The Sphinx at Sunset

Elena adjusted the brim of her **hat** against the Egyptian sun, though the shade did little to cool the heat rising in her chest. The resort pool shimmered before her—turquoise waters filled with tourists **swimming** laps, laughing, embracing. Everything about this honeymoon destination was designed for joy, which made her isolation feel sharper, more intentional.

She'd come alone. Three weeks ago, she'd discovered the emails. The lies. The other woman whose name sounded like music—Seraphina. Elena had booked the non-refundable trip anyway, some masochistic impulse to inhabit the space where her marriage was supposed to begin.

A stray **dog** wandered onto the pool deck—a scrawny, golden thing with knowing eyes. It settled beside her lounge chair, resting its chin on her knee. Something about its presence felt deliberate. Fated.

"You're thinking about him," said a voice beside her.

Elena startled. A woman stood there, perhaps sixty, with silver hair coiled like a crown and dark eyes that seemed to see too much. She held out her **palm**.

"I'm not thinking about anything," Elena said.

"You are. You're thinking about how the riddle wasn't the problem—you were." The woman's smile was kind, terrible. "The **sphinx** asks: what walks on four legs, then two, then three? The answer is man. But the real question is: who loves you when you become the thing you feared?"

Elena felt her breath catch. "How did you—"

"The dog told me." The woman gestured to the golden animal, now asleep. "Animals know the difference between loneliness and solitude. You're swimming toward the wrong shore, my dear."

Elena watched the tourists splash and laugh. She thought of Marcus's voice when he said he loved her, the way his face looked in morning light, the hollow sound of her own voice asking why Seraphina.

"So what's the answer?" Elena asked quietly.

"There isn't one," the woman said. "That's what nobody tells you about sphinxes. Sometimes they eat you. Sometimes you become one yourself—guarding secrets, asking riddles, waiting for someone brave enough to face you."

The dog lifted its head, whined softly, and Elena realized she was crying. The woman's hand brushed her shoulder, light as wings, then she was gone.

Elena removed her **hat** and let the sun touch her face. She called the dog closer. It curled against her side, warm and solid and real. For the first time in three weeks, she didn't feel like she was drowning. She was just swimming. That would have to be enough.