Rounding Third
The vitamins sat in his kitchen cabinet like a colorful accusation—B12 for energy, D3 for mood, fish oil for heart health. Derek had left them behind when he moved out, along with the baseball glove gathering dust on the top shelf. Five years of marriage, reduced to supplements and sports equipment.
Sarah found herself running more these days, logging miles along the river as if she could outrun the quiet of her apartment. Her iPhone tracker showed 274 miles since he left, each one a desperate attempt to exhaust herself into dreamless sleep. The water in the river rushed beside her, indifferent and relentless.
"You're always running," he'd told her once, early in their relationship. They'd been watching baseball in a crowded bar, her knee bouncing nervously under the table. "Some day you'll have to stop."
She'd thought he meant patience. She hadn't realized he meant exhaustion.
The vitamins' expiration dates approached. She'd been throwing them out one by one, a strange ritual of letting go. Last week it was the magnesium. This week, the probiotics. Each bottle emptied was another inch of distance from the life they'd built together.
Her phone buzzed during tonight's run—Derek, asking if he could pick up the rest of his things. Sarah stood by the river's edge, watching water churn over rocks, breathing hard in the humid air. The baseball diamond across the park was empty, floodlights casting long ghostly shadows over the dirt.
They'd had season tickets once. She'd pretended to care about the stats for him. He'd pretended to care about her graduate program for her. Both lying, both trying to be what the other wanted.
Sarah typed back: Come tomorrow.
Then she deleted the message, opened his contact, and blocked him. She resumed running, pushing harder, her muscles burning, phone tucked away in her pocket. The vitamins could wait for tomorrow's trash. The baseball glove could sit on its shelf. Tonight, she was just a woman running beside dark water, making herself light enough to finally move forward.