The Last Living Thing

Maya hadn't meant to become a spy. It started innocently enough—checking David's phone when he showered, scrolling through messages that meant nothing until suddenly they did. Now she was three months deep in a surveillance operation she hadn't signed up for, monitoring his iPhone like a lifeline she was terrified to actually grasp.

Her goldfish, Leonard, swam in endless circles in his bowl on the windowsill. David had bought him as a joke—something low-maintenance, he'd said, since work had consumed her so completely. Leonard's three-second memory span seemed like a blessing. If only she could forget and rediscover the same moment endlessly, instead of carrying every suspicion like a stone in her throat.

The messages appeared at 2 AM: *Can you talk?* *I miss you.* *Not tonight.* Each notification illuminated Maya's face in the dark bedroom beside David's sleeping form. She stopped eating. She stopped calling her mother. She moved through her days like a zombie, hollowed out by the double life she was living—the dutiful partner by day, the betrayed woman by night, parsing through digital breadcrumbs that led nowhere and everywhere.

Then came the photo attachment. David, arms around someone Maya didn't recognize, both of them laughing at some restaurant she'd never been to. The timestamp was last Friday, when he'd told her he was working late.

She stared at the image until her eyes burned. Leonard rose to the surface, mouth opening and closing in silent repetition. Swim. Eat. Swim. Die. Maybe that was enough. Maybe that was all any of them could ask for.

Maya deleted the surveillance app from his phone. She packed a single bag. She placed Leonard in a travel container, his tiny world upended but somehow continuing.

"Where are you going?" David asked, standing in the doorway, his face that perfect mask she'd loved and hated.

"Somewhere I can remember who I was before I forgot how to be alive."

The door clicked shut behind her. For the first time in months, her chest expanded when she breathed. Somewhere in her bag, her iPhone buzzed with another notification. She let it ring.