The Last Supper

Elena sat in her car outside the restaurant, sweating palms gripping the steering wheel. The vitamin D supplement she'd taken that morning sat like a stone in her stomach—another reminder that her body was slowly betraying her, demanding maintenance she couldn't afford to give.

Inside, Mark was waiting. Her husband of seventeen years, the man who'd promised her forever at an altar covered in white lilies. They'd spoken three words to each other in the past week: 'Pass the salt.'

The cable from the building's telecom junction snaked along the pavement like a dead animal, a testament to how easily things could fray, disconnect. Just like them.

She'd found the receipt three days ago. Dinner for two at this same restaurant, two weeks ago, when he'd claimed to be working late. The vitamin shop receipt beside it—prenatal vitamins. They'd stopped trying for a baby five years ago.

Elena stepped out of the car. Her palms were dry now, steady. She wasn't here for an explanation anymore. Explanations were just more cables—more ways to tie herself to something that couldn't hold her weight.

Inside, Mark sat at a corner table, nursing a drink. He didn't stand when she approached. He didn't smile. His eyes were tired, resigned, as if he'd been expecting this moment for years and was simply grateful it had finally arrived.

"You ordered," she said, sitting opposite him.

"I remember what you like."

"The vitamins, Mark. The dinner."

He stared at his hands. "I didn't know how to tell you. She's—"

"Don't. I don't want to know her name. I don't want to know how long. I just want to know why you stayed."

He looked up then, eyes wet. "Because I love you. Because I couldn't imagine this house without you in it. Because I'm a coward who wanted everything instead of having to choose."

Elena nodded. The waiter came. She ordered the salmon.

They ate in silence. When the check came, Mark reached for it, but she stopped him with a hand on his wrist—her palm against his skin, the last time they'd ever touch.

"I got it," she said. "Consider it a divorce present."

Outside, the cable still snaked along the pavement. Elena stepped over it and didn't look back.