What We Carry in the Water

The storm broke while Elena was swimming laps in the hotel pool — her nightly ritual whenever they came here, trying to outpace the thoughts she couldn't outrun during daylight hours. The thunder didn't scare her. It was the lightning that forked across the sky, illuminating everything she preferred to leave in darkness.

She climbed out, water streaming down her body, and found David sitting at the edge of the pool bar, nursing a drink he hadn't touched. His palm rested on the wet counter, and she thought about how many times those hands had held her, how many times they'd failed to.

"Your mother's funeral is tomorrow," he said, not looking at her. "Are you going to be okay?"

Elena wrapped a towel around herself, shivering despite the humidity. "I have to be."

"You don't, though. That's the point." David finally met her eyes. "You've been bearing everything for so long, El. The miscarriage. The promotion you didn't want but took anyway because we needed the money. Your mother's decline. You think you're swimming, but you're just drowning in slow motion."

She wanted to be angry at his cruelty. Instead, she felt something crack open inside her — like the realization she'd been avoiding since she found her mother's goldfish dead in its bowl last week, a small orange thing that had outlived its owner by three days. She'd flushed it without crying, just as she'd done with everything else.

"I'm tired," Elena admitted. "I'm so fucking tired of being the strong one."

David reached for her hand, his palm warm against her cold fingers. Outside, lightning struck again, closer this time. The air smelled of ozone and impending rain.

"Let it break," he said softly. "Whatever you're holding onto — let it break."

And for the first time in years, she did.