Bear Market of the Heart

The numbers scrolled across Marcus's screen in angry red. Another bear day in a month of bears, his portfolio bleeding out in slow motion while the rest of the world kept spinning. His iPhone buzzed on the mahogany desk—Clara again. He'd stopped counting the missed calls somewhere around hour seven of this hellish trading session.

"You're missing it," she'd said that morning, her voice already distant, like she was speaking through water. "Jamie's baseball game. He's pitching."

Marcus had nodded, already mentally checking the futures market. "I'll be there. Bull rally coming, I can feel it. Just need to ride this wave."

The bull never came. Neither did Marcus.

Now his office was a temple to bad decisions. The cable news flickered silently—market analysts in expensive suits screaming about corrections and crashes. Marcus pressed his thumb against his phone screen, Clara's last message glowing back at him: *We can't keep doing this.*

He remembered how they used to lie in bed on Sunday mornings, the cable box humming beside them, both pretending they weren't thinking about the coming week. She'd trace the lines on his palm and talk about opening that bakery she dreamed of. He'd promise next quarter would be different. Next quarter always looked the same.

The iPhone dimmed. Marcus stood, his joints cracking like old wood. Outside, the city lights blurred together—a constellation of other people's failures, other people's choices.

He dialed. Once. Twice.

"Dad?" Jamie's voice, small and hopeful.

"Hey, kiddo. How was the game?"

"We lost. But I struck out three guys." A pause. "Are you coming home?"

Marcus looked at his screens, at the bear market eating his life one decimal point at a time. He thought about the bakery, about Sunday mornings, about things you couldn't trade back.

"Yeah," he said, reaching for his coat. "Yeah, I am."