Electric Currents

The corporate boardroom smelled of stale coffee and expensive cologne. Forty-seven-year-old Marcus stared at the spinach leaf stuck between his competitor's teeth—a small, vibrant rebellion against the sterile grayscale of the merger presentation. Gerald, the company's resident bull, had been charging through negotiations for three hours, his testosterone-heavy monologues leaving intellectual casualties scattered across the mahogany table.

Marcus's phone buzzed. His wife's text: *"Moving out tonight. Sorry."*

Outside, lightning fractured the Seattle sky, illuminating the boardroom's floor-to-ceiling windows with violent beauty. The storm had been building all afternoon, mirroring the pressure in Marcus's chest. He should have seen it coming—should have recognized the distance growing between them like a slow-developing weather front.

"And that's why we need to pull the trigger NOW," Gerald slammed his palm onto the table, making Marcus's coffee ripple. "Nobody's got the guts I have."

The spinach danced as Gerald spoke, a grotesque metronome counting down the remaining moments of Marcus's carefully constructed life. He'd chosen this path—the brutal hours, the corner office with its view of the city he rarely saw, the compromises that felt necessary until they didn't.

*"Sorry"*—such a small word for carrying the weight of fifteen years.

Another flash of lightning struck closer, and the boardroom lights flickered. Gerald flinched. For the first time all day, the bull looked uncertain.

Marcus stood up. His heart hammered against his ribs like trapped lightning seeking ground.

"Marcus? Where are you going? We haven't finished—"

"Yes," Marcus said quietly, "we have."

He walked out, leaving his career, his dignity, and a man named Gerald still pontificating to an empty room. Outside, the sky opened up. Marcus stepped into the rain, and for the first time in years, he didn't know where he would sleep tonight.

The spinach, he thought, would probably still be there tomorrow.

Some things never change.

But this would.