Expiration Dates

The refrigerator hummed its empty song at 2 AM. Sarah stood before it, the cool air washing over her face like the tears she refused to cry. Her iPhone lit up the dark kitchen with another notification from him—'staying late at the office again'—and she watched the screen fade to black without replying.

She pulled out the container of spinach they'd bought three days ago, when they'd still been trying. The leaves were already wilting, turning slimy at the edges. Just like everything else. She grabbed the vitamin bottle from the counter—the expensive ones he'd insisted they both take, 'for longevity,' he'd said, the word tasting like ash now.

She ran the tap water, watching it swirl down the drain, thinking about all the things that slip away when you're not looking. Love mostly. Trust. Time.

The back door clicked open. Mark stepped in, smelling of expensive whiskey and someone else's perfume. He didn't notice her standing in the kitchen shadow. He moved to the fridge, reaching past her for the water pitcher. His hand grazed her shoulder and she didn't flinch.

'Can't sleep?' he asked, his voice careful. Measured. The way he'd been talking to her for months.

Sarah held up the spinach container. 'It's already rotting.'

Mark paused, his glass half-filled with water. 'What?'

'We bought it three days ago. It's already turning.' She set the container on the counter with a soft thud. 'Like us. Like everything we pretend isn't already gone.'

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Mark set down his glass. 'Sarah—'

'Don't.' She turned to face him. 'Just don't. I'm not taking any more vitamins for a future that doesn't exist.'

'What are you saying?'

She picked up her iPhone, scrolled through their text messages—six months of declining frequency, of 'staying late,' of 'business trips,' of conversations that never happened. Then she dropped it into the kitchen sink, right into the running water.

'I'm saying,' she said, watching his phone bob in the shallow pool, 'that some things can't be saved.'