The Last Connection

The cable modem died at 11:47 PM, taking with it the last tether between us and the world outside. Sarah had already fallen asleep on the couch, her breathing rhythmic and infuriatingly peaceful. I sat there in the blue-dark of the living room, staring at the blinking lights on the router until they flickered out entirely.

That's when I thought of Fox.

Three years ago, Fox had stood in this same living room, backlit by streetlights through the window, offering me a choice that would define the next decade of my life. She'd always moved like something half-wild—quick, testing each surface before trusting it. Her real name was Rebecca, but everyone called her Fox. She'd earned it: sharp instincts, a talent for slipping through impossible situations, eyes that seemed to see three moves ahead.

"You're not happy," she'd said, not a question. "And you're not going to be, not with her."

I'd chosen Sarah anyway. Sarah, who was steady. Sarah, who didn't ask me to examine my own life like a riddle I couldn't solve. Sarah, who was safe.

Now, kneeling beside the entertainment center, untangling the mess of cables behind the TV, I understood something about the sphinx. The myth wasn't about the riddle itself—it was about what happened when you couldn't answer. Devour whole. That's what the years did. They consumed you piece by piece, until you became something unrecognizable, something that sat in the dark at midnight, wondering about the life you didn't choose.

I found the loose connection. Coaxial cable, pulled slightly from its port. I pressed it back in until it clicked.

The lights on the router began to blink again, one by one. Connection restored.

Behind me, Sarah stirred in her sleep. "Mmm. You fixed it?"

"Yeah," I said. "It's back."

"Good," she murmured, already drifting under again. "Love you."

I watched the router lights stabilize, solid and steady. A perfect connection to a world I no longer wanted to reach.

"You too," I whispered to the room, knowing she couldn't hear me.

Somewhere out there, Fox was probably still moving through impossible situations, seeing three moves ahead. The sphinx had eaten me instead, slowly and patient as time itself, and I'd let it happen. Some riddles don't have answers. Some choices can't be unmade.

The cable modem hummed, connecting us to everything except each other.