The Last Goodbye

The corporate retreat had been Marcus's idea. "Team building," he'd called it, though the only thing being built was the sculpture of resentment in Elena's chest. She stood by the pond watching the goldfish dart beneath lily pads, their orange scales catching the fading light like buried coins.

"You're not going to play padel?" Marcus materialized beside her, grinning that predatory grin that had gotten them through three rounds of layoffs. He'd changed into athletic clothes, looking every bit the bull he was—aggressive, unstoppable, stupidly confident in his own momentum.

Elena swirled her wine. "I'm good."

"Come on. It's not like you to sit out."

That's when she saw it—a bear at the tree line, massive and motionless, watching them with dark, intelligent eyes. It stood there like a judgment rendered from some higher court.

"Marcus," she said, "there's a—"

But he was already walking away, racket in hand, calling to the others.

The bear didn't move. Neither did Elena. She thought about everything she'd given to this company—ten years of late nights, missed friends, a marriage that had quietly unraveled while she built spreadsheets that no longer mattered. She'd become a zombie in her own life, walking through days she couldn't remember, fueled by coffee and the creeping dread of being found out.

The bear dipped its head once, almost respectfully, then turned and vanished into the forest.

"Elena!" Marcus shouted from the court. "We need a fourth!"

She looked at the goldfish, at the office lights flickering on across the pond, at the people she'd spent more time with than her own family. She set down her wine glass, picked up her bag, and started walking toward the exit.

"Where are you going?" someone called.

"Home," she said.

She didn't look back.