The Seventh Inning of Goodbye

The sky burned orange above the stadium, that particular shade of sunset that makes everything feel both beautiful and final. Elena sat alone in the bleachers, mechanically peeling an orange she'd bought from a vendor outside. The citrus scent was sharp, cutting through the smell of stale beer and pretzels, reminding her of Sunday mornings with David—he always ate oranges while reading the paper, the juice staining his fingers like evidence of something too messy to contain.

On the field, the baseball game dragged on. She'd stopped watching innings ago. Some kid from the visiting team was running toward home plate, his cleats kicking up dirt like he was trying to escape something. The crowd roared, but Elena felt hollowed out, like someone had scooped out everything that mattered and left just this shell sitting in section 204, row 12, seat 8.

A cat—skinny, gray, one ear notched from some fight—slunk beneath the bleachers below. It moved with that particular caution of strays who'd learned that kindness often came with conditions. David had brought home a cat once, during that month they'd tried to adopt a normal life. The cat had lasted three days before disappearing out an open window David "forgot" to close. Some things were never meant to be domesticated.

"Your turn," David had said that morning, his voice flat as he packed his suitcase. "You've been running emotional interference for both of us long enough."

The baseball player slid into home, safe by an inch. The stadium erupted. Elena stood up, her orange half-eaten, sticky juice on her hands, and realized she didn't know which way was home anymore. The cat below looked up at her, then darted away toward something only it could see.

She sat back down. The sky had darkened, that perfect orange fading to gray, and somewhere, thousands of miles away, David was probably watching another game, eating another orange, pretending he didn't feel the absence she couldn't stop feeling. The seventh inning stretched on, and she stayed in her seat, learning how to exist in the space between leaving and staying.