The Last Division

The goldfish had outlasted them all.

Marcus stood in the center of their—or rather, her—apartment, watching the orange beast swim lazy circles in its bowl. Three years they'd had it, purchased during that hopeful month when they'd decided to adopt something together. Now the fish was the only living thing remaining between them.

"You take him," Sarah had said yesterday, her voice flat. "I never wanted a fish anyway."

She was already gone. Her clothes, her books, the smell of her vanilla conditioner—all vanished. What remained: his boxes stacked by the door, the goldfish bowl on the counter, and the tangle of cable behind the television they'd bought together. The HDMI cable, the power strip, the coaxial connection to a world they'd shared in silence most evenings. He'd meant to pack it all, but instead he'd stood here for twenty minutes, running his thumb over the plastic coating.

His iPhone buzzed in his pocket. Another work email. Another problem that demanded attention when all he wanted was to feel something real. He pulled it out, stared at the screen without reading, then dropped it on the counter. Beside the goldfish bowl, it looked like a technological artifact from another civilization.

The refrigerator hummed. On top of it sat a single orange, starting to soften at the edges. She must have forgotten it, or maybe she'd left it behind on purpose—a small cruel joke. They used to eat oranges in bed on Sunday mornings, sticky fingers on sheets, pulp on their lips, laughing about nothing and everything.

Marcus picked up the orange. It yielded slightly under his thumb. He'd never be able to eat oranges again without thinking of this moment, this room, this ending.

"Well, fish," he said aloud. "Just us now."

The goldfish swam to the surface, opened its mouth once, then descended again.

Marcus packed the cable. He left the orange. He carried the goldfish bowl—water sloshing gently—to his car, where the rest of his life waited in cardboard boxes. Somewhere between here and wherever he was going, he'd have to figure out how to live in a world where even the goldfish knew more about commitment than he did.

The orange would rot on the counter. That seemed fair. Everything else already had.