The Last Supper Before Divorce

The lightning cracked across the Seattle skyline just as Sarah dropped the ceramic bowl, sending spinach fanning across the kitchen floor like some chaotic green explosion—fitting, really, for a marriage that had been imploding in slow motion for three years.

'That's three hundred dollars worth of organic produce,' David said, not looking up from his phone. He'd been texting someone for weeks now, thumb hovering, screen dimming whenever she walked into the room.

Their dog, a neurotic rescue named Sphinx who'd spent three years guarding the apartment from nonexistent threats, chose that moment to have one of her panic attacks. She began pacing in tight circles, nails clicking against the hardwood, her ancient ribs showing through matted fur.

'Sphinx,' Sarah whispered, kneeling to gather the spinach. 'It's okay, girl.' The dog's name had been David's idea—some joke about mysteries and riddles they'd never solve together. Now the joke felt like a prophecy.

David finally looked up. 'I met someone.'

The words hit harder than the lightning that illuminated the entire apartment in stark white, washing out every shadow, every pretense. Sarah's fingers kept moving through the spinach, separating leaves from tile dust. 'Is that why you've been sleeping in the guest room?'

'It's not sleeping. It's...existing. Separately.' He stood up, chair scraping against floor. 'I'm moving out tomorrow.'

Sphinx chose that moment to collapse beside Sarah, panting, her milky eyes fixed on nothing. Sarah rested her forehead against the dog's fragile shoulder. Somewhere outside, thunder rattled the windows.

'You named her after the creature that destroyed itself when its riddle was answered,' Sarah said quietly. 'Did you ever think about what that means?'

David was already packing his laptop bag. 'I think the riddle was why we stayed this long.'

Sarah watched him go, surrounded by spilled spinach, while Sphinx's breathing slowed to something almost peaceful. Outside, the storm broke, and for the first time in three years, the apartment felt completely, utterly silent.