The Weight of Shadows

The corporate retreat had been Elena's idea—three days in the mountains to 'reconnect.' Marcus stood by the infinity **pool**, watching the sunset bleed across the water like an open wound. He'd barely spoken to her since the incident at the office.

That morning, he'd watched her play **padel** with the CEO, her laughter carrying across the court while he sat reviewing the damage reports. She moved differently now—lighter, unburdened by the weight of what they'd built together.

An **orange** rolled across the patio table, nudged by the wind. He picked it up, remembering how she used to peel them for him in the early years, her fingers stained with juice, pretending she didn't hate the mess. Now she ordered room service and ate alone on the balcony.

His phone buzzed—another message from his brother about their father's funeral. He'd never told her the old man had died. Some things you just learned to **bear** alone.

Elena appeared beside him, carrying two glasses of wine. Her smile didn't reach her eyes anymore. 'The director asked about our investment portfolio,' she said, her voice carefully neutral. 'I told him we're diversifying.'

Marcus watched her profile against the darkening sky. She knew he'd emptied their accounts to pay his brother's gambling debts. She'd found the bank statements yesterday—the real reason for this trip.

'Thank you,' he said, accepting the wine.

She hesitated, then reached for his hand. Her palm was warm against his cooling skin. 'Marcus—'

'Whatever you need to say,' he interrupted, 'can wait until we're home.'

But she pulled her hand back and turned toward the lights of the main lodge, where her laughter from earlier still echoed in his memory. Some pools, he realized, were too deep to swim out of.