The Lifeline Between Us

Maya sat on the edge of the bathtub, the black coaxial cable coiled like a dormant snake across her lap. Three years of premium entertainment packages, reduced to this.

"You're really doing this," David said from the doorway. He held her phone, the screen glowing with the divorce lawyer's number.

"I cancelled the vitamins too," she said, not looking up. "The ones you swore would fix us. The ones that cost three hundred dollars a month."

The bathroom air smelled of citrus disinfectant. On the counter, an orange sat next to his toothbrush—she'd bought it yesterday at the farmer's market, thinking they could share it for breakfast. Now it seemed like a prop from a marriage that had already ended.

"That's not fair," David said. "I was trying to—"

"What? Fix me? Fix us?" Maya's voice cracked. "Jesus, David. You couldn't even remember to call me when you were working late. But you never forgot to reorder those damn vitamins."

She stood up, the cable slipping from her lap and hitting the tile with a hollow thud. That sound had defined their life together—things falling apart while they both pretended everything was fine.

"I'm going to mom's for a few days," she said.

"Maya, please."

She stepped around him, into the bedroom they'd shared for seven years. On the nightstand, her glass of water sat half-empty. She'd been sleeping with a glass there every night since the miscarriage two years ago—some irrational need to be able to reach water in the dark, as if staying hydrated could somehow compensate for what she'd lost.

The orange on the bathroom counter caught her eye through the doorway. Bright, whole, full of seeds she'd have to spit out. Nothing about it was easy.

She walked back and grabbed it, dug her thumbnail into the peel until the spray hit her face. Sharp, stinging, real.

"You want to know what's really funny?" she said around a section of fruit. "I looked it up. The vitamins you were so obsessed with? They've been linked to increased risk of heart attacks in women my age."

David's face went pale. The cable lay between them like a severed umbilical cord, and for the first time in years, Maya could finally breathe.