The Wellness Exit

Marcus stood at the edge of the infinity pool, the morning light fracturing across the water's surface. He wasn't going swimming. He never did anymore, though Elena still booked rooms with pools, still believed in the version of him who'd once bobbed alongside her in turquoise waters, laughing, salt-tangled, unburdened.

"You coming?" she called from the padel court below, her voice bright and terrible. She'd found a partner—some tech entrepreneur from Austin who talked about cryotherapy and intermittent fasting. Marcus watched them through the glass, Elena's polo dress pristine, her backhand sharp and practiced.

He turned back to the breakfast spread. A parfait glass layered with papaya, chia seeds, yogurt—something about gut health, something about inflammation. He poked at it with his spoon. The papaya was mealy, barely ripe. Everything at this place was beautiful and slightly wrong.

The vitamin supplements sat in his pocket, a zipper-sealed baggie of orange and white capsules he'd stopped taking three months ago. Elena thought they were for his energy. She thought a lot of things were about his energy.

"Marcus!" She was waving from the court now. The Austin guy was high-fiving her.

He'd told himself he'd do it here. That the symbolism would land. Something about floating, something about diving into something new. But standing at the edge, watching her smile at someone else's jokes, he understood: he wasn't swimming toward anything. He was finally, finally climbing out.

The papaya went into the trash. The vitamins followed. He left the key card on the counter, weightless.