Synthetic Sunshine

The neon yellow vitamin D pill sat on the edge of Elena's desk, looking less like a supplement and more like a tiny tombstone. She swallowed it without water—a habit she'd developed after David left, as if dry swallowing bitter things might prepare her for anything.

"You're coming to padel tonight, right?" Carlos asked, leaning against her cubicle wall. His polo shirt was crisp, his smile practiced. Elena's stomach lurched.

"Wouldn't miss it," she lied. The monthly corporate padel tournament was exactly where she wanted to spend her Friday: watching middle management rage-mildly while pretending that team sports could fix a toxic corporate culture.

She'd started taking the vitamins three months ago, after the miscarriage. The doctor said her levels were low, that it would help with energy, mood. All Elena knew was that her body had failed at the most fundamental thing, and now she needed pills to convince it to keep functioning. She took them religiously, a daily ritual of attempting to repair something broken that couldn't be fixed.

At the court, the humidity clung to everything—skin, clothes, hope. Elena's partner was Mark from Accounting, a man whose face contorted with every swing,仿佛 his career depended on each point. It probably did.

"Watch the backhand!" someone shouted, and Elena's racket met the ball with a satisfying crack. For three seconds, she felt nothing—no grief, no exhaustion, no crushing weight of expectation. Just the ball's perfect arc against the glass wall.

Then came the water break. Elena reached for her bottle, her hand trembling slightly. Across the court, Carlos was laughing with HR, the same laugh he used during layoffs.

"You okay?" Mark asked, noticing her hesitation.

Elena looked at the vitamin pill she'd dropped earlier, now crushed into the artificial turf, a yellow stain on fake grass. "Yeah," she said, surprising herself. "I think I'm done pretending."

She walked to the edge of the court where her water bottle sat, condensation slick on the plastic. She poured it onto the crushed vitamin, watching the yellow dissolve into nothing, carried away by something that was supposed to sustain her.

"I'm heading home," Elena said. "It's Friday night, and I'd rather be lonely alone than lonely here."

The ball continued to bounce behind her, rhythmic and relentless, but Elena didn't turn around. Some things, she realized, you don't have to keep returning.