Dead Battery

The iPhone sat on the nightstand, its screen glowing with 2% battery. Sarah watched the charge indicator pulse like a dying heartbeat while Mark's side of the bed remained empty again.

Three weeks of business trips. Three weeks of unanswered texts. Three weeks of her reaching for the charging cable each morning, connecting his phone to power as if ritual could somehow resurrect what they'd lost.

She swallowed a vitamin D supplement — her doctor's recommendation for the seasonal affective disorder that settled in her chest like damp wool. The pill was supposed to help with fatigue, mood, all the things that hollowed her out during these long stretches of solitude.

At 3:14 AM, Mark's phone buzzed. A notification from someone named "Luna" — just a heart emoji, nothing more. Sarah's fingers hovered over the screen, that familiar cable still connecting his device to the wall outlet, tethering her to a truth she'd been dodging since November.

She didn't unlock it. Some betrayals didn't need confirmation.

Instead, she texted her sister: "I think I need to see a lawyer."

The response came instantly: "About time."

Sarah unplugged the charging cable, coiling it carefully around its little plastic clip. In the morning, she'd pack it in Mark's suitcase with everything else he'd need. But tonight, in the blue light of the screen finally dimming to black, she took another vitamin and lay in their bed alone, feeling something like relief blooming beneath the ribs.