Currents We Keep

The storm outside matched the chaos in Emma's chest. Lightning fractured the sky, illuminating the apartment she'd shared with David for seven years—now half-empty, half-hers. The moving truck had come and gone earlier that day, taking his things, his presence, his half of the life they'd built together.

She sat on the floor with a glass of wine, staring at the goldfish bowl on the counter. They'd won the fish at a carnival three years ago, on that weekend trip to Coney Island when they'd still laughed easily, still touched without hesitation. David had named it Lightning, because the fish was "flashy and unreliable." Now Lightning swam in endless circles, oblivious to the ways its name had become a bitter joke.

Her phone buzzed—a text from David. "Left my vitamin supplements. Can I come by tomorrow?"

Emma stared at the message. The vitamins. Of course. Always obsessed with his health, his fitness, his carefully curated wellness routine. Meanwhile their marriage had been quietly wasting away, no supplement strong enough to save it.

The cable TV flickered with some reality show she wasn't watching. Background noise to fill the silence that had become her constant companion since David had moved out two weeks ago. Since he'd said the words that still echoed in her ears: "I think I need to find myself, Em. I'm not sure I ever knew who I was outside of us."

The dog, Buster, whimpered from his bed in the corner. David had left him too—said he couldn't take a dog to his brother's couch, that Emma would keep him. As if Buster was another piece of furniture to be divided. Emma went to him, burying her face in his golden fur. He smelled like comfort, like loyalty, like the kind of love that stayed.

"Just us now, buddy," she whispered.

Another flash of lightning cracked across the sky, followed immediately by thunder that rattled the windows. The power flickered and died. The cable TV went black. The fish bowl caught the last of the storm light through the window, tiny Lightning still swimming its endless circles.

In the darkness, Emma realized something: David's vitamins were just vitamins. His departure was a clean break, a chance to finally figure out who she was without someone else's expectations shaping her. The storm wasn't destroying anything—it was clearing the way for something new.

She texted back: "Keep them. You'll need them more than I will."

Then she turned off her phone, reached for Buster's collar, and together they sat in the quiet dark, listening to the rain wash everything clean.