The Long Goodbye

Sarah emptied another blister pack of vitamin D supplements into her palm, the small oval pills catching the morning light. Mark had been the one to research them, obsess over dosages, leave sticky notes on the bathroom mirror. Now those notes were curling at the edges, just like everything else in their apartment.

"He's not coming back, is he?" her mother asked from the living room, where she sat with Mr. Whiskers curled on her lap. The cat, ancient and steadfast, had outlasted three marriages and two hip replacements. His purring was the only constant in a house full of boxes and silence.

Sarah's phone buzzed on the counter—Mark's name lighting up the screen. She didn't answer. Some conversations were like picking at a scab; eventually, you just had to let it heal or keep bleeding forever.

"What are you doing with those vitamins anyway?" her mother continued, voice drifting like smoke through the doorway. "You're thirty-five, Sarah. Either freeze your eggs or make peace with being childless."

The words hit harder than they should have. Sarah tipped the pills into the trash, watching them scatter like spilled promises. She'd never wanted children, not really, but hearing it stated as a fait accompli made something in her chest tighten.

Outside, a golden retriever barked at a passing jogger. Once, she and Mark had talked about getting a dog. They'd even visited a shelter, stood in a room full of desperate, wagging tails and made each other laugh with terrible names. "Bark Obama," Mark had suggested, deadpan, while she'd dissolved into giggles.

That was two years ago.

Mr. Whiskers shifted on her mother's lap, his yellow gaze fixing on Sarah with something almost like judgment. Cats always knew when things were falling apart. Dogs forgave; cats remembered.

"Maybe I'll get a dog," Sarah said suddenly, surprising herself. "After you move to assisted living."

Her mother snorted. "You? Who forgets to water plants for weeks at a time?"

"I could start."

"You could start a lot of things."

Sarah's phone buzzed again. This time, she picked it up.

"Hey," Mark said. "I found that dog shelter website. The one with the golden we liked?"

For the first time in weeks, something in her chest didn't feel quite so tight. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. They still have her. The one with the floppy ear."

Mr. Whiskers blinked slowly. The vitamins were gone, but somehow, the morning felt less empty than it had moments before.

"Maybe we could go see her," Sarah said. "Together."

"Together," he agreed. "Bring the cat carrier?"

"Don't push your luck."

She hung up smiling. Some things could be salvaged after all.