Inventory of Us

The iphone buzzed on the kitchen counter—Sarah's lawyer, probably. Marcus ignored it. He was too busy packing the ceramic bull they'd bought in Spain, a joke about his bullish approach to life that now felt like a cosmic jeer. Three years of marriage reduced to cardboard boxes and quiet resentment.

"You're not actually taking that, are you?" Sarah stood in the doorway, arms crossed. The cable knit sweater she wore—one he'd surprised her with last Christmas—hung loose on her frame. She'd lost weight. He hadn't noticed until now.

"You gave it to me."

"I gave you a lot of things." She stepped into the room, her dog Bear trailing behind her, confused by all the motion. The old husky had been Marcus's companion through the startup failures, the late nights, the weekend trips they couldn't afford. Now Bear belonged to Sarah, along with the apartment, the friends, the life they'd built.

The iphone buzzed again. This time he looked. A notification: *Market in bear territory.*

Marcus laughed, a dry, jagged sound. "Even the economy knows how this ends."

Sarah's expression softened. "We don't have to do this today."

"Yes we do." He sealed the box with the bull inside. "One of us has to be the adult here."

"Because that worked so well for your portfolio?"

The words hung between them, toxic and true. His risk tolerance had cost them savings, opportunities, time. But it had also given them stories, passion, the very reason they'd fallen in love in the first place. He'd been fire and she'd been everything he wasn't—steady, practical, the one who'd suggested the pre-nup that now made this division so clean.

Bear pressed his wet nose against Marcus's hand, seeking pets, oblivious to the arithmetic of ending.

"Come here, buddy." Marcus knelt, burying his face in the dog's thick fur, breathing in the smell of walks in the park and Saturday mornings and a future that wasn't his anymore. When he stood, his eyes were dry.

"Take good care of him," Marcus said. "He likes his belly scratched after dinner."

"Marcus—"

"Go. Please."

She left, the cable sweater trailing behind her like something half-forgotten. He watched through the window as she walked Bear down the street, the dog stopping to sniff a hydrant like any ordinary Saturday. Like the world hadn't just cracked open.

Marcus's iphone lit up with a new message: *Can we talk?* He stared at it, thumb hovering over the screen, then turned it off and placed it in the box with the bull. Some markets were too volatile to trade anymore.