The Last Goodbye

The bull statue on Marcus's desk stared at him with hollow bronze eyes. Three years at this firm, and he still couldn't decide if it was a paperweight or some corporate joke about bull markets. His desk phone's red light blinked — another voicemail from his mother, probably about her new goldfish. The third one this month. They kept dying, and so did he, a little more each day in this gray-walled prison.

'They're letting you go,' Sarah said, leaning against his doorframe. She was the only one who still made eye contact after the layoffs began. Her red hair fell in loose waves, catching the fluorescent light. She'd cut it last week — a change she'd made after her own divorce. 'Packer wants the office by noon.'

Marcus nodded. He'd seen it coming. The fox — that's what they called Packer behind his back, slick and cunning, always one step ahead — had been circling for weeks. Marcus's division had missed targets two quarters running. Not his fault. The market had turned, the clients had vanished, but someone had to take the fall.

'My dog died this morning,' Marcus said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. 'Barnaby. He was fourteen.'

Sarah's expression softened. She stepped inside and closed the door. 'I'm sorry.'

'It's funny,' Marcus continued, his voice distant. 'I came home to find him, and my first thought wasn't about grief. It was: at least I don't have to rush home at lunch anymore. At least I'm free. What kind of person thinks that?'

'A tired one,' Sarah said. 'A lonely one.'

Marcus stood and began packing his box. The bull went in first. Then his family photos — his parents smiling, his sister's wedding. No wife, no kids. Just him and Barnaby, who'd been waiting by the door when Marcus left for work this morning, not yet gone but already leaving.

'Dinner tonight?' Sarah asked. 'My place?'

He looked at her. Really looked. For three years they'd worked across from each other, shared coffee, complained about the fox, celebrated small wins and endured big losses. And he'd never once noticed the warmth in her eyes, or that she always wore his favorite scarf on cold days.

'I'd like that,' Marcus said. 'But I have to go home first. Say goodbye properly.'

Sarah smiled, and for the first time in years, something shifted in Marcus's chest. Not hope, exactly. But something close.

He walked out carrying his box, the bull heavy at the bottom. Behind him, his empty phone sat dark on the desk. No messages. No voicemails. Just the goldfish swimming in silent circles somewhere, and the freedom he'd never wanted, suddenly feeling like the beginning of something real.