The Goldfish Bowl

The cat watched from the windowsill as Elena packed her suitcase, its tail flicking with judgment. Outside, rain streaked the glass like tears she couldn't cry anymore.

"You're like a zombie," she said to Mark's back. He sat on the couch, staring at the TV that wasn't even on. "Just going through the motions. No pulse. No nothing."

Mark didn't turn around. His hair was thinning at the temples—she'd noticed it three months ago, the same time she'd noticed she didn't care anymore. "You're being dramatic."

"Am I?" Elena zipped the suitcase. The sound echoed like a gunshot. "Remember when we were happy? Remember the goldfish we won at that carnival? It lasted three days. We lasted three years. That's pathetic, Mark. Even the goldfish had more spark."

The cat jumped down, padded across the floor, and wound itself around Mark's legs. He finally looked at her, his eyes flat and distant.

"Where will you go?"

"Anywhere. Anywhere where I'm not swimming in circles in a bowl too small for me." Elena lifted her suitcase, realized it was heavier than she'd expected. How much of her life had she packed into this bag? How much of herself had she left behind?

"The cat," Mark said. "Who keeps the cat?"

Elena looked at the orange tabby now curled in Mark's lap, purring like a traitor. "You keep it. It always liked you better anyway."

She walked out without looking back, but in the hallway, she pressed her forehead against the wall and waited for her heart to stop hammering. Somewhere inside their apartment, the TV flickered to life, Mark finally moving again, the cat settling into the routine they'd built together—a routine she was now leaving.

She wasn't swimming away, she realized. She was finally learning to breathe.