Electrolyte Balance

The salad sat untouched on her desk—spinach wilting under fluorescent office lights, much like her enthusiasm for this job. Sarah caught her reflection in the dark monitor: stray hair escaping her bun, frayed at the ends like everything else in her thirty-two years.

"You look tired," Mark said, leaning against her cubicle wall. He'd started saying that more often lately, his concern masked as observation.

"I'm fine. Just trying to get my vitamins in." She poked at a spinach leaf. "Doctor says I need more iron."

Outside, lightning cracked the sky—an electric fracture across what had been a relentlessly blue Tuesday. The weather app hadn't mentioned storms. Then again, it rarely warned about the important things.

Mark's phone buzzed. He checked it, then pocketed it quickly. Too quickly.

"Who's that?" Sarah asked, though the tightening in her chest already knew.

"Work stuff."

"At 7 PM?"

"You know how it is."

She did. She knew how it was—the late nights, the vague excuses, the emotional distance that had been growing between them like mold in a bathroom they kept meaning to clean. She'd been compensating with vitamins and water and sleep trackers, trying to optimize her way out of a failing relationship.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the parking lot below. Rain began streaking the windows, distorting the view of her car—that sensible Honda she'd bought when she thought they'd be starting a family by now.

"I need to tell you something," Mark said.

The spinach she'd forced down sat heavy in her stomach. She grabbed her water bottle, suddenly parched.

"I met someone."

There it was—the truth they'd both been avoiding, hanging in the recirculated office air between them. Outside, thunder shook the building.

"Okay," Sarah said. She was surprised by her own calm, like watching a disaster from a distance. "I need water."

She walked to the break room, leaving Mark standing there. The vending machine hummed. She filled her bottle at the dispenser, watching the water cascade, clear and uncomplicated. She thought about vitamins and health and how sometimes the healthiest thing you can do is let something die.

Back at her desk, Mark was gone. His absence already felt like a prescription she didn't need anymore. She threw the spinach salad in the trash and watched lightning illuminate her reflection—one hair falling loose across a face that looked, for the first time in years, entirely honest.