The Glass Below

The resort suite was too quiet. Too plush, too perfect, another stage set for a life they didn't live anymore. Sarah picked at a loose thread on the expensive duvet cover, her gaze fixed on the endless turquoise spread of the Caribbean outside the oversized window. Fifteen years. Fifteen years since the day she'd convinced herself Mark was the one, since she’d seen a future so bright it hurt her eyes. Now, the glare off the water just made them ache.

Mark was in the bathroom, the shower running, a weak excuse for a barrier between them. She heard the familiar rumble of the water, the clatter of a bottle. He’d probably use all the fancy soaps. He always did. Leave her with the dregs, like everything else. Their anniversary dinner reservation was for eight. Seven-thirty now. She hadn’t even started getting ready. What was the point? It wasn’t a celebration. It was an obligation.

He emerged, smelling of the resort's lemongrass and something else, something vague, like a forgotten promise. "Ready?" he asked, his voice even, practiced. He was already in a fresh linen shirt, the kind that cost too much and looked too casual. She shook her head, not looking up. "I'll be a minute." He nodded, then walked to the mini-bar, poured himself a whiskey. Neat. Always neat. No ice, no mixer, no compromise.

Dinner was a performance. The low lights, the clinking of silverware, the soft island music. They talked about the flight, the weather, the ridiculously over-attentive staff. Every word felt like pushing a heavy stone uphill. Sarah poked at her snapper. It tasted like nothing. "Did you call about the dive?" she asked, because she knew he wouldn't. He hadn't talked about it since they arrived. This trip, this whole desperate attempt, was his idea. The famed 'Sunken City of Aethelred,' a legend whispered among divers, a place of imagined crystal spires beneath the waves. Their shared, ridiculous dream from twenty-year-olds.

Mark finally looked at her, his eyes flat over the rim of his whiskey glass. "Not yet. Been busy." Busy doing what? Staring at the ceiling? Swimming laps in the pool? He hadn’t touched his food. She could feel the anger, a cold, hard knot in her stomach, pushing against the hunger she didn't have. "Busy with what, Mark? There's nothing to do here but stare at the damn ocean or pretend we still like each other."

A ripple went through the restaurant. Heads didn't turn, but the air thickened. Mark set his glass down, the sound too loud. "Don't, Sarah. Not tonight." Not tonight. Always 'not tonight.' When was the right night? When was the right time to pull back the curtain and admit the show was over? The words came out, sharper than she intended, fueled by the whiskey she’d drunk too fast. "We used to talk about that city, remember? All glass and light, down deep. Our secret place. Where we’d go when everything got too much. Our escape."

He watched her, his expression unreadable. "It was a story. A fantasy. You know that." His dismissiveness stung. "It wasn’t just a fantasy. It was… what we had. What we thought we'd build. Something fragile and beautiful, hidden from everything else." She took a ragged breath. "And now? Now it's just… cold. And dark. All those sharp edges are still there, Mark. But they’re not reflecting light anymore. They’re just waiting to cut you."

He flinched, a small, involuntary twitch around his mouth. He looked away, out towards the black expanse of the sea, where somewhere beneath the churning surface, a phantom city of glass lay submerged. Or maybe, their own version of it, between them. She saw it then, laid bare, the truth of their marriage. A beautiful, grand structure, built with such hope, now lying at the bottom of a silent, unforgiving ocean. Too deep to reach, too broken to salvage.

He finally cleared his throat, pushing his untouched plate away. "I'm going back to the room." His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. He stood, a tall, silent shadow, and walked away, leaving her alone at the table, the phantom city glittering in the darkness behind her eyes. The waiter came, a polite, concerned smile. "Everything alright, ma'am? Can I get you anything else?" Sarah just shook her head, the image of those sharp, submerged spires burning into her vision.

"Just the check," she said. The silence was louder now, a roaring pressure in her ears, like the sea itself pressing down on something already shattered.