The Grounding Wire

The cable had been fraying for weeks—just like everything else in Mara's life. She'd noticed it first during a Netflix binge, the picture flickering like her own uncertain future. Now she sat on the floor of her half-empty apartment, coaxing the coaxial back to life with electrical tape she'd found in a drawer labeled *EMERGENCY*.

Barnaby, her brother's retriever, watched with patient concern from his bed by the window. He was staying with her while David was in rehab again, and the dog's calm presence felt like the only stable thing left. Outside, the summer storm intensified, rain drumming against the glass in that frantic rhythm that always made her question her choices.

A flash of lightning split the sky, illuminating the stacks of cardboard boxes she hadn't bothered to label. What was the point? She was leaving in three days—leaving this city, leaving Marcus, leaving the version of herself who'd believed that love alone could anchor someone.

She'd told Marcus it was about the job offer in Seattle. But really, it was about the way he looked through her instead of at her, the way he made her feel like background noise in his own movie. The cable snapped completely in her hands.

"Shit."

Barnaby lifted his head, thumping his tail once against the floorboards.

"It's fine," she lied, to the dog mostly. "Everything's fine."

Another lightning strike, closer this time. The television sputtered to life for exactly three seconds—long enough for her to catch the tail end of some romantic comedy, the couple kissing in the rain as the screen went black again. Perfect. Absolutely perfect timing.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. Marcus's name lit up the screen. She stared at it until it stopped, then picked it up and typed something she'd been wanting to say for months: *The cable's out. So am I.*

Barnaby wandered over and rested his chin on her shoulder. She leaned into his warmth, watching the lightning arc across the sky, and for the first time in years, she didn't feel the need to fix anything. Some things were meant to disconnect. Some storms were meant to break things open so the light could finally get in.