The Last Extension

The chemotherapy had taken her hair two weeks ago, but Elena still caught herself reaching to tuck strands behind her ears each morning. Muscle memory didn't give a damn about cancer.

When the cable guy knocked at 7 PM, she considered not answering. She'd forgotten about the appointment. The TV had been dead for days, and silence had become its own kind of company.

"Ma'am? Cable repair."

She opened the door. He was twenty-five, maybe. A faded orange bandana held back dreadlocks that reached his shoulders. His eyes widened slightly before recovering, polite professionalism smoothing over the moment.

"The line's outside," he said. "Shouldn't take long."

Elena followed him into the backyard. The sun was setting behind the oak tree, painting everything inbruised orange light. She watched him work, fascinated by the grace of his hands as they moved through the tangled cables.

"My husband used to do this," she said. The words escaped before she could stop them. "Before he died, I mean. Not cables. But working with his hands."

The guy paused. A strand of his hair escaped the bandana, catching the last light. "Sorry for your loss, ma'am."

"It's been three years." She touched her bare head unconsciously. "I'm joining him soon, I think."

He stopped completely then. Turned to face her fully. "You don't know that."

"The oncologist gives me six months. Maybe twelve if the next round works."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and fragile. Behind them, the old orange extension cable she'd used for her husband's oxygen machine still curled against the house foundation, dead and useless.

"My sister had breast cancer," the cable guy said quietly. "She's five years clean now."

"Really?"

"Really." He finished tightening the connection. "You want to come inside? Check if it works?"

She followed him in. The TV flickered to life—some reality show, people screaming about dinner reservations. The mundane miracle of it made her laugh.

"Thank you," she said, and meant it.

"Anytime, ma'am." He paused at the door. "You don't have to die alone."

After he left, Elena stood in the center of her living room as the orange sunset faded into purple darkness. For the first time in weeks, she didn't reach for the phantom hair at her temples.