The Last Salad

The spinach salad sat untouched between them, wilting under the fluorescent lights of the corporate cafeteria. Elena had ordered it because her doctor told her she needed more vitamin K, but now she couldn't remember how to eat.

"I never meant for it to go this far," Marcus said, pushing his tray away. His hands were trembling. "The audit committee just needed someone on the inside. They promised you'd be reassigned, not terminated."

Elena remembered how they'd become friends three years ago—bonding over terrible coffee and worse management decisions. Marcus had been there when her mother died. He'd helped her move apartments. He'd been the person she texted at 2 AM when existential dread kept her awake.

"So you were the spy," she said, and the word felt absurd in her mouth, like something from a movie they'd watched together on his couch. "Not just my colleague who happened to report to compliance. My actual spy."

"It was just information, Elena. Project timelines, budget allocations. Nothing personal."

She laughed, a dry sound that scraped her throat. "You reported on my mental health episodes. You told them about my therapy appointments. That's not just information, Marcus. That's my life."

The vitamin bottle rattled in her pocket. She'd started taking B12 supplements last month, hoping they'd help with the fatigue. Now she wondered if the exhaustion had been her body sensing what her mind refused to acknowledge.

"I did it for my family," Marcus said, his voice cracking. "My daughter's medical bills. They offered me a retention bonus that would cover everything."

"And you bought it with my career."

Elena stood up, leaving the spinach to die on her plate. She realized something profound: friendship wasn't about grand gestures or shared trauma. It was about the small moments—the salads, the coffees, the trust that someone would catch you when you fell. Marcus had been catching her for years, but only to hand her to someone else.

"Good luck with your bonus," she said, and walked away without looking back.