The Market Closed

The bull market couldn't save him, not tonight. Marcus stared at his iPhone, the blue light illuminating the half-empty scotch on the coaster. Another text from Her—Elise, his wife's best friend, the woman he'd been sleeping with for three months.

"Your wife's in the bathroom crying. You should come home."

Marcus had been staying at the office late, claiming the markets were volatile. Truth was, he'd been avoiding the reckoning. His phone buzzed again—David, his actual friend since college, asking if he wanted to grab a drink. Marcus ignored it. David would know. David always knew when Marcus was lying.

The door of their apartment clicked open. Marcus looked up, expecting the usual greeting, the soft smile she'd given him for seven years. Instead, a stranger stood there.

Clara's hair—long, dark waves that had spilled over his pillow every night for a decade—was gone. Chopped into a sharp, jagged pixie that exposed her neck, her ears, the fragile line of her jaw. She looked harder. Younger and older simultaneously, like she'd aged twenty years in an hour.

She placed her iPhone on the kitchen counter with deliberate care. The screen lit up: a notification from Elise. "Did you tell him?"

"The hair," Marcus said, stupidly. Because it was the only safe thing to say.

"Hair grows back," Clara said, her voice flat. "Trust doesn't."

She slid a piece of paper across the counter. Divorce papers. Already drawn up, already signed. She'd prepared this while he was at the office, probably while he was texting Elise about meeting up tomorrow.

"You spoke to my mother today, didn't you?" Clara said. "She mentioned you called. Said you wanted to surprise me. That's why she sent over the old photo albums."

Marcus felt his stomach drop. He had called his mother-in-law. To ask about Clara's favorite flowers for their anniversary. The anniversary he'd forgotten until yesterday.

"The pictures," Clara continued, "from our wedding day. My maid of honor was wearing that green dress. Elise was wearing green. She looked beautiful then, too."

The bull market had made him arrogant. He'd thought he could have everything—the money, the wife, the affair, the respect. But markets always corrected eventually.

Clara picked up her phone again. "I'm staying at Sarah's tonight. You can find a hotel. Or go to Elise's. I don't care which."

She walked out, her short hair catching the light like a weapon. Marcus watched her go, his iPhone silent in his hand, and realized: some losses, you can't trade your way out of.