The Sphinx by the Chlorine Pool

Mara stood by the hotel pool at 2 AM, feeling like a zombie that had forgotten how to die properly. Thirty-seven years old, VP of something that mattered less each quarter, and here she was: corporate retreat, Cancun, watching the chlorine water lap at the tiles while everyone else destroyed their livers at the club.

She'd spent six months going through the motions after David left. Wake up, commute, survive Greg—the bullish director of operations who'd made it his mission to challenge every proposal she brought to the table. "Show me the ROI, Mara," he'd say, leaning across the conference table like he owned the oxygen in the room. "Feelings aren't metrics."

She should be sleeping. Instead she was watching a single goldfish—some guest's abandoned pet—swim frantic circles in the shallow end, trapped in a universe the size of a bathtub.

"You look like someone who's solved the riddle but forgot what the question was."

Mara jumped. A woman sat on the pool edge, legs in the water, smoking a cigarette with dangerous elegance. Maybe fifty, silver-streaked hair, eyes that had seen too much and found it amusing.

"I'm sorry?"

"The sphinx ate herself because no one could answer her riddle," the woman said, smoke curling into the humid night. "What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in the evening? Answer: man. She'd forgotten that she was the riddle itself." She flicked ash into the water. "You're wondering why you kept swimming after they drained the pool."

Mara sank beside her, kicked off her heels. The water was shockingly cold.

"Greg wants my department cut," Mara said softly. "I found the memo. Monday morning, I think."

"And?"

"And I'm not sure I care. That's the problem. I think I've been dead since February."

The woman laughed, low and knowing. "Oh, sweetheart. Zombies don't worry about being dead. They worry about who they're going to eat next." She stubbed out the cigarette. "You're not dead. You're just grieving the life you thought you'd have. That bull in your office? He's doing you a favor. Sometimes you need someone to burn the house down so you can finally see the sky."

The goldfish breached the surface, gasping.

"Help me with this?" Mara asked.

The woman stood, extended a hand. "Get that fish in the ocean. Then find a job that doesn't require you to be a sphinx—guarding secrets you've forgotten yourself. Life's too short for riddles without answers."

As they cupped the goldfish between their hands, Mara realized she didn't even know this woman's name. Somehow, that felt exactly right. Some truths only come from strangers in the dark.