Market Corrections

The notification pinged at 3:47 AM — the same time every night now. Sarah's iPhone screen illuminated the dark bedroom, casting a pale blue glow across the empty side of the bed where Marcus used to sleep.

She'd been the bull in their marriage always charging forward, optimistic, convinced that every dip was a buying opportunity. Marcus had been the bear — cautious, analytical, forever pointing out downside risks that she refused to see. Twelve years of market cycles, and they'd finally reached correction day.

"Can we talk?" the text read. Not from Marcus. From Richard, her colleague who'd been making eyes at her across the trading floor since the October crash.

Sarah's thumb hovered over the screen. The bull in her wanted to swipe right, to charge into this new opportunity with the same reckless optimism that had made her junior partnership at thirty-three. But something held her back — maybe the bear's voice still echoing in her head, warning her that some losses aren't meant to be recovered.

The iPhone pinged again. Another notification. Not a text this time. A stock alert: MARA — the ticker symbol she and Marcus had jokingly used for "Marcus and Sarah Always" back when they were young and foolish enough to believe in forever stocks.

The alert showed it was down another 12% in after-hours trading. Some things just kept falling.

Sarah deleted Richard's message without opening it. Then she opened her photos app and found the last picture of Marcus and her together, taken at their anniversary dinner three months before the end. He'd been trying to tell her something that night. She'd been too busy checking her positions on her iPhone to listen.

The bull and the bear, she realized now, had never been separate creatures at all. They were just the same animal, running in different directions, terrified of the same winter.

Outside, the first snow of December began to fall. Sarah turned off her phone and finally, for the first time in months, went back to sleep.