The Question of the Sphinx

Margaret stood before the Egyptian sphinx in the museum's dim gallery, its limestone face eroded by millennia. She felt like a zombie—three years of Ethan's emotional gaslighting had hollowed her out, leaving something that moved and spoke but felt nothing inside.

'You're too sensitive,' he'd say, when she caught him texting his assistant at 2 AM. 'You're imagining things.' Like the sphinx's ancient riddle, her marriage had become a puzzle with no satisfying answer.

A stray cat wound around her ankles, its rough tongue against her calf startling her back to the present. The museum's mascot, a rescue named Ozymandias, had appeared the day she filed for divorce.

'The board wants the sphinx moved to the atrium,' David said, appearing behind her. 'More visible, more Instagrammable.' The new director, all bullish confidence and corporate buzzwords, treated art like quarterly metrics.

She turned to face him. 'It's three tons of limestone, David. The vibration from the foot traffic could—'

'What the board wants, Margaret.' His smile didn't reach his eyes. 'Unlike some people, I don't make problems. I solve them.'

The cat hissed.

Margaret thought of Ozymandias's inscription—Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair. Ethan's empire of lies had crumbled in three months. David's corporate kingdom would eventually fall too. Everything did.

The sphinx had outlasted empires, though. Stone witnessing the rise and fall of humans who believed themselves eternal.

'Fine,' she said. 'But you're signing the condition report.'

David's expression flickered—just for a moment, the bull showed his horns, then quickly masked himself again. 'Of course, Margaret. Whatever you need.'

Later that night, she found herself back before the sphinx. Ozymandias purred beside her, warm and solid. The ancient stone stared back, inscrutable.

She wasn't a zombie anymore. The numbness was giving way to something else—anger, yes, but also clarity. Some questions had answers. Some riddles could be solved.

The sphinx asked nothing. The cat demanded everything. Margaret, finally, felt ready to answer.