The Goldfish at the Window

The goldfish had been staring at her for three days. Elena had rescued it from the office lobby—the one surviving creature after the corporate merger announcement that turned forty people into walking ghosts. Now it swam in a mason jar on her windowsill, its mouth opening and closing in silent accusations.

'You're forgetting your vitamin D again,' Marcus said, sliding the orange bottle across the breakfast table. His palm lingered on hers for a moment—warm, familiar, distant. They used to have sex on Sunday mornings. Now they discussed supplements.

'I'm fine.' She swallowed the pill without water.

'You haven't been fine since the layoffs.' He cleared his throat, looked away. 'My mother says her friend's daughter knows someone at that startup. They're hiring.'

Outside, lightning cracked the sky—a brilliant, terrible fork that seemed to pierce the palm tree swaying violently in the courtyard. The goldfish went still.

'She was forty-two,' Elena said quietly. 'Your mother's friend's daughter.'

'What?'

'The one who knows someone. She was forty-two when she died.' She turned to face him. 'That pancreatic thing. Remember? We went to the funeral.'

The room filled with the sound of rain striking glass. Marcus's face went through stages—confusion, recognition, then something like horror. He'd forgotten. Of course he had.

'I forgot to feed the fish,' Elena said, standing up. 'Again.'

She carried the mason jar to the kitchen sink. The goldfish floated near the surface, its silver scales catching the light from the window. She'd meant to buy a proper tank, real food, everything it needed. Tomorrow, she always thought. There would be time.

The lightning flashed again, illuminating her reflection in the darkened window—forty-one years old and wondering why she was still surprised when people forgot the things that mattered.

'Elena?' Marcus's voice from the doorway. 'I'm sorry.'

She tilted the jar and watched the fish swim away from the glass ripple. 'It's okay,' she said, and meant it. 'We all forget.'