The Last Vitamin

Marcus stood at the edge of the community pool at dawn, the only hour when the water didn't smell like chlorine and teenage hormones. He'd taken up swimming again after Sarah left, seeking the kind of forced rhythmic breathing that meditation apps promised but never delivered. His arms cut through the water—stroke, breathe, stroke, breathe—while his mind replayed the final argument. Her voice calling him emotionally dead, a zombie going through the motions of a marriage he'd stopped feeling years ago.

The morning air bit at his skin as he pulled himself from the pool. He'd forgotten his towel again. Another thing Sarah would have remembered. She was always the one who kept the kitchen stocked, who noticed when the bottle of vitamin D sat empty on the counter for weeks. He'd stopped taking them somewhere around year seven of the marriage, when swallowing pills seemed like too much effort in a life that required none.

He drove to the hospice facility where his father spent his final days, the radio playing a baseball game from the night before. The announcer's voice droned about a ninth-inning rally, the kind of manufactured drama Marcus's father had lived for. They used to watch games together, back when Marcus still believed in the redemptive arc of underdogs and comeback stories.

His father looked smaller today, shrunken beneath the sheets like a drying fruit. But his eyes lit up when Marcus entered. "Did you see that bear cub they found near the park?" he asked, his voice a papery rustle. "Mother bear's been roaming the neighborhood for days. Wildlife officials say she won't abandon her baby."

Marcus nodded, throat tight. "They always come back."

"You think Sarah will?" The question hung there, naked and desperate.

Marcus thought about how to answer—about how his father still believed in things returning, in second chances, in love that could be resurrected. About how he'd learned the hard way that some things, once broken, stayed broken.

"I don't know," he said finally. "But I brought your vitamins."

He placed the bottle on the bedside table. His father smiled, something peaceful settling over his face. Maybe that was enough for now—the small rituals, the daily acts of care, the waiting to see what might emerge from hibernation. Marcus would swim again tomorrow. The water would be there. And the vitamin D would sit on his own counter tonight, a promise he might finally keep to himself.