The Weight of Water

Elena's palms were sweating against the padel racquet handle. Three years since she'd last stood on this court, three years since everything changed. Across the net, David adjusted his glasses—the same way he always had when he was nervous.

'You haven't lost your touch,' he said after returning her serve.

'You're going easy on me.' She hit the ball back, harder than necessary.

They'd come here together, back when the future felt like something they could count on. Before the miscarriage. Before the silence grew so thick between them it felt like a third person in their marriage. Before David started staying late at the office and Elena started taking long drives at 2 AM, winding up at the reservoir behind their subdivision, staring at the dark water like it might offer answers.

She should have told him about those nights. She should have told him about the job offer in Denver. She should have told him a lot of things.

Instead, she'd packed her things while he was at work and left a note on the kitchen counter. Not because she stopped loving him, but because she'd forgotten how to be anything other than sad around him. He was a constant reminder of what they'd lost. Every time she looked at him, she saw the ghost of the life they'd planned.

A sphinx moth fluttered near the court lights, drawn to the glow. David watched it, momentarily distracted.

'I saw one of those the night you left,' he said softly. 'It kept banging against the porch light, over and over. I wondered why it couldn't tell the difference between something real and something that would only burn it.'

Elena's chest tightened. 'I'm sorry, David. I was—I didn't know how to bear it anymore. Being in that house, seeing the nursery door closed...' She trailed off.

'I know.' He bounced the ball against his racquet. 'I went to the water too. Those nights you were gone, I'd drive to the ocean and just sit there. Sometimes I thought about walking in. Just letting it take everything.'

She stared at him. He'd never told her that.

'But I couldn't leave you alone with the grief,' he continued. 'Even after you left me.'

The padel game had stopped completely now. The moth circled away into the darkness.

'David—'

'It's okay.' He set down his racquet. 'I'm seeing someone. Her name's Julie. She teaches kindergarten. She makes terrible coffee but she laughs at my terrible jokes.' A small, genuine smile. 'I think you'd like her, actually.'

Elena felt something crack open in her chest—relief, maybe. Or grief, fresh and different this time. 'I'm glad,' she said, and meant it.

'I just needed you to know,' he said. 'That I'm okay. That you don't have to carry it anymore. Either of us.'

They stood there as the first drops of rain began to fall, cool and sudden against their skin. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled. They didn't move to seek shelter.

'The water,' she said, looking up at the sky. 'I don't feel like drowning in it anymore.'

'Me neither.' He picked up his gear. 'You playing next week, same time?'

She thought about it. About the future, for the first time in three years, without immediately flinching. 'Yeah. I'll be here.'

They walked to their separate cars in the rain, neither looking back, both moving forward.