Exit Interview

The lightning struck just as Richard handed me the cardboard box. Three years at Parallax Analytics, reduced to personal effects and a brisk handshake in the lobby.

"We're pivoting to AI," he'd said, avoiding eye contact. "Your position's been eliminated." Corporate speak for: you're forty-two and expensive.

I drove home with my box on the passenger seat—framed photos of daughters I rarely saw, a coffee mug stained with thousand mornings, the goldfish bowl from my desk. Corporate had given it to me during team-building week, a lesson about nurturing things. The fish had died three months ago. I'd replaced it twice without anyone noticing. Today's was doing laps, oblivious to its glass prison.

Sarah's car wasn't in the driveway. She'd texted at noon: *staying at her sister's. we need to talk.* The sisters hated me. That couldn't be good.

Inside, the house was quiet except for our golden retriever, Buster, who thumped his tail against the sofa. I let him out back. The yard bordered woods; we'd seen a fox once, sleek as rust, watching us with evaluating eyes. I'd thought: that's what this marriage has become—beautiful strangers pretending to belong in the same territory.

I opened a beer and found myself in my twelve-year-old son's room. Baseball trophies lined the shelf, gathering dust. Leo had quit last season. "It's boring," he'd said. "All the waiting." I'd pressured him to join, told him about character and discipline. Now I wondered if I'd been living my childhood through his, demanding he love the things I thought a boy should love.

Another lightning flash illuminated the room. In that white clarity, I saw the truth: I'd been pretending to be a father, a husband, a man. Going through motions without feeling them, like the goldfish swimming circles in its bowl.

The fox appeared at the edge of the woods—Buster barked once, then went still. The fox watched us through the glass: wild, self-contained, utterly free. I pressed my palm against the window and finally understood what I'd lost.

Somewhere, my phone buzzed. I didn't answer.