The Papaya Incident

The cat, Bast, wound around Elena's ankles as she unlocked the apartment door, complaining about the delayed flight from Tampa. Inside, something felt off—the air too still, the silence wrong.

'Charles?'

She found him in the kitchen, chopping spinach with terrifying precision. 'You're early.'

'The conference ended early.' She dropped her bag. 'Since when do you cook?'

'Since...' He gestured vaguely toward the counter where a papaya sat, already sliced, its orange flesh glistening like something illicit. 'Since I started taking better care of myself.'

Elena crossed to the refrigerator, but stopped cold. A cable ran from their TV to a laptop on the counter—her work laptop, the one she'd left locked in her home office. Files were transferring.

'Charles?'

'Sarah Fox called,' he said, finally looking up. His eyes held that terrifyingly calm expression she'd seen him use on junior associates. 'Your competitor from Meridian? She mentioned you'd been seeing each other. In Tampa.'

The spinach lay forgotten on the cutting board. Elena's stomach dropped.

'She—she—'

'Saved me the trouble of confronting you,' he continued, his voice dead even. 'She sent me the papaya recipe. Said it was your favorite at that hotel where you both stayed. Last month. And the month before.'

Elena thought of the hotel bar, the stolen afternoons, the excuses about client meetings. She thought of Sarah's sharp smile, the way she'd laughed about her husband's blindness.

'Charles, I—'

'I've met with a divorce lawyer,' he said, picking up the knife again. 'The cable's transferring everything to my cloud. Just in case you get any ideas about deleting evidence.'

Bast the cat jumped onto the counter and began eating the papaya.

'Get that animal away from my food,' Elena snapped automatically.

'Not your food anymore,' Charles said, not unkindly. 'Not your apartment. Not your life.'

The cat continued eating, indifferent to their unraveling. Outside, rain began to fall, washing nothing clean at all.