The Last Wire

Elena sat in the darkened living room, the only illumination from the storm outside. The lightning flashed across the sky in jagged veins, briefly revealing her tired face in the window's reflection. At 47, she'd learned to expect disappointment, but Richard's absence tonight still stung.

The cable modem's lights flickered and died. Third time this week. The technician was supposed to come yesterday—tomorrow, he'd said. Always tomorrow.

She reached for her phone instead, thumb hovering over Richard's contact. Three years of video calls, of digital promises, of waiting for him to leave his wife. He'd compared it to hibernation once, something a bear does to survive the winter. He'd emerge when spring came.

Spring had come and gone twice.

Another lightning strike cracked overhead. The power surged and died completely. In the sudden darkness, Elena felt something shift inside her—something that had been wound tight for three years finally snapping.

She found herself laughing, a dry, incredulous sound. Without the cable, without the wifi, without the glowing screen that held her entire relationship, there was only Richard's absence and her own willing complicity in it.

She'd bear this loneliness no more.

Elena stood, found her keys by feel, and walked out into the storm. The rain was cold and cleansing. She'd drive to a hotel, anywhere but here. The technician could fix the cable tomorrow. She wouldn't be here to answer it.