What the Riddle Asked

Elena stood before the brass sphinx on the mantelpiece, its enigmatic smile catching the afternoon light. Marcus's obsession with Egyptian mythology had always amused her—mostly because it seemed so at odds with his practical nature as an actuary. But the sphinx's silence felt pointed tonight, somehow judgmental.

"You're doing it again," Marcus said from the kitchen island. He'd tied his salt-and-pepper hair back with a rubber band, something he only did when cooking. The gesture made her chest ache with unwanted affection. "Staring into things that won't answer back."

"Better than talking to things that won't listen." The words slipped out before she could check them. They'd been dancing around this conversation for months.

He slid a plate toward her—sautéed spinach with garlic, their anniversary dinner tradition even though the anniversary itself was three months past. The spinach glistened with oil, bright and improbable against the stale air between them.

"I thought you'd leave by now," he said quietly, not meeting her eyes. "Your suitcase is by the door. I heard you zip it this morning."

She hadn't meant for him to notice. Hadn't meant for any of this to last this long—neither the marriage nor the affair, neither the numbness nor the guilt that woke her at 3 AM.

"The sphinx asks a riddle," she said suddenly. "What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in the evening."

Marcus finally looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Man. Childhood, adulthood, old age."

"No." She pushed the spinach away, her appetite gone. "The answer is: someone who keeps leaving and coming back because she's too cowardly to choose."

His fork clattered against the plate. A single hair had escaped his rubber band, falling across his forehead. She wanted to tuck it back. Wanted to pack her bag and never come back. Wanted most of all to understand how love could curdle so slowly you didn't notice until it was already rotten.

"Choose," the sphinx seemed to whisper from its brass perch.

Elena stood up. Her hands were shaking. "I met someone."

Marcus closed his eyes. When he opened them, something had resolved behind them—something like relief.

"I know," he said. "I've known since January. I was waiting for you to tell me."

The spinach turned cold on the counter. Somewhere in the silence between them, the sphinx finally got her answer.