The Cat at First Base

Maya hadn't meant to become a corporate spy. It had started with small things—accessing a competitor's sales figures, photographing documents at a dinner party—but somehow, somewhere along the way, she'd become someone else entirely.

Now she sat in her parked car across the street from David's suburban home, her laptop open, her reflection in the dark window showing a woman she barely recognized: pale, hollow-eyed, moving through her days like some exhausted revenant. A zombie, she thought, not the cinematic kind but the truer, sadder version—the kind that kept going long after the soul had checked out.

On the passenger seat beside her, a calico cat purred. She'd found the cat behind a dumpster two weeks ago, matted and starving, and somehow it had become the only real thing in her life. "You're the only one who knows where I live," she whispered, scratching behind its ears. The cat blinked at her with ancient, knowing eyes.

Her phone buzzed. Another message from her handler: Get the prototype plans. Tonight.

Maya watched through binoculars as David played catch with his daughter in the backyard. The baseball arced through the golden evening light, father and daughter laughing in that effortless way that belonged to people who still believed in something. Maya felt an unfamiliar tightening in her chest—a grief so sharp it nearly brought her to tears.

She had played softball in college. She remembered the crack of the bat, the dirt against her skin, the way the world made sense when you were rounding third base, heading for home, your teammates shouting your name. Before the money had gotten tight. Before the offers that seemed too good to refuse. Before she'd started watching other people's lives instead of living her own.

The cat climbed onto her lap, kneading her thighs through her thin jacket. Maya buried her face in soft fur, breathing in the smell of something real.

"I used to be someone," she said to the empty car.

The daughter threw the ball high. David caught it easily, his laugh carrying across the warm summer air. Maya watched them for a long moment, then picked up her phone and typed:

I'm done. Find someone else.

The cat purred louder as she started the engine, and for the first time in years, Maya felt like she was finally waking up.