Stray Current

The hair on her pillow was still there. Three months after she left, and Elena still found the long dark strands tangled in the linen, a testament to how thoroughly she had occupied every corner of their life together. Elena should have washed the sheets. Should have changed everything. But instead she gathered each strand, winding them around her finger like a rosary of loss.

The cable guy was late, which meant she'd spent forty minutes sitting on the floor of her empty apartment, thinking about nothing and everything. When he finally knocked, she opened the door to find a man with kind eyes and grease-stained hands.

"Sorry," he said. "Last job ran long. Old building, tricky wiring." He gestured vaguely at himself. "I'm Marcus."

She stepped back. "Elena. The television's in the bedroom. I mean—my bedroom. Not—"

She stopped herself, but Marcus just nodded, like he understood exactly what she meant. He set to work, his hands moving with practiced ease as he disconnected and reconnected cables behind the entertainment center.

"You got a dog?" he asked suddenly.

Elena blinked. "No. Why?"

He pointed to a scratch on the baseboard. "Looks like claw marks. My dog used to do that when she was anxious. Weird what you notice in other people's houses."

"Oh. No. That was..." Elena swallowed. "That was from when my partner moved out. She was angry."

Marcus paused in his work, a cable in each hand. "Ah."

The word hung between them, small and heavy.

"I'm sorry," he said, and it didn't sound like the automatic response people gave when they heard about breakups. It sounded like he meant it.

"She took the dog," Elena said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "Fig was technically hers, from before we met, but we had her for six years. She was supposed to be our dog. Our family. Now I don't even know how she is."

Marcus set down the cables and turned to face her. "You know what I think?" He wasn't looking at her with pity. He was looking at her like she was a person who might need to hear something true.

"I think people leave, and they take things with them. But the things that matter—the love, the patterns you built, the way you learned to be together—those don't belong to anyone. They're just gone."

"That's not comforting," Elena said, but her voice cracked.

"No," Marcus agreed. "But at least it's honest." He stood, wiped his hands on a rag. "Television works now. You should call your ex. Ask about the dog."

"Why?"

"Because not knowing is worse than knowing," he said. "Even if the answer hurts."

After he left, Elena sat on the floor for a long time. Then she picked up her phone.