, the congratulatory dinner tonight, the speech she was supposed to give about teamwork and trust. She thought about five years of mornings with Buster, of David's coffee already brewed when she woke up, of the way he always knew when she needed space.

The dog reached the side, shaking water everywhere, droplets flying like tiny betrayals.

Mara typed back: *Not yet.*

She dropped the papaya into the water, where it bobbed like a small orange moon, and walked toward the bar, leaving her phone on the lounge chair behind her.