The Goldfish in the Storm

The apartment felt too large after Sarah left. Elias stood by the window, watching the lightning split the sky in brilliant white fractures, each flash illuminating the empty spaces where her things used to be. Three weeks, and he still found himself reaching for her in the morning, his hand finding only cold sheets.

Her cat, Bast, wound around his ankles, purring insistently. Elias had never wanted a cat—too much responsibility, too much need—but Sarah had convinced him. Now the creature was his last tether to her, a living reminder of everything he'd lost. He bent down to stroke her soft fur, and she pressed her forehead against his palm, demanding comfort he couldn't give.

On the windowsill, the goldfish bowl caught the lightning's glow. Sarah had won the fish at a carnival last summer, some absurd prize they'd laughed about all the way home. She'd named him AdmiralBubblegum and insisted he had profound thoughts. Elias thought the fish was probably just confused.

But watching AdmiralBubblegum drift through his tiny kingdom, mouth opening and closing in silent repetition, Elias felt something crack open inside him. The fish would never know Sarah was gone. It would keep swimming in its same endless circles, content with its small world, while Elias's world had fractured into before and after.

Another flash of lightning, closer this time. Bast hissed and bolted under the sofa. Rain began to hammer against the glass, drowning out the silence of the apartment. Elias rested his forehead against the cold window, his breath fogging the glass.

"I don't know how to do this," he whispered to the empty room.

The goldfish floated to the surface, lips breaking the water's tension in a tiny gasp. Elias watched it, suddenly aware of how much air he'd been holding in his own chest. He let it out slowly, deliberately, and somewhere in the darkness, thunder rolled across the sky like the long exhale of something vast and unknowable.

He would feed the fish. He would coax the cat out from under the sofa. He would breathe again. Not because it would stop hurting, but because Sarah would have wanted him to keep swimming, even in this smaller, quieter world.

The lightning flashed again, and for a moment, everything was illuminated.