Bottom of the Ninth

Elena's palm pressed against my thigh, her thumb rubbing circles through my jeans. We were supposed to be having a normal day—at least, that's what the therapist had suggested. One normal day before the next round of tests.

"You're missing it," she said, nudging me.

I blinked. The scoreboard flashed in the distance—bottom of the ninth, two outs. I hadn't watched a single inning. The baseball diamond looked impossibly green under the floodlights, players moving like dolls in a diorama of normalcy.

"Sorry."

"You've been somewhere else all week."

I swallowed. The vitamin supplements in my pocket felt like a stone against my hip. Three times a day, with meals. The doctor had made it sound so simple, so manageable. As if swallowing pills could fix what was breaking inside.

"Just thinking about work."

Liar. I wasn't thinking about work. I was thinking about the fox I'd seen in the backyard that morning—sleek and rust-colored, watching me with its strange, intelligent eyes before slipping through the fence. How alive it had looked. How wild and unhurried.

And I was thinking about the dog. Our dog, Buster, who'd died three years ago, and how Elena had cried for a week and I'd felt hollowed out by my own inability to cry at all.

"I saw a fox this morning," I said suddenly.

Elena turned to me, her face softening. "Yeah?"

"In the backyard. Just standing there. Looking at me like... like it knew something I didn't."

"Maybe it did." She took my hand, interlacing our fingers. Her palm was warm, solid. Real.

"You think?"

"I think animals see more than we give them credit for." She paused. "Maybe it came to tell you something."

"Like what?"

"Like you're not dead yet."

The crowd roared around us—someone had hit a home run. The sound was deafening, joyous, alive. For the first time all week, I felt something stir in my chest. Not fear. Not the cold weight of waiting.

Hope.

I squeezed her hand. "Yeah," I said. "Maybe that's exactly what it was here to say."

The night air felt different suddenly—not heavy with threats, but washed clean under the lights. We were still here. We were still watching.

The game wasn't over yet.