The Burden We Choose

The coaxial cable lay severed on the living room floor like a dead snake, its copper entrails exposed. Sarah had ripped it from the wall during their third fight of the week—the one about whether they should freeze embryos now that her career was accelerating while his was stagnating.

Marcus watched her from the doorway. She was sitting on the balcony in that oversized cardigan she wore like armor, smoking a cigarette she'd sworn she'd quit three years ago. The fox they'd seen mating in the garden last spring had returned. It moved along the railing, sleek and unconcerned, its russet coat catching the dying light. Sarah watched it with an intensity that made his chest ache.

"Remember when we thought we'd have this figured out by thirty?" she said without turning.

He joined her, leaning against the rusted railing. Below, the Pacific crashed against the cliffs, that endless thrum of water that had drawn them to this overpriced rental two years ago. They'd been different people then—optimistic, foolish in love, convinced that wanting something was the same as deserving it.

"The fox comes closer every day," she murmured. "Maybe it's hungry. Maybe it just likes the view."

"We could still do the fertility treatments."

She laughed, bitter and sharp. "And bear a child into this economic hellscape? Into a marriage where we can barely stand each other?" She turned to him then, and the weight of her exhaustion hit him like a physical blow. "Some things aren't worth carrying just because you're strong enough to bear them."

The fox stretched, yawning, before slipping away into the dusk. Sarah stubbed out her cigarette and stood up. "I'm staying with Jenna tonight. I think we need to figure out what we're actually fighting for—besides habit."

Marcus nodded, unable to speak through the thickness in his throat. Inside, the cable still lay on the floor, waiting to be reconnected or abandoned. He'd have to decide soon which hurt less.