The Storm Before

The padel court smelled of rubber and something else — something ending. Elena's hair, still wet from the pool, clung to her neck in dark rivulets. She missed the shot by an inch, her racquet kissing the ball just wrong, sending it into the net.

"Your mind's elsewhere," David said, already turning to retrieve the ball. His shirt was already soaked through, translucent in places. They'd played twice a week for fifteen years, through two promotions, three miscarriages, and now, whatever this was.

"There's lightning coming," she said, gesturing at the horizon where purple clouds stacked like old bruises. "We should stop."

He didn't look up. "One more game."

The hotel pool behind them glittered deceptively blue, an artificial oasis where their daughters were presumably sleeping. They'd come to Cabo for the weekend — a last attempt, the counselor had called it. A bid. A hail mary.

Elena watched David's hands as he served. Those hands that had held her through three births, through her mother's funeral, through the night he'd confessed to maxing out his 401k. Now they struck the ball with a violence she'd never noticed before.

"You're not even trying," he said when she shanked another return.

"I am."

"You're not." He stepped closer to the net. "You haven't been trying for months. Maybe years."

The first drop of rain hit Elena's arm. Then another. On her shoulder. In her hair. She didn't wipe them away.

"That's not fair," she said quietly.

"What's not fair is pretending this is working." David's voice cracked. He looked exhausted suddenly, the anger draining out like water. "The padel league, the couple's therapy, the goddamn date nights. None of it matters if you're already gone."

Lightning struck somewhere beyond the resort, bright enough to turn his face white. For a second, she saw him as he'd been at twenty-five — uncertain, eager, pretending to know what marriage meant.

"I'm not gone," she said. "I'm just... I'm tired of pretending I'm not lonely."

The rain came harder now, flattening his hair, turning the court into a mirror. They stood on opposite sides of the net, water streaming down their faces, neither moving to leave.

"We could go inside," he offered. "Wait it out."

"Or we could stay," she said. "See what happens."

David lowered his racquet. For the first time all day, he really looked at her. "Stay. Okay. Stay."

The storm broke overhead as she crossed the net, lightning flooding the court, and somewhere in that blinding white, she thought she saw them starting over, or maybe finally beginning.