Storm Logic

The vitamin D supplement sat on my desk like a tiny accusation. Three months ago, my doctor had prescribed them for the bone-deep fatigue that no amount of sleep could touch. Now, they were just another thing I forgot to take.

The dog, my ex-husband's loyal golden retriever, had stopped eating two days after Michael moved out. I found myself at the vet clinic Tuesday, watching the vet run tests with clinical detachment while my chest hollowed out. "Stress response," she said, scratching behind Buster's ears. "Animals pick up on everything."

Everything. Like how I'd come home to a half-packed apartment, Michael's note saying he couldn't do this anymore, couldn't watch me dissolve into myself one more day. Like how the promotion I'd spent five years grinding toward had gone to Miller's nephew instead. Like how I'd been taking vitamin D for bone health when what was actually brittle was my resolve.

The lightning struck somewhere close Wednesday night—a violent crack that shook the windows. I sat on the floor with Buster's head in my lap, both of us trembling while the cat, a calico I'd inherited from my mother, watched with that supreme feline indifference that felt almost like judgment.

"What?" I asked her. "You think I should've fought harder?"

She blinked, slow and deliberate.

The bull—Miller's nickname, the one everyone used behind his back—had called me into his office Thursday morning. I thought he'd offer something, a consolation prize. Instead, he leaned back in his leather chair and said, "You know what your problem is? You don't have hunger."

He said it like it was wisdom, like he'd identified the flaw in my character that explained everything. I thought about the months of skipping dinner to work late. About the way I'd measure myself in smaller and smaller increments of worth.

I took the vitamin from my pocket—the one I'd remembered that morning—and placed it on his desk. "You're right," I said. "I don't."

That evening, I found Buster eating again. The cat wound around my legs, purring. Outside, another storm was building, but I felt something like clarity, sharp and clean as lightning.

Some things you have to lose to find what's actually worth keeping.