The Riddle of Leaving

The rain had been falling for three days when Marcus finally said it: the word that had been lurking between them like a **sphinx** guarding the entrance to their future, inscrutable and ancient.

"Divorce?" Elena repeated, her voice flat. The **water** drummed against the windows of their Chicago apartment, a relentless rhythm that matched the pounding in her chest.

Their golden retriever, Barnaby, sensed something was wrong. He pressed his warm flank against Elena's leg, his **dog** eyes dark with confusion. Fifteen years of loyalty, and still he couldn't fix this.

"I just think—we're different people now," Marcus said, not meeting her gaze. "Remember that riddle, what walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon? Maybe that's us. We've changed."

Elena stood up, Barnaby shifting with her. She went to the window where the water streamed down the glass like tears she wouldn't let herself cry. Outside, the city blurred into gray streaks.

"The sphinx's riddle has an answer," she said quietly. "Man. That's all it ever was. But you think there's no answer to us."

"There might not be."

She remembered the day they'd adopted Barnaby, how Marcus had held the puppy's paw as they walked home in the rain, both of them soaked through and laughing, their whole lives ahead of them. They'd promised each other forever then, and they'd meant it—people always meant it when they said it.

"Barnaby's old," Elena said. "His hips are failing. The vet says maybe six months. You want to divide him too?"

Marcus flinched.

"I'll come by. To see him."

"Sure. You'll come by." She turned from the window, her face wet now, though she'd stood far from the glass. "The sphinx ate herself when her riddle was answered, did you know that? She couldn't live without the mystery. That's what you want—to keep asking the question forever because you're afraid of the answer."

The rain fell harder now, water pooling on the sill, and somewhere in the space between them, something fundamental broke—like a sphinx's secret finally spoken, or loyalty unrewarded, or a marriage that had survived everything except itself.