Cut Cable

The orange glow of sunset bled into the hotel room where Marcus sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. Three missed calls from Sarah. Two from his mother. One from his boss, asking where the hell the quarterly report was.

He stood and walked to the balcony, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. Below, the resort's swimming pool curved like a blue jewel amid the palm trees. Couples drifted through the water, their laughter floating up like distant music. He and Sarah were supposed to be here together. Instead, she'd packed her boxes two weeks ago, leaving him with their mortgage and a silence that felt like physical weight.

Marcus returned inside and knelt beside the TV console, hunting for the ethernet cable. Work had been his lifeline since the separation—endless emails, spreadsheets, Zoom calls that filled the empty hours of his apartment. But somewhere between the divorce papers and the antidepressant prescription, he'd forgotten how to exist without the hum of productivity.

His hand found the cable. Behind the entertainment center, dust bunnies clustered in corners like small gray creatures. He pulled, and the connection popped free. The router's blinking lights stuttered and died.

For a moment, panic flared—what if something urgent came through? What if Sarah needed him? What if he missed something critical?

Then, the quiet settled around him. No notifications. No expectations. Just the sound of his own breathing and the distant ocean beyond the glass.

Marcus sat back on his heels, pressing his palm against the carpet. Tomorrow he'd deal with the report. Tomorrow he'd call his mother back. Tonight, he would walk down to the beach and let the waves erase the questions he couldn't answer yet.

He stood, knees cracking, and left the cable coiled on the floor like a sleeping snake. The orange light deepened to purple. Somewhere in the distance, a dinner bell rang.