The Pyramid by the Cable Box

Marcus stood before the pyramid-shaped paperweight on his desk—a memento from that disastrous business trip to Cairo. Sarah had bought it for him at the airport gift shop, just before their marriage began its quiet dissolution. Now it sat beside his cable modem, collecting dust like his hopes.

"Are you still spying on me?" Sarah's voice came from the doorway. She wore his favorite fedora, the one she'd stolen during their separation—a decade-old hat that smelled of stale cologne and forgotten arguments.

Marcus turned from his home office setup. "The corporate spy who became a corporate husband. Fitting, isn't it?"

"You're the one who installed keyloggers on my laptop."

"That was different. It was for work."

"It was always about work." She stepped closer, the pyramid's glass facets catching afternoon light. "You never stopped being a spy, Marcus. You just switched targets."

The cable box blinked silently—12:00 AM, forever frozen. Like their relationship. Outside, rain streaked the window like tears on glass.

"I'm leaving again," she said, placing the hat on his desk. "This time for good."

Marcus picked up the pyramid, its sharp corners pressing into his palm. "Remember what you said when you bought this? 'Every pyramid has a tomb inside.'"

"I was trying to be poetic. You made it about corporate structure."

"I was trying to connect with you."

"You never knew how." She turned toward the door. "The cable bill is paid through next month. You can watch whatever you want alone."

Marcus watched her go, the pyramid heavy in his hand, the hat beside the blinking cable box—artifacts of a life built on surveillance and secrets. Some spies never stop hunting, even when there's nothing left to find.