The Unmatched Set

The padel court gleamed under artificial lights as Elena stood alone, her partner still not there. Her iphone vibrated in her pocket — third time tonight. She didn't need to check. It was Marcus, again. Always Marcus.

An orange slice of sunset died beyond the fence as she tapped the racquet against her palm, the thud barely audible over distant traffic. Running late, his text had said. Running late, like always. Like he'd been running late through their entire marriage, perpetually five minutes behind, perpetually one step removed from whatever she needed.

'Christ, El, it's just a game,' Gemma said from the adjacent court, where her partner was already stretching. 'You could join us.'

Elena shook her head. She wasn't running anymore. That was the thing about hitting your forties — you stopped running after people who wouldn't walk toward you.

Her phone buzzed again. Not Marcus this time. Work. The merger she'd been running on fumes and adrenaline to finalize for months. The email was marked URGENT: signatures needed by morning. She should be checking it. Should be worried.

Instead, she watched an orange peel cartwheel across the court, carried by wind she hadn't noticed until now.

'El?' Gemma called. 'You okay?'

Elena's phone lit up with Marcus's name again. This time she looked. Running late, sorry, can we reschedule?

She walked to the bench, dropped her racquet into its case, and typed back: Don't bother. Then she blocked his number.

'What are you doing?' Gemma asked.

Elena looked at her phone one last time, thought about the work emails piling up, the marriage that had been dead for years, the life she'd been running through instead of living.

'I'm going for a run,' she said.

'Now? It's nearly dark.'

'Exactly.'

Elena left her padel gear by the bench, stepped out of the court, and started running. Not toward anything. Just away. For the first time in years, she didn't know where she was going. And she didn't care.