The Last Vitamin

Elaine stood at the kitchen counter at 2 AM, staring at the amber prescription bottle. Her mother's vitamins. Six months since the funeral, and still she couldn't bring herself to throw them away.

She took one anyway. A ritual.

The dog—Barnaby, her mother's spaniel—watched from his bed in the corner. He'd been sleeping in her apartment for three weeks now, since her brother decided he couldn't keep him. Elaine had almost said no. But something about the way Barnaby looked at her, those patient eyes, and she'd found herself agreeing.

He was the closest thing to family she had left.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. Sarah.

Elaine hesitated. They hadn't spoken since the fallout at the law firm last winter. The partnership dispute that had turned personal. Sarah had chosen the firm; Elaine had chosen integrity. Or that was the story she told herself.

But grief did strange things to perspective. It stripped away the petty grievances, the career rivalries, leaving only the raw fact: she was alone in the city with her mother's dog and a bottle of expired vitamins.

She answered.

"I heard about your mother," Sarah said. No preamble. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with everything unsaid.

"I'm leaving the firm," Sarah said quietly.

Elaine waited. Water ran from the tap as she filled Barnaby's bowl, the sound grounding her in the kitchen, in this moment.

"Why?"

"Because you were right. About everything." Sarah's voice cracked. "I was scared. I'm still scared. But I don't want to be the person who chooses fear over what's right. Not anymore."

Barnaby trotted over and nudged Elaine's hand with his wet nose. She stroked his soft ears, her heart suddenly full and breaking at once.

"Coffee tomorrow?" Elaine found herself asking. "Bring the vitamins. I hear we're getting old."

Sarah laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound Elaine had heard in months.

"Tomorrow," Sarah said.

After the call ended, Elaine stood in the quiet kitchen, Barnaby pressed against her leg, and finally—finally—felt something like hope. Some vitamins couldn't be prescribed. Some friends couldn't be lost forever. And some waters ran deeper than she'd ever dared to imagine.