What We Buried in the Deep

Mia noticed the spinach first. It clung to Cam's teeth like a dark secret during their usual Tuesday lunch, something vivid and green against the careful neutrality of his expression. They'd been swimming together every morning for three years, a ritual that felt sacred until the corporate investigation began.

'You're not going to report it, are you?' Cam asked, his finger picking at the spinach. The question landed between them like a stone in still water.

Mia remembered what she'd found that morning — the encrypted files on Cam's laptop, the systematic documentation of every project she'd led, every confidential conversation she'd trusted him with. He wasn't just a friend who'd become a corporate spy; he was the person who knew exactly how to hurt her.

The swimming pool had always been their sanctuary. Chlorine and exhaustion stripped away the office hierarchy, leaving them weightless and equal. Now Mia understood the voyeurism in it. How Cam would float on his back, watching her through goggles while she did laps, cataloging her weaknesses.

'Thursday morning,' she said, standing up. 'You reported my prototype design Thursday morning.' The spinach was gone from his teeth, but something else remained behind. 'I was still swimming when you sent it.'

Cam's face went through several iterations of denial before settling on something like resignation. 'They offered me partnership.'

Mia nodded, already moving toward the door. In the locker room later, she stepped into the pool one last time alone. The water felt different now — dense with the weight of everything she hadn't seen. She'd been swimming beside a spy for three years, exposing her vulnerabilities lap after lap, believing their shared exhaustion meant they were on the same side.

She didn't report him. Some betrayals, she decided, should stay buried in the deep end where they belong.