The Art of Floating

The goldfish circled its bowl, endless loops in seven liters of filtered water. Elena watched it while the morning coffee brewed, thinking about how Mark had bought it as a joke two years ago—something about low-maintenance companionship. Now the fish outlasted the marriage. She sprinkled flakes onto the surface, watching the orange flash dart upward.

"You're up early," Sarah called from the hallway. Her racquet tapped against the doorframe—padel at seven again with the corporate crowd. "Join us? Gerard's bringing his brother."

Elena shook her head. The court was where marriages were dissected between serves, where she'd first heard the rumors about Mark and the junior analyst. "Not today."

"You've been saying that for months." Sarah's voice softened. "The vitamin D won't hurt you, El. You're pale as paper."

Later, Elena found the bottle in Mark's bathroom cabinet during the final packing. Vitamin D3, 5000 IU. His prescription, never shared. She'd swallowed one daily for weeks, trying to absorb what he hadn't been able to give her—warmth, light, something essential. But vitamins can't fix a marriage that's been deficient from the start.

The goldfish floated near the glass, mouth opening and closing in silent commentary.

"You're a terrible friend," she told it.

The phone buzzed. Sarah: Padel tomorrow? Real question.

Elena typed back: Yes.

She dropped the vitamin bottle into the trash. Some things you absorbed on your own.