The Last Living Soul in the Office

The fluorescent lights buzzed like dying insects above Elena's cubicle. She'd been staring at the same spreadsheet for three hours, feeling exactly like what she'd become: a zombie in business casual. Thirty-seven years old and she'd forgotten how to want things.

"Rough night?"

Elena jumped. Marcus, the senior analyst, leaned against her partition. He was what everyone in the department called 'the bear' — not because of his size, but his temperament. Hibernating for months, then emerging ravenous and destructive. Last quarter, he'd eviscerated a junior analyst's presentation in front of the VP.

"Just tired," Elena said.

"We're all tired." Marcus's eyes dropped to the photo taped to her monitor. Her sister's golden retriever, Barnaby, grinning with that pure, unearned joy only dogs could muster. "You still thinking about getting one?"

"Maybe. When my lease is up."

"Get one now." Marcus surprised her with his intensity. "Life's short, Elena. You spend all day here, then go home to an empty apartment. What are you waiting for?"

He was right. She was waiting for permission, for stability, for some sign that it wouldn't be irresponsible to want something good.

That Saturday, Elena went to the shelter. The attendant led her to a row of cages where a mutt with one ear that stood up and one that flopped down watched her with ancient, knowing eyes.

"That's Bear," the attendant said. "Found him wandering near the highway. Somebody's dog, once. Nobody came for him."

Bear pressed his nose to the cage, exhaling a long, warm breath that fogged the wire.

Elena signed the papers.

Two weeks later, she sat on her apartment floor, Bear's head heavy on her thigh, his body warm against her side. She wasn't a zombie anymore. She was someone who mattered to something alive.

Her phone buzzed — an email from Marcus: "Hope you found what you were looking for."

Elena rested her hand on Bear's shoulder, felt the steady rhythm of his heart, and realized she finally had.