Supplemental Light

Elena came home to find the kitchen transformed again. Mason had rearranged the cabinets—his third system this month—lining up bottles in military precision. **Vitamin** D, B-complex, magnesium, zinc, an army of promises in amber and white plastic.

"You're late," he said, not looking up from his **spinach** smoothie. The leaves pulsed in the blender, a violent green that reminded her of money, of envy, of sickness all at once.

"Meeting ran over." She set her bag on the counter, displacing his carefully arranged supplement schedule. "Mason, we need to talk about—"

"Have you taken your evening vitamins?" He clicked the blender off. "Your immune system is compromised. I can hear it in your voice."

Elena felt that familiar tightening in her chest, the one she'd been mistaking for love for three years. Since his mother died—the one who'd never taken a vitamin in her life, who'd smoked and drank and lived to eighty-nine—he'd become obsessed with cheating death. With purity. With control.

"I bought **orange** lightbulbs," he said, his voice bright with the kind of enthusiasm that used to make her smile. "For circadian rhythm. Melatonin production. The research is fascinating."

He held one up, its glass glowing in his hand like a captured sunset.

"Mason." Her voice shook. "Your mother's dead. No amount of spinach is going to change that."

He flinched as if she'd slapped him. The lightbulb flickered, then steadied. In that **orange** glow, she saw what she'd been refusing to see for months: the desperation beneath his control. The vitamins weren't about health. They were about bargaining with a universe that had already collected its due.

"I'll order takeout," she said, reaching for her phone. "Something terrible. Deep fried. Maybe with MSG."

For a moment, she thought he might cry. Then Mason set the lightbulb on the counter—gently, carefully—and picked up his smoothie.

"Just this once," he said. "But take your vitamins first."

Elena took them. She swallowed them dry, one by one, while he watched, and wondered if they were both trying to cure the same thing with opposite poisons.