The Green Vitamin

Maya stood in the kitchen at 6 AM, the blender's whir drowning out the silence of the apartment she'd shared with David for seven years. Another vitamin C tablet, another handful of spinach, another day of performing wellness like a job requirement. David stumbled in, eyes glazed, pulling the organic coffee grounds like a zombie navigating a familiar graveyard. He didn't notice the new blender—her thirtieth-birthday gift to herself—or the way she'd started measuring her life in supplements and leafy greens.

"How's the freelance gig?" he mumbled, staring at his phone.

"Good. The tech startup wants me back. Full-time. Benefits. The whole corporate package."

He nodded distractedly. "That's great."

Maya watched the green sludge spin in the blender. She'd taken this job when her mother got sick, when David was between startups, when they needed the insurance. Now her mother was gone, David was vaguely successful, and Maya was still here, blending spinach into something she pretended was nourishment.

"I turned them down."

The blender stopped. David looked up. "What?"

"I turned them down. I'm taking the six-month contract in Buenos Aires instead."

"Since when—"

"Since I realized I've been living like a zombie, waiting for permission to actually live. The vitamins aren't working, David. The spinach isn't working. Nothing's working because I'm not here. I'm not really anywhere."

He blinked, and for the first time in years, she saw him actually seeing her. "When do you leave?"

"Two weeks. You could come."

David ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking less like a creature from the graveyard of their shared routine and more like the man she'd fallen in love with. The one who'd once talked about Argentina like it was a dream destination, not a PowerPoint slide.

"What would we even do there?" he asked, and the question wasn't a no.

Maya poured the spinach smoothie into two glasses. "Start with a vitamin deficiency, maybe. Then see what happens."