The Water's Edge

The corporate pyramid had been erected on the whiteboard that morning, Emma's name circled in red marker at the bottom tier. She stood on the outdoor padel court now, racquet heavy in her hand, watching Greg from sales lunge for a ball he'd miss anyway.

"Your form's all wrong," he'd told her earlier, his hand lingering on her shoulder a second too long. The same shoulder she'd cried into last night after the merger announcement.

The game continued under floodlights that cast long shadows across the club grounds. Beyond the court's glass walls, the ocean stretched dark and infinite. Water had always been her element — the way it could be still or violent, how it found every crack, how it could both sustain and destroy. Like emotions at work, suppressed until they overflowed.

Her opponent smashed the ball. Emma didn't move.

"You okay?" someone asked.

She thought about diving into the ocean afterward, letting the salt water wash away the careful armor she'd worn for years. The pyramid would collapse eventually. They always did. But for now, she adjusted her grip on the racquet and prepared to return the serve, knowing some games you played even when you'd already lost.