The Bull, The Dog, The End

Maria stood before the mirror in her office bathroom, running trembling fingers through graying hair. At forty-three, she'd become something she never expected: a corporate zombie, hollowed out by quarterly reports and the relentless demand to be perpetually available.

Her golden retriever, Buster, waited at home. The thought of his tail-thumping greeting was the only thing keeping her from walking out into the lightning that cracked across the skyline.

"Maria?" Greg's voice. Her boss. The man who'd taken credit for her restructuring proposal last quarter.

She turned. He stood too close, his cologne aggressive.

"The Philadelphia deal," he said. "I need you to handle the bull yourself."

Her breath caught. Not "bull market"—he meant the literal bull. The client's prize Angus, the centerpiece of some bizarre promotional event she'd been organizing in a haze of exhaustion. She'd have to drive three hours each way, spend her Saturday.

"My mother's in hospice," she lied smoothly, meeting his eyes.

Greg's face flickered—then recovered. "Right. Of course. I'll find someone else."

He left.

Maria returned to her desk and typed her resignation letter. The dog would be walked by someone who had time. The zombie was waking up.

Outside, lightning illuminated her way forward.