Watermarks

Elena watched from the terrace, her gin and tonic sweating onto the glass table, while Marcus played padel with the resort's tennis pro. The game was closer than it needed to be—Marcus's competitive streak, always so charming in business meetings, now felt like something else entirely. His shirt clung to his back, dark with sweat. The pro, a woman named Sofia with hair pulled back in an efficient French braid, moved across the court with predatory grace.

They'd been married seven years. Elena had noticed things lately—the phone screen darkening too quickly when she walked into the room, the sudden interest in Portuguese racquet sports, the way he now tasted like someone else's perfume.

She made her way to the pool as they finished their match. The water was that implausible blue that only exists in places where wealthy people pretend to relax. She slid in, the temperature shocking her skin, and began swimming laps with mechanical precision. Breaststroke, rhythmic and meditative, counting to prevent her thoughts from outrunning her.

When she emerged, breathless and streaming water, they were there at the edge. Sofia was laughing at something Marcus said, her head tilted to expose the long line of her neck. Her braid had come partially loose, dark hair escaping in damp tendrils that stuck to her collarbone.

"Your wife's quite a swimmer," Sofia said, not quite meeting Elena's eyes. "It's meditative, isn't it? The water."

"Everything blurs," Elena said, wrapping a towel around herself. "Even the things you think you see clearly."

Marcus looked at her then—really looked at her—and something in his expression cracked. He knew she knew. They stood at the water's edge, three people caught in the refracted light of late afternoon, while somewhere behind them, a padel ball bounced against the court walls, sharp and relentless as a counted heartbeat.