The Last Good Cable

The apartment felt cavernous without her things. Just hours ago, the movers had taken everything—the vintage armchair, the ceramic bowls, the plants she'd nurtured like children. What remained was the furniture his mother had picked out, the boxes he'd never unpacked, and the cable package they'd argued about splitting.

Marcus stood at the window, watching rain streak down the glass. Somewhere below, a car alarm pierced the damp afternoon. His phone buzzed—work email, probably, or maybe her sister checking in, though they'd always been closer to him than to Sarah.

He found himself thinking about the water bill. Would he call and have it transferred to just his name, or would she handle it? Three years of shared utilities, and suddenly he couldn't remember who paid for what. They'd watched baseball on this couch, eaten takeout, planned trips they never took. Now it came down to cable and water.

Running had been her thing—the morning jogs through the park while he slept in, the training for that half-marathon she'd completed last spring. She'd wanted him to join her. He'd always said next time. Now there was no next time, only the hollow space where her running shoes used to sit by the door.

The television flickered on automatically—a cable news channel, low volume. He couldn't remember the last time they'd watched anything together without scrolling through phones or falling asleep midway through. Even before the end, they'd been watching separately in the same room.

Marcus went to the kitchen and filled a glass of water. His hands shook slightly. He drank it standing at the counter, remembering how she'd teased him for never using coasters, how he'd promised to do better, how promises had become currency between them, spent and worthless.

The baseball playoffs were starting this weekend. They'd talked about hosting friends, buying a new television to replace the one that flickered. She'd wanted a Samsung. He'd said they couldn't afford it. Now he could afford whatever he wanted.

He set the glass down. Outside, the rain intensified. Somewhere in the apartment, a cable signal disrupted, and the screen went briefly gray before returning. Marcus sat on the couch, alone, and waited for something to feel real again.