The Riddle by the Water

The sphinx statue watched them from the garden, its stone eyes fixed on their tense silence by the infinity pool. Marcus adjusted his swimsuit, avoiding Eleanor's gaze as she counted out vitamins from her daily organizer — calcium, D3, the fertility supplements that had become their shared religion.

"You're not listening," she said, voice tight.

"I am."

"Then repeat it."

Marcus hesitated. The words hovered between them like the humidity over the heated pool. They'd come to this resort to reconnect, to save what the doctor's appointments and negative pregnancy tests had strained to breaking. Instead, Eleanor spent her mornings by the sphinx, tracing its carved riddles, while Marcus pretended the open bar wasn't calling his name.

"You said this was the last cycle," he said finally. "Before we accept—"

"Before we accept what?" She stood, vitamin organizer clutched like a weapon. "That three years means we're defective? That the universe has decided?"

He wanted to touch her. Instead he watched the pool's surface shiver in the breeze, that artificial blue stretching toward a horizon that didn't exist.

"The sphinx asked riddles," he said softly. "Ate anyone who couldn't answer."

"We're not in a myth." She swallowed the vitamin dry. "We're thirty-six and in Mexico with our marriage in the hands of a plastic sorter."

"El—"

"Do you even want this anymore? Or just me?"

The question hung between them, heavier than the humid air, heavier than all the supplements and schedules and carefully monitored cycles. For the first time in years, Marcus didn't know what he wanted first: to be a father, or to want what she wanted.

"I want us," he said. "Whatever that looks like."

The sphinx kept its stone counsel. Behind them, the pool's surface settled, reflecting nothing but sky.