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Elena had spent fifteen years climbing the corporate pyramid, her designer heels clicking against marble floors that grew more polished with every promotion. At forty-two, she ran ...
The fluorescent lights hummed their funeral dirge as Maya stared at her computer screen, her eyes glazing over for the third time that morning. She'd become something of a zombie a...
The spinach was wilting in the colander, watching us fight. Again. "You're being such a bull about this," Elena said, her voice not even raised anymore. We were past shouting. We ...
Marcus watched the **baseball** game alone, the glow of the television illuminating his whiskey glass. Another loss. His marriage was at 0-2 in the bottom of the ninth, and he'd st...
The last time I saw him, we were running through the rain toward a diner that had closed two years prior. That's the thing about grief—it makes you chase things that no longer exis...
Elena's palm was sweating against the sleek conference room table, condensation pooling where her fingers pressed into the polished surface. Thirty-seventh floor. The irony wasn't ...
The goldfish was floating sideways when I found it that morning, its orange scales catching the pale light through the bathroom window like tiny fragments of sunset. I'd won it at ...
Maya stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of her corner office, watching the lightning fork across the Seattle skyline like cracks in a darkened mirror. At 2 AM, the building was a...
The air conditioning in Marcus's cubicle had died three days ago, and now he sat slumped in his chair, a genuine office zombie—eyes glazed, skin the color of old paper, moving only...
Maya hadn't been swimming since the funeral. Six months later, the pool at her complex still smelled like childhood summers and wasted promise. She floated on her back, staring at ...
Elena stood in the kitchen of her empty apartment, slicing a papaya with mechanical precision. The fruit was too ripe, its flesh yielding like forgiveness she wasn't ready to offer...
Marcus hadn't felt like himself since the funeral. He moved through his days like a zombie—automatic, hollowed out, performing the motions of living without anyone home behind his ...