What We Carry Forward

The spinach was wilted when Marcus finally returned from his swim, his hair still damp, smelling of chlorine and something else — something like surrender. Elena watched him from the kitchen doorway, the way his shoulders curved now, as if the weight of the past year had permanently reshaped his posture.

"Did you eat?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. Marcus had been swimming nightly since the miscarriage, as if the water could wash away the disappointment that had settled between them like sediment.

"Not hungry." He moved past her to the bedroom, leaving a trail of pool water on the hardwood floors. Their cat, Barnaby, appeared from nowhere to lap at the droplets.

Elena turned back to the stove, stirring the spinach absently. It had been Marcus's grandmother's recipe — comfort food from his childhood, something he'd requested when they first started dating, back when they believed in the superstition of new beginnings. She'd been making it weekly since everything fell apart, hoping the familiarity might reach him through whatever private ocean he was swimming in each night.

The spinach collapsed in the pan, dark and slick, like something that had given up.

Barnaby brushed against her legs, purring insistently. At least the cat still needed something from her. At least there was still warmth in this house, even if it was only feline.

She heard the shower start, then Marcus's voice through the bathroom door, raw and cracked. "El?"

Elena's heart accelerated like it hadn't in months. She went to the door. "Yeah?"

"I think I'm drowning out there."

She opened the door to find him sitting on the tile, not showering at all. Just sitting with his back against the wall, knees drawn up, weeping silently.

Elena slid down beside him, not saying anything, because words had become inadequate months ago. Barnaby padded in and curled between them, his solid warmth the only bridge left.

"The spinach," Marcus said suddenly, almost laughing through the tears. "It's probably burned."

"It's okay," Elena said. "We can order takeout."

He looked at her then, really looked at her, for the first time since the negative pregnancy test had confirmed their worst fears. "I'm sorry I've been swimming away from you."

"I know," she said, leaning into him. "I'm sorry I let you."

They stayed like that on the bathroom floor, not fixing anything exactly, but at least treading water together.