The Points We Lost

The palm tree outside our villa didn't sway. It stood rigid against the wind, as stubborn as we'd become.

"You're not watching the ball," Mark said, slamming his padel racket against the mesh fence. We were the only ones on the court at eleven in the morning, the sun already merciless.

I picked up the ball from the clay, my palm stinging from where I'd hit it against my own racket in frustration. "I'm watching everything, Mark. I'm watching you check your phone during every break. I'm watching you pour drinks before noon."

He walked to the net, his shirt sticking to his back. "This was supposed to fix us. That's what you said when you booked Cancún. That padel lessons and couple's therapy and this ridiculous suite would—"

"Would what?"

"Would make you forgive me." His voice cracked. "Would make you forget."

I threw the ball to him. One more point. That's what I told myself. One more point and then I'd say what I'd been holding back for three months.

We played in silence, the rhythm of the ball against the racket backboard echoing like a heartbeat. I served. He returned. I slammed it cross-court. He missed.

"Game," I said.

"You never let me finish anything anymore." He dropped his racket and walked toward the pool, leaving me on the court.

I followed. The blue surface stretched before us like something we couldn't cross. There was a couple at the far end, laughing, passing a bottle of champagne between them. They looked like us, eight years ago.

"I slept with someone," I said. The words felt foreign on my tongue, heavy and light all at once. "Last month. After you told me you wanted to take a break."

Mark turned slowly. The water lapped against the pool's edge, gentle and rhythmic. He looked at the palm tree, then at me.

"Was it the padel instructor?"

"No."

"Good." He kicked off his shoes. "Because then I'd have to hate this place too." He stepped into the pool fully clothed. "Get in, Elena. We're going to drown or learn to swim."