Electrolytes and Regrets

Marcus stood at the kitchen counter, crushing his daily vitamin supplement into a powder. The ritual had become compulsive lately—since Elena left, actually. He mixed it into his water, watching the particles swirl like his own thoughts, never quite settling.

'You're full of bull,' she'd said, the night she finally walked out. Not that he was wrong—he knew the hedge fund was overexposed—but that he wouldn't admit it. His stubbornness had cost them half their savings. His pride had cost him her.

A storm was brewing over the lake. Lightning fractured the sky, illuminating the empty spaces where her paintings used to hang. The first drops of rain began to tap against the glass, and Marcus remembered how she'd loved these summer thunderstorms. She'd press her palms against the window, whispering that the electrical charge in the air made her feel alive, as if the atmosphere itself was trying to communicate something profound.

He'd laughed at her then, called it romantic nonsense. Now he stood alone in their shared space, swallowing his vitamin-infused water like penance. The market had corrected itself. His boss had called him a prodigy for holding his position. But the victory tasted like ash.

The rain intensified, water streaming down the glass in sheets that distorted the world beyond. Marcus pressed his own palm against the cold surface, trying to feel whatever she'd felt in these moments. The lightning flashed again, closer this time, and in that brief illumination he saw his reflection—a man who'd won every argument but lost the only thing that mattered.

Some bargains, he realized, you don't realize you've made until the payment comes due.