The Last Supplicant

The **vitamin** D supplement sat on her nightstand for three months, a small amber capsule she kept forgetting to take. Elena stared at it now, the morning after Marcus left, as if its dusty presence somehow explained everything.

Her **iPhone** buzzed—her sister calling again, offering condolences that felt more like congratulations. You're well rid of him, they all said. They didn't understand that Marcus hadn't been the problem. Marcus had been the solution, however temporary, however flawed.

The storm outside cracked open, **lightning** fracturing the sky with such violence that Elena flinched. Rain lashed against her window, and she pressed her **palm** against the cold glass, watching the streetlights blur into gold and amber streaks.

On her desk, in a bowl that had once held Marcus's keys and loose change, a single **goldfish** swam in lazy circles. His name was Barry—a joke name for a joke pet Marcus had won at a company picnic three years ago. Barry had survived three apartments, two breakups, and one particularly nasty bout of ichthyophthirius. He swam now with the maddening patience of creatures who don't know they're captive, don't know they're waiting.

Elena's chest tightened. She'd always assumed she'd leave Marcus. She was the one with ambition, with plans. Barry was supposed to be temporary too—a placeholder pet until she got the dog, the house, the life she kept saying she wanted. Now Barry circled his bowl, alone in her studio apartment, and Marcus was gone, and she couldn't remember which of them had been holding whom back.

The phone buzzed again. This time, it was Marcus.

She answered before she could think better of it. "You left your fish," she said.

"I know," he said, his voice rough with something that might have been tears or just three days of not sleeping. "I was hoping you'd keep him."

"He'll die here."

"Barry's survived worse than us, El."

Outside, the sky lit up again, and in that flash, she saw herself reflected in the window—thirty-two, alone, with a carnival fish and a vitamin she refused to take. The sudden clarity of it hit her like cold water. She wasn't waiting for her life to begin anymore. It had already begun, sometime between the excuses and the postponements, and she'd missed it.

"Come get him," she said. "And bring the rest of your stuff."

"El—"

"Marcus. I'm not going to be the thing you settle for, and I'm done being the thing I settled for."

When she hung up, Barry swam to the surface, mouth opening and closing in silent entreaty. She sprinkled a few flakes of food into his bowl, watching the water ripple. For the first time in three years, she wondered what Barry would do if someone actually opened the door.