The Nutritional Void

Elena stood in her kitchen at 6 AM, ritualistically measuring her morning vitamin regimen—D for bones, B-complex for energy, Omega-3 for the heart she wasn't sure was still beating right. Three months after David left, the supplements had become her religion. Each pill swallowed was a small prayer for continuation.

Outside, Rain barked—his new routine, demanding she lace up for their morning running. The Labrador she'd chosen as a couple's anniversary gift now only knew her. Some days she resented the dog for it. Other days, he was the only reason she got out of bed.

They ran past the neighbors' pristine lawns, Elena's breath clouding in the October chill. Running used to be their thing—David and her, training for marathons they never ran, planning active retirements they'd never have. Now her feet hit the pavement alone, Rain's leash jingling like a small bell at a funeral.

Back home, she stood over the blender, adding spinach to her morning smoothie. The green leaves wilted into the banana and protein powder, turning the concoction a muddy swamp color. David used to make fun of her health kicks, sneaking extra cheese onto her salads, whispering that life without pleasure wasn't living at all.

"You're disappearing," he'd told her once, watching her measure out portion sizes with surgical precision. "One day I'll wake up and you'll just be gone."

He was right, just not in the way he meant.

The smoothie tasted like obligation. Rain nosed her hand, whining, and she realized she was crying again. The vitamins couldn't fix this. The running couldn't outrun it. Even the dog—loyal, present, alive—couldn't fill the space where a marriage used to be.

Elena looked at the spinach residue in her blender, at the vitamin bottles lined up like soldiers on the counter, at her running shoes by the door. All these things she did to take care of herself, to prove she was fine, to demonstrate that she was moving forward.

She poured the smoothie down the sink and called in sick to work.

"Come here," she told Rain, and for the first time in months, she didn't run. She sat on the couch and let the dog climb into her lap, both of them breathing, both of them staying exactly where they were, and finally, finally, she let herself miss him without trying to outrun the missing.