The Pool Where Love Drowned

Miranda stood at the edge of the swimming pool, the water reflecting the dying light of another sunset she'd spent alone. The orange she'd brought out hours ago sat on the patio table, its skin already drying, its promise of refreshment long forgotten. Like everything else in this marriage.

She'd found the hat that morning—David's favorite Panama hat, the one he'd worn to their daughter's college graduation, perched jauntily on his head as they'd posed for photos, the picture of paternal pride. Now it sat on the hall table, abandoned like his wedding vows, like the promises they'd made twenty-two years ago in a church they hadn't entered since.

Their cat, Bast, wound around Miranda's ankles, sensing the unrest. The animal had been David's idea—a compromise he'd suggested during one of their many reconciliation attempts. "A pet gives us something to care for together," he'd said. Now Bast was hers alone, another creature abandoned in the wreckage of their life.

The pool had been David's crowning achievement, the centerpiece of their suburban kingdom. He'd hosted parties here, his laughter booming across the water, his hand possessive on her waist in front of all those people who envied them their perfect life. Miranda had played her part perfectly—gracious hostess, devoted wife, mother who had it all. She'd worn this role like a second skin until it became the only skin she had.

Now the water was still, unmoving. Like her. Like the life she'd carefully constructed, piece by piece, only to watch it dismantle itself from within.

She picked up the orange, its weight substantial in her hand. David had always bought the wrong kind—too acidic, barely sweet. She'd never told him. She'd never told him lots of things. That she'd fallen out of love somewhere around year twelve. That she'd only stayed for the children. That she'd been relieved when he'd started working late, those precious hours of solitude the only honest moments of her day.

The orange hit the water with a soft splash, joining all the other things they'd never said. Miranda watched it float there, a small bright thing against the gathering dark, and finally allowed herself to wonder what came next.

The cat meowed at the glass door, wanting in. Miranda turned away from the pool, from the orange bobbing on its surface, from the hat that wouldn't keep its promises, and walked toward whatever came after all this ending.