The Scorecard

The stray cat appeared every Tuesday at the padel court, a calico with a mangy coat and judging eyes. Elena fed it tuna from her sandwich, careful not to let her teammates see. They'd mock her—soft-hearted Elena, still nursing wounds from a marriage that ended eight months ago, still playing padel on Tuesday nights because that's what she and David used to do together. The routine hurt, but breaking it felt like admitting defeat.

Her sister's baseball tournament had been that weekend. Elena had skipped it, claiming work, but really she couldn't stomach watching Sarah's perfect family from the bleachers. Sarah, two years younger, pregnant with her third child, married to a man who looked at her like she was the only woman on earth. Their father had been the baseball coach, had taught them both to swing a bat before they could read. Now he was gone, and baseball was Sarah's domain, while Elena was left with padel—a sport David had chosen, a sport she'd learned for him, not herself.

The cat meowed, interrupting her thoughts. A shadow fell across the court.

"She likes you," a man said. He stood at the fence, maybe forty, holding a padel racquet with the ease of someone who played seriously. His eyes were kind, tired.

"I think she just likes the tuna," Elena said.

"Maybe." He smiled, and something in her chest shifted. "I'm Marcus. I'm on the next court. You have a wicked backhand."

"Thanks." The compliment landed softly. "I'm Elena."

"My daughter's cat looks just like that one," he said, watching the calico devour the tuna. "She's with her mother this weekend. Third weekend of the month, like clockwork." His voice carried the weight of that clockwork—regular, predictable, enforced.

"Divorce?" Elena asked.

"Two years." Marcus leaned against the fence. "You?"

"Eight months. Sometimes it feels like eight days. Sometimes it feels like eight lifetimes."

The cat finished eating and sat, washing her face with deliberate movements. Padel balls smacked against glass from the neighboring court. Somewhere distant, the crack of a baseball bat echoed—a sound from childhood, from before everything had gotten so complicated.

"You want to hit some balls?" Marcus asked. "Just friendly. My partner bailed."

Elena looked at her empty court, at the calico watching them with what seemed like approval. "I'd like that."

As they walked onto the court, the cat curled up in the sunlit patch near the fence, and for the first time in months, Elena didn't feel like she was waiting for something to end. She was just here, in the middle of things beginning.