The Last Supper at 47

The coaxial cable had been dangling from the bedroom wall for three months. Elena kept stepping over it, and Marcus kept not fixing it. Another loose thread in their unraveling marriage.

Dinner that night was spinach again—wilted, reheated, resigned. Elena pushed it around her plate while Marcus stared at his phone, the blue light illuminating the deepening lines around his eyes. They'd stopped talking about anything that mattered years ago. Now it was just cable bills and grocery lists.

"You're seeing her, aren't you?" Elena said suddenly. The question hung in the stagnant air.

Marcus didn't look up. "Who?"

"The redhead from your office. The one with the fox tattoo on her wrist."

His fork paused. "How did you—"

"I saw you two at lunch last week. She laughed like you used to make me laugh."

Marcus set down his fork. The spinach suddenly seemed very far away. "Elena, it's not what you think."

"It never is, is it?"

He reached across the table, his hand hovering over hers before pulling back. "I was going to tell you. After the quarter ended. I've been offered a position in Chicago. The fox—Claire—she's just a colleague on the same project."

"Chicago." Elena let out a short, sharp laugh. "And you were just going to... what? Pack while I was at work? Leave a note?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"Protect me?" Elena's voice rose. "You call disappearing into the midwest without a conversation protecting me? That's not protection, Marcus. That's cowardice."

"It's not cowardice!" He slammed his hand on the table. "It's exhaustion. We've been running on fumes for years, Elena. This marriage—this life—we're both just going through the motions. You know it as well as I do."

She looked at him then really looked at him. The same man she'd loved at twenty-two, now worn down by mortgage payments and disappointment and the slow erosion of dreams. The bull he'd been in his twenties, charging at every obstacle, had long since been gelded by compromise.

"You're right," she said quietly. "We have been. But that doesn't mean you get to decide when it ends alone."

Marcus's shoulders slumped. The fight drained out of him. "So what now?"

"Now we finish our spinach," Elena said, picking up her fork. "And then we figure out what's worth saving. If anything."

The cable swayed gently in the draft from the open window. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. It was going to be a long night.