Supplements and Silver Scales

Mark stood in the supplement aisle, staring at the vitamin D bottle like it held answers to questions he hadn't articulated yet. Forty-two and suddenly single, he'd developed a habit of reading labels with religious intensity, as if proper nutrition could compensate for whatever hollow space had opened up in his life.

"You take those with food," a woman said beside him. "Otherwise you'll just piss them out."

He turned to find Sarah—his ex-wife's best friend, of all people. She hadn't changed. Still the person who'd tell you exactly what you needed to hear, regardless of whether you wanted to hear it.

"I know," he said. "I've been taking them for months."

"How's Emma?"

"She's six. She's fine. She misses her mom." He paused. "We both do."

Sarah's expression softened. "I saw Jenny last week. She's doing the running thing again. Half-marathons now."

Running. The word landed like a stone in water. Jenny had started running when Emma was born, then stopped when the postpartum depression got bad, then started again when she left. Mark had bought running shoes once, trying to understand whatever peace she found in motion. He'd made it exactly three blocks before his lungs had protested, before he'd realized he wasn't running toward anything—he was just running away from the stillness of his apartment.

"That's good," he said. "I'm glad she's doing something."

"You should come to the group. Saturday mornings. Not everyone's separated from their spouse, but you wouldn't be the only one running from something."

He almost said no. But then he thought about Emma's goldfish, the one she'd named Sparkle despite its distinct lack of anything sparkly, how it swam in endless circles in its bowl on his nightstand. How he'd become strangely obsessed with it, watching for hours, wondering if it remembered the previous circuit or if each loop was new. Wondering if he was any different, waking up alone in what used to be their bed, making coffee for one, walking through rooms that still held ghost-impressions of a life he'd failed to sustain.

"Maybe," he said. "What time?"

"Seven. Memorial Park. Bring those vitamins—you'll need them."

She walked away, and Mark placed the bottle in his cart. For the first time in months, he thought about what came next instead of what came before.