The Last Orange

Marcus hadn't been the same since the accident. The doctors called it dissociative episodes, but Elena knew the truth when she saw it: her husband moved through their apartment like a zombie, eyes glazed, responding to questions with monosyllabic grunts. He spent hours on the couch, clutching his iphone, thumb scrolling through an endless feed that meant nothing.

She peeled an orange in the kitchen, the citrus scent sharp and bright against the stale air of their lives. This used to be their Sunday ritual—fresh fruit, coffee, conversation about everything and nothing. Now Marcus didn't even seem to notice the smell.

"You missed your sister's call," Elena said, not turning from the counter.

"Hmm."

"She left a voicemail. Something about the baby shower."

"Okay."

The iphone pinged. Marcus's thumb twitched, reflex and muscle memory and addiction all tangled together. Elena watched his reflection in the darkened window of their apartment—thirty-five years old and already hollowed out by whatever had broken inside him after that car T-boned them on the highway. She had walked away with scratches. He had carried the invisible wounds.

She brought him a segment of the orange. His favorite. He didn't look up.

"Marcus."

He blinked, eyes finally focusing on her face, then on the orange wedge in her hand. For a moment, something flickered behind his eyes—recognition, maybe. Or just habit.

"Thanks," he said, but didn't reach for it.

Elena set it on the coffee table beside him. The iphone pinged again. His thumb moved before the orange wedge could cross the final inches between them.

She stood there a long moment, watching her zombie husband consume nothing while the orange grew warm and began to dry beside his endlessly scrolling thumb. The apartment felt too small, too quiet, too full of everything they'd lost.

Elena went back to the kitchen and finished the rest of the orange herself. She wept while she ate it, letting the juice sting her cuts, letting herself feel something sharp and real in a house gone soft with ghosts.