The Rally

Elena watched Marco across the padel court, his yellow shirt bright against the glass walls. They used to play Sunday mornings together, back when sweat was something they shared, not something he showered off somewhere else.

"Your backhand's getting better," he said, avoiding her eyes.

She wanted to tell him she'd been practicing alone. Instead: "Your new routine seems to be working."

He'd started the vitamins last winter—C, D3, zinc, a handful each morning with a spinach smoothie he made with ritualistic precision. At first she'd teased him about his midlife crisis. Then she found the iPhone receipts: supplements charged to a card she'd never seen.

"You should try them," he said now, bouncing the ball. "You look tired, El."

The glass wall showed her reflection: 43, yes, tired, yes. But that wasn't what he meant. He meant she looked like the woman who'd birthed two children and gained twenty years while he discovered pilates and a new appreciation for wellness.

"I'm fine," she said, but her serve went wide.

His phone buzzed on the bench. They both ignored it.

"Marco," she said, suddenly tired of the game. "The spinach makes you gag. I hear you in the kitchen every morning."

He stopped. "What?"

"The vitamins. The kale. The gym membership you hide the bills for." She walked to the net. "Are you trying to be someone else, or trying to be someone for someone else?"

The silence stretched until his phone buzzed again—a text, judging by the cadence.

"It's not what you think," he said, but his voice cracked.

"Then tell me what it is."

He picked up his phone, stared at it, then showed her the screen. Not messages. A calendar. Doctor appointments. PET scan results.

"The vitamins," he said quietly. "The spinach. It's not—I'm not cheating, Elena. I'm trying to buy time."

She'd never seen him afraid before. Not like this.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because if I say it out loud, then it's real." His voice broke. "And if it's real, I might not get to watch our daughter graduate."

Eela went to him, his sweat-slicked skin against hers, the game forgotten. Beyond the glass, the world continued. Inside, everything had changed.

"We'll deal with it," she said, thinking of all the mornings she'd watched him force down that spinach, how she'd resented him for becoming someone new, when all along he'd been trying to remain someone here.

His phone buzzed again. This time, she took it from his hand and turned it off.

"Play with me," she said. "Just play."