The Last Connection

The cable lay coiled on the floor like a dead snake, its plastic skin still warm from where it had been pulled from the wall. Sarah sat on the cardboard box that contained everything she'd kept from six years of marriage—a photo album, her grandmother's teapot, and a cat carrier.

Outside, lightning fractured the sky, casting sudden, harsh shadows across the empty living room. The storm had been brewing for hours, much like the silence between her and Marcus before she finally packed her things.

'Miss me?' she whispered, reaching through the carrier's wire door. Her fingers found soft fur. The cat—Barnaby, Marcus's cat, technically—pressed his cheek against her knuckles. He'd chosen her when they'd adopted him from the shelter, curling around her feet while Marcus stood in the background, scrolling through his phone.

She'd Barnaby in the divorce settlement, not because she wanted him, but because Marcus had shrugged when she asked. 'Whatever,' he'd said. 'He's yours.' Six years of love, compromise, and growing apart, distilled into a single indifferent word.

The cable guy would be here in an hour to set up her new internet connection at the apartment across town. A fresh start, her sister called it. Sarah thought of it as an interruption—she'd need a new cable, a new router, new login credentials. New everything.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the space where the television had been. They'd watched their favorite show together every Sunday, curled on this very couch, Barnaby purring between them. They'd stopped holding hands somewhere around season five. Stopped speaking altogether somewhere around season seven.

She'd thought about asking to go to counseling. She'd thought about asking what had changed. She'd thought about a lot of things, mostly during those long hours when Marcus worked late and Barnaby slept on her pillow and the cable news murmured softly in the background.

Lightning struck closer now, thunder rattling the windowpanes. Barnaby meowed, a sound that said everything he couldn't put into words. Sarah opened the carrier door and he climbed into her lap, kneading her thighs with precise, rhythmical pressure. Some part of her had always known this day would come. The cable had been fraying for a long time.

'Ready, boy?' she asked. He butted his head against her chin, leaving white fur on her dark shirt.

She stood, lifted the carrier, and didn't look back at the coil of cable on the floor. The new apartment was waiting. The storm would break eventually. She'd plug things in, set up the connection, and maybe—just maybe—figure out what came next.