The Last Cable Cut

Marcus walked through the office corridors like a zombie—eyes glazed, movements mechanical, the fluorescent lights humming overhead in a way that made his teeth ache. Three years of mergers and layoffs would do that to a man. The only thing keeping him tethered to humanity was Elena, his work friend who'd somehow kept her spark intact.

"You coming to padel tonight?" she asked, leaning against his cubicle wall. She wore that ridiculous fedora she refused to retire, the one that made her look like a jazz singer from another era.

"Can't. Getting the internet installed at the new place. The technician's coming between six and nine—so, basically never."

Elena's expression softened. She knew about the divorce. She knew about the apartment with boxes he hadn't unpacked in three weeks. "Tomorrow, then. You're walking through walls, Marcus. You need this."

He nodded, unable to meet her eyes.

That evening, as the technician tangled with a tangled knot of cable behind the television, Marcus found himself weeping silently. Not sobbing, just—leaking. Tears sliding down his face while a stranger in a blue uniform asked if he wanted the premium package.

The old life had been so solid once. A wife, a home, a future. Now it was all frayed wires and loose connections.

At padel the next day, Elena's hat sat on the bench while she dominated the court, her movements fierce and precise. Marcus watched her, realizing something he should have seen months ago.

She wasn't just his work friend. She was the only person who'd noticed he'd become a zombie. The only one trying to wake him up.

"Marcus?" she called from the baseline, sweat gleaming on her collarbone. "You gonna play or what?"

He picked up his racket. For the first time in months, something behind his eyes felt awake.

"I'm playing," he said. "I'm playing."