The Sphinx's Riddle at Sunrise

Emma stood at the kitchen counter at 6 AM, swallowing a vitamin D supplement with lukewarm coffee. The elevator mirror had shown her the truth earlier: she looked like a zombie from three nights of insomnia. Marcus had left two weeks ago—"I need to find myself," he'd said, packing his yoga mat into a Prius she'd helped him pick out.

At 7:30, she found herself at the padel court with Richard from Accounting. He'd been messaging her about his divorce strategy since the holiday party.

"You're gripping the racket like you want to kill someone," Richard said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Corporate pyramid schemes," she said, smashing the ball into the glass wall. "My boss called me into his office yesterday. Said I need to show more 'executive presence.' Like that's going to fix our Q3 numbers."

"My therapist says we're all just solving the wrong riddles," Richard offered, missing an easy return. "Like the sphinx. Everyone focuses on the answer, but maybe the question's the problem."

Emma paused. "What was your riddle?"

"Why did she leave?" He laughed bitterly. "I kept waking up thinking I'd figured it out, but the answer changed every morning."

The sun rose behind them, casting long shadows across the court. Emma thought about the vitamins in her bathroom cabinet—the daily ritual of pretending she could optimize herself into happiness. The corporate ladder wasn't a ladder at all; it was a pyramid scheme of promised meaning that never quite materialized.

"My riddle," she said, serving the ball, "is why I kept playing padel with a man I can't stand."

Richard laughed. "Because sometimes the wrong company is better than being alone with your own sphinx."

They played in silence until 8:30. Emma walked to work feeling lighter. Some riddles weren't meant to be solved—only lived through, until the question changed into something you could finally answer.