The Storm We Weathered

The cat appeared at dawn, mangy and orange, watching us from the edge of the infinity pool as if waiting for something to break. I pretended not to notice it. Marcus pretended not to notice me.

We were at that luxury resort in Tulum because my therapist said we needed to reconnect. Marcus's idea of reconnection involved signing us up for padel lessons at nine each morning, his competitive streak transforming our forced couple's activity into another battlefield he needed to win. His backhand had improved since the separation. I hadn't.

"You're not trying," he said, his sweat dripping onto the court. The same thing he'd said the night he moved out, though then he'd been talking about our marriage, not a sport neither of us cared about until this trip.

The sky turned bruise-purple that afternoon. I ordered my third drink at the pool bar, pretending to read while Marcus scrolled through his phone, his notifications pinging like a countdown timer. That orange cat appeared again, limping now, and I found myself feeding it pieces of my ceviche when Marcus wasn't looking. The animal ate from my hand like it had known hunger, or heartbreak, or both.

The first lightning strike hit just as Marcus said, "I've been seeing someone."

The cat bolted. The pool surface reflected the electric white flash like something shattering. Later, in our room, while thunder made the walls tremble, Marcus told me he'd filed papers yesterday. He'd paid for this retreat as some kind of elaborate goodbye, a performance of closure.

"The cat," I said, as if it explained everything. "You didn't see it. It had a collar. Someone lost it."

"I'm not talking about a cat, Elena."

"I know," I said. "That's the point."

The storm passed by morning. The cat was gone, the padel court empty. I checked out alone while Marcus slept, leaving my key card on the nightstand beside a room service breakfast he'd ordered but wouldn't eat. Some part of me hoped the cat had found its way home. Another part knew some things, once lost, aren't meant to be found again.