Three Outs at Midnight

The old stadium lights flickered as Maria stood near the dugout, rain plastering her silk blouse to her skin. She shouldn't have come. The email from David had been short—just two lines about meeting him here, where they'd shared their first kiss five years ago.

"You're still ten minutes early," David said from behind her. His voice carried that same dry humor that had made her fall in love with him during those late nights at the firm.

"And you're drunk."

"Just celebrating." He gestured with a flask, the **lightning** crackling overhead illuminating the gray in his temples. "They made me partner today."

Maria felt the **water** mixing with tears on her face. Five years ago, she'd left the firm and him, choosing authenticity over ambition. David stayed, played their corporate **baseball** game perfectly, and now he'd finally hit his home run.

"Congratulations," she managed. "You should be home with your wife."

"She doesn't know I'm here." David stepped closer, rain streaming down his face. "None of them do—the partners, the board, my family. They all think I'm exactly who they want me to be."

"And aren't you?"

"That's why I needed to see my oldest **friend**." His voice broke. "Because you're the only one who knew me before I became this."

The storm intensified. Maria remembered why she'd never moved on—not fully. The complexity of David's ambition, his moral compromises, the way he loved like he was keeping score—it had all fascinated her. Now she saw the cost.

"You can have it back, you know," she said. "The life you would've had with me."

David laughed bitterly. "That's the thing about partnerships, Maria. Once you buy in, there's no refund."

He kissed her then—fleeting, devastating, final. Then he walked away toward the parking lot, head high, toward everything he'd earned and everything he'd lost.

Maria watched him go, the rain washing away any proof she'd ever been there at all.