The Pool at Midnight

Elena found her husband's fedora floating in the center of the swimming pool, a dark circle against the blue-black water. She stood on the deck in her bathrobe, clutching a half-empty wine glass, watching the hat drift like a small boat abandoned at sea.

Michael had been gone for three months. The pool—a luxury they'd installed during what she now called their delusional period—had sat unused all summer. The water had grown cloudy, the automatic cleaner dead at the bottom like some metallic sea creature.

She waded in, fully clothed, the water shocking her thighs. She hadn't eaten properly in days. Earlier, she'd forced herself to swallow a wilted spinach salad, each leaf tasting like regret and wasted money. The nutritionist Michael had made her see had insisted on leafy greens for "mental clarity."

The hat bobbed closer. She reached for it, water sloshing up to her chest. When she lifted it, the brim dripped onto her face like tears. Inside the sweatband, she found the folded receipt from the motel where he'd supposedly spent his last "business trip."

The office pool had been right. Her coworkers had bet on his departure weeks before she'd admitted the possibility. $200 in the pot—Janice from accounting had won. At the time, Elena had been furious at their cruelty. Now, standing waist-deep in chlorinated water at 2 AM, she realized they'd seen what she'd refused to acknowledge.

She dropped the hat back into the water. It floated away from her, toward the deep end. Elena didn't follow it. She stood there, watching until the sky began to lighten, until the water stopped feeling cold and started feeling like nothing at all.