Palm Fronds and Paralysis

Mia pressed her **palm** against the floor-to-ceiling window of the Palm Springs Airbnb, condensation blooming beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. Below, the desert twilight bruised purple and gold. Behind her, Mark's breathing had settled into the rhythmic wheeze of someone who'd already surrendered to sleep.

She turned from the window and padded to the kitchen, bare feet silent on cool tile. The ceramic bowl on the counter held three **oranges**, their skins dimpled like the knuckles of elderly hands. She'd bought them yesterday at that roadside stand—before the fight, before Mark's confession about the promotion, before she'd realized her career was stagnating while his soared.

The apartment felt like a tomb. Or maybe she was the tomb. Mia caught her own reflection in the darkened glass—hollow eyes, slack expression, moving through rooms like a **zombie** in a B-grade horror film. Not even a scary one. Just sad. Trudging. Undead.

She peeled an orange, the spray of citrus sharp in the air. Juice ran down her wrist, sticky and bright against pale skin. For a moment, the intensity of it—the scent, the mess, the simple sensory reality—threatened to crack something open inside her chest.

"You okay?" Mark's voice, gravelly with sleep.

She hadn't heard him approach. His hand settled on her shoulder, warm and familiar and unbearable. "Fine."

"You've been staring at that orange for five minutes."

"Have I?" She looked down. The fruit in her hand was a ruin of torn rind.

"Mia." His thumb traced the ridge of her shoulder blade. "Talk to me."

She wanted to. She wanted to scream about the promotion she didn't get, the way their conversations had become weather forecasts and grocery lists, how she didn't recognize herself anymore. How loving him felt like swimming through sand.

Instead, she popped a section of the orange into her mouth. It burst—tart, electric, devastatingly present. "I think," she said around the juice, "I need to go back to work early."

Mark's hand stilled. The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence between them.

"Okay," he said finally.

Okay. The word sat between them like a small animal, breathing and terrified. Mia ate the rest of the orange one piece at a time, watching the desert night deepen outside, and wondered when she'd started feeling dead, and whether she'd ever find her way back to life.