The Bear in the Waiting Room

The prenatal **vitamin** bottle sat on her desk like an accusation. Elena stared at it, the orange plastic glaring under fluorescent lights, while her phone buzzed with another text from him. *Can we talk?* She'd stopped answering days ago.

She'd bought the vitamins three months ago, back when she still believed in the life they were building together—the house with the nursery painted in soft yellow, the future they'd outlined over Sunday morning coffee. Now the bottle remained sealed, its contents useless, much like the promises he'd made about forever.

Her phone buzzed again. This time she picked it up. A photo of him wearing that ridiculous **hat** she'd bought him in Venice—the floppy straw thing with the bright ribbon, the one he'd complained about but wore anyway because she loved how it made him look like an overgrown romantic poet. Underneath, the caption: *I miss what we were.*

Elena's thumb hovered over the delete button. The hat was hanging on their closet door at home, a constant reminder of the version of him that existed before everything fell apart. Before the promotion, before the late nights, before he started looking at her like she was a complication rather than a companion.

The way he'd **bear** down on her during arguments lately, his eyes flat and distant, like she was a problem to be solved rather than a person to be loved. That was the word that came to her during those awful moments—how he would bear the burden of their marriage as if it were a weight he hadn't volunteered to carry.

"You still here?" Janet's voice broke through her thoughts. Her office mate gestured to the wall clock. 5:47 PM.

Elena swept the vitamins into her purse and grabbed her coat. In the parking lot, her phone lit up one more time. Not from him—from her mother. The subject line read: *Your father's tests came back.*

She sat in her car for a long time, the engine running, watching the sky turn that particular shade of violet that only exists in the space between day and night. Eventually, she typed back: *Tell me the worst news over dinner. Bring the hat—Dad always said it made me brave.*

Some things were worth bearing. Some weren't. She was starting to learn the difference.