Third Inning of the End

The papaya tasted like betrayal. That was the thought that struck me at 11 AM on a Tuesday, sitting at the kitchen table with what remained of my marriage

Sarah had bought the fruit yesterday at that overpriced organic market she loved, the one where everything promised purity and fresh starts. Fresh starts. The irony would have been funny if my chest didn't feel like it had been hollowed out with a spoon

The baseball game played muted on the television in the other room—some spring training match that didn't matter to anyone except the players trying to prove they still had something left in their arms. That's what I was doing, wasn't it? Playing spring training for a life I'd already lost

I'd caught the text message on her phone at 3 AM. Not even cleverly hidden. "Can't wait to see you again—same place?" The sender named simply "B"\n

B for Brian, her "colleague" from marketing. Or maybe B for bullshit, the particular variety I'd been swallowing for six months while she came home late smelling of whiskey and someone else's soap

The papaya's seeds were slick and black under my spoon, tiny insects trapped in amber. I swallowed them anyway

Sarah emerged from the bedroom, her silhouette sharp against the morning light. She stopped when she saw me. "You're up early."

"Been thinking," I said

"About?"

"About how Brian must be really good at his job. Marketing, right? He sold you something I never could."

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Then: "How long?"

"Long enough to know I'm already living in the aftermath."

She started crying, or she seemed to. I'd seen those tears before—when her mother died, when we lost the baby in 2019. But these ones felt practiced, efficient. A performance rather than a release

Outside, someone hit a home run. I could tell by the crowd's sudden roar, even through the wall

"I never meant—"

"You never mean to," I said. "That's the point. We just happen."

The papaya was gone. I stood up, my legs surprisingly steady

"Where are you going?" she asked

"I don't know. Anywhere the pitch isn't already decided."