The Last Good Day

Maya found the bottle of prenatal vitamins in Elena's bathroom cabinet, hidden behind a forest of skincare products. The expiration date was three years ago.

"You're still taking these?" Maya called out, running her thumb over the dusty plastic.

Elena appeared in the doorway, her hair—once a vibrant auburn that Maya had envied since college—now pulled back in a tired ponytail, strands of silver catching the morning light. "It's complicated."

They sat on the balcony with coffee, watching Elena's cat, Barnaby, chase sunbeams across the floor. The animal had been her companion through the divorce, the miscarriage, and now this.

"The vitamins were for when we were trying," Elena said finally. "Before everything fell apart. Some part of me kept them, like keeping hope in a bottle."

Maya reached across the table, taking her friend's hand. They'd known each other fifteen years, since that terrible waitressing job where they'd bonded over shared tips and worse breakups. But this—the quiet devastation of wanting something that never came—felt different. Larger.

"I threw mine away," Elena continued, her voice steady. "Last night. After the doctor's appointment. There's no point pretending anymore."

Barnaby jumped into Elena's lap, purring loudly. She buried her face in his fur.

"May I?" Maya asked.

Elena nodded.

Maya took the vitamin bottle to the kitchen, dumped the pills into the trash, and recycled the plastic. When she returned, Elena was crying—not the pretty tears of romantic movies, but the messy, honest kind.

"We're going to Napa," Maya said, pulling out her phone. "Booked the cabin for next weekend. Just us, wine, and terrible life choices."

Elena laughed through her tears. "What about Barnaby?"

"He's coming. His drinking problem is nobody's business."

The cat meowed in agreement, and for the first time in months, Elena didn't feel like she was holding her breath.