Unforced Errors

The iPhone buzzed against the nightstand—her third notification in as many minutes. Sarah didn't reach for it. She watched Marcus instead, shirtless in the moonlight, his back muscles taut as he swung at the padel ball against the garage wall.

"You're going to play at two in the morning?" she asked, though the answer hung between them like the humidity of the July heatwave.

"Work stress," he grunted, serving another ball into the darkness. The rhythmic thwack echoed through their suburban silence. "The merger's not going well. Bear market's eating us alive."

She sat up in bed, the sheet pooling at her waist. "We haven't had a real conversation in three weeks, Marcus. I asked you about the fertility results yesterday, and you told me about your quarterly projections."

The ball hit the wall harder this time.

"I'm building us a future, Sarah. You think IVF is cheap? You think the life you want—house, kids, travel—just happens?" His voice cracked. "I'm carrying this whole family, and you want to talk about feelings."

"I want to talk about us." She grabbed the iPhone. "Do you know what she sent me? Your 'assistant'?"

Marcus froze. The padel racket slipped from his hand.

"She sent me your location data. You're not at the office when you say you are. You're at her apartment. In Tribeca." Sarah's voice didn't waver. "She thinks she's the main character. She doesn't know she's just another bear in the market—temporary correction before the crash."

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

"It's not what you think," he whispered.

"It never is." She set the iPhone on the nightstand and lay back down, staring at the ceiling. "But you'll still choose her tonight, won't you?"

Outside, the padel ball rolled into the gutter as the first drops of summer rain began to fall.