Waterlogged

The padel court smelled of damp rubber and second chances. Elena stood at the net, gripping her racquet like it might anchor her to this moment, to him. Across the court, David served with the easy confidence of a man who'd already moved on.

'Your form's improved,' he called out, bouncing the ball. The fluorescent lights caught the silver at his temples. He looked good. That was the worst part.

'Yoga,' she lied. It was insomnia.

They played in silence broken only by the rhythmic thwack of ball against racquet. Padel had been their thing — Sunday mornings at the club, competitive banter over coffee afterward. Now it felt like speaking a dead language, the words familiar but the meaning gone.

Her phone buzzed on the bench. The plumber. Again.

'Everything okay?' David asked, pausing between points.

'Water damage,' she said. 'Pipe burst in the basement. Third time this month.' A laugh escaped her, sharp and unhinged. 'The house is falling apart without someone to actually fix things.'

His expression softened. 'I could come by. Take a look.'

The offer hung between them, heavy with possibility. This was what she'd wanted, wasn't it? For him to see her need and finally, fucking finally, step back into the role she'd scripted for him.

Buster, their golden retriever, chose that moment to lumber onto the court from the propped-open side door. David's dog now, in the divorce. Buster shook himself enthusiastically, spraying water from his coat — he'd found the club's decorative fountain — before trotting straight to Elena and pressing his wet head against her leg.

'Still loves you best,' David said quietly.

Elena looked at her ex-husband, then at the dog dripping water onto the padel court. Something in her chest loosened. The house could flood completely. The pipes could burst every week until she drowned in the mess of it. She'd learn to swim.

'He can stay with me tonight,' she said, surprising herself. 'If you're not busy fixing pipes elsewhere.'

David's smile was genuine this time. 'I'm not.'

As they walked off the court together, Buster trailing happily behind, Elena realized grief didn't drain away like water. It just changed form — sometimes a flood, sometimes a dog shaking itself dry, always moving beneath the surface of things. The game continued. She was learning to play on her own terms.