The Line We Draw

The coaxial cable lay severed between them like a dead snake, its copper entrails exposed to the fluorescent kitchen light. Elena stared at it, then at Marcus—really stared, as if seeing him for the first time in seven years of marriage.

"You cut the internet cord," she said, her voice flat. Not accusatory. Just observing the fact of it.

Marcus didn't look up from his cereal. "The baseball game starts in ten minutes."

"The game you haven't missed since our first date."

"Since before we could afford cable," he corrected softly.

Their orange tabby, Jenkins, wound between Elena's ankles, purring conspiratorially. He'd been Marcus's cat originally—a bachelorhood companion with attitude problems and a talent for knocking over beer bottles. Elena had inherited him along with everything else, the way you inherit in-laws and debt patterns and unspoken expectations.

She thought about the baseball games. About how she'd learned to appreciate the rhythm of innings just to sit beside him on the couch. About the Sunday afternoons she'd spent feigning interest in statistics while the television hummed its blue light across their living room, filling the comfortable silence.

Some silences aren't comfortable anymore.

"You could watch on your phone," Elena said.

Marcus finally met her eyes. His were bloodshot. "I don't want to watch it alone."

The cat jumped onto the counter, tail flicking with judgment.

"You're not alone, Marcus. I'm right here."

"Are you?" He set down his spoon. It clinked against the bowl—too loud in the quiet kitchen. "Because it feels like you've been packing for months, and the only thing you haven't put in boxes yet is yourself."

Elena felt the truth of it settle in her chest like cold water. She had been leaving. Not physically—she hadn't even found a place yet—but emotionally, she'd moved out last autumn. Had been sending rent checks from afar ever since.

The cable represented the last thread she hadn't quite severed. Their shared entertainment. Their shared rituals. The things that made them a "we" instead of two people occupying the same space.

"I'll call the provider," she said. "They can have someone out tomorrow."

Marcus nodded, his shoulders dropping an inch. "I'll skip the game today. We could—" He hesitated. "We could walk to the park. Jenkins would like that."

The cat meowed in agreement, though he hated the park. Elena found herself smiling, small but genuine.

"Okay," she said. "Okay."

The cable could wait. Maybe everything else could too, for one afternoon.