The Goldfish Protocol

Ellen stared at the vitamin on her tongue — the chalky white oval that promised to fix what three years of grief had broken. B-12 with iron. The doctor said it would help with the fatigue, but what she really needed was something for the hollow space where her mother used to be.

On the kitchen counter, the goldfish bowl caught the morning light. Leonard — named after the Leonard Cohen album her mother played endlessly during chemo — swam in slow, deliberate circles. People said goldfish had three-second memories. Ellen envied that.

'You ready, buddy?' she asked the dog.

Barnaby, an ancient golden retriever who had belonged to her parents, thumped his tail once against the linoleum. He was the last living thing that remembered her mother's voice. The thought made her chest ache.

She swallowed the vitamin with cold coffee. It tasted like surrender.

At work, Marcus from Accounting stopped by her desk for the third time that week. 'Coffee later?'

'Busy.' She didn't look up from the spreadsheet that meant nothing to her.

'You seem different lately.' His voice was careful. 'Is everything...'

'Fine.'

He lingered. She could feel him wanting to say something more, something that might undo the careful wall she'd built since November.

That evening, she found Leonard floating at the top of the bowl.

She stared at him for a long time, the vitamin still sitting on her tongue from dinner. Then she carried the bowl to the bathroom, steadying herself against the doorframe. Barnaby followed, his nails clicking softly on the tile.

'You too, huh buddy?' she whispered.

The dog's muzzle was grey now. His hips failed him on stairs. She'd been giving him supplements too — glucosamine, omega-3s — little miracles in pill form that were really just bargains made with time.

She flushed the goldfish and watched him spiral away.

Back in the kitchen, she spit the vitamin into the trash. Some things couldn't be fixed.

Barnaby nudged her hand with his wet nose. She sank to the floor and buried her face in his golden fur, breathing him in. For tonight, this would have to be enough.