Dead Things Walking

The first gray hair appeared on her thirty-fifth birthday, right at her temple, stark against the dark. Marcus had laughed, called it distinguished, kissed her temple and said he loved every part of her. That was three years ago. Now she pulls at the strands—more of them every week, a calendar she can't stop counting.

His iphone buzzes on the nightstand at 2:14 AM, again.

She's stopped asking where he goes running in the middle of the night. Chicago in March is cold enough to kill, and he never was one for exercise before. The first time, she'd woken to an empty bed and found him soaked in sweat, claiming insomnia, claiming the cold air helped him think. She'd believed him. She'd made tea.

Now the phone lights up. A notification. No preview, just the name: SARAH.

She should let it sleep. They've been sleepwalking through this marriage for months anyway—eating dinner across from each other, sharing a bed, moving through rooms like ghosts in their own life. A zombie marriage, her mother had called hers before the divorce. Dead but still walking around.

She reaches for the phone. Her hands aren't shaking. That surprises her.

The passcode is still her birthday. That too.

The messages aren't even hidden. Sarah sending photos of a baby—their baby, born three weeks ago. Marcus holding a newborn she's never seen, smiling in a way she hasn't seen him smile in years. The messages are mundane, loving, ordinary. They go back eleven months.

She puts the phone back exactly as she found it.

In the bathroom mirror, she finds another gray hair and pulls it out. The sting is sharp, bright, real. Downstairs, the front door opens. Marcus comes in from his run, bringing the cold with him, smelling of winter air and someone else's laundry detergent.

"You're up," he says, rubbing his hands together. His face is open, unguarded. He doesn't know.

She looks at him—really looks—at the lines around his eyes, the way he's still beautiful to her, still the person she chose. The zombie is dead. The walking stops here.

"Marcus," she says. "We need to talk."