The Pharmacist's Last Shift

Marcus stood behind the counter at CVS, his movements automatic as he counted pills into amber vials. He'd been a zombie since the funeral—walking, talking, but hollow inside. Elena's death had left him going through the motions of a life that no longer felt real.

"Your vitamin D prescription, Mr. Chen," he said, sliding the bottle across the counter. The elderly man nodded, his eyes searching Marcus's face with that familiar look of pity everyone had been giving him for three months.

Three months since Elena's heart stopped. Three months since Marcus had remembered to take his own vitamins. Three months of sleepwalking through existence.

The store's intercom chirped: "Attention shoppers, we will be closing in ten minutes." Marcus moved toward the back to finish restocking supplements on aisle 4. That's where he saw her—the sphinx cat that reminded him so painfully of Cleopatra, the cat Elena had rescued from a shelter during their first year together.

The cat sat regally atop a display of multivitamins, her golden eyes seeming to question him. What are you still doing here? those eyes seemed to ask. What's the point of a heart that keeps beating when its other half is gone?

Marcus sank to the floor beside the display, his back against the metal shelf. The cat hopped down and nudged his hand with her forehead—a simple, demanding affection that cracked something inside him.

"I should be over this by now," he whispered to the empty store. "It's been three months."

The sphinx cat purred, vibrating against his chest like a second heartbeat.

Marcus reached for a bottle of B-complex vitamins. Elena had always made him take them when he got like this—gray and tired and convinced nothing mattered. "Your brain chemistry needs help sometimes," she'd say. "There's no shame in that."

He opened the bottle and dry-swallowed two capsules. Then another. The cat watched him with ancient, knowing eyes.

Maybe moving forward didn't mean leaving her behind. Maybe it meant carrying her wisdom—her stubborn insistence on self-care, her belief that depression was chemistry, not character—into whatever came next.

Marcus stood up, the sphinx cat winding around his legs. He clocked out properly for the first time in weeks. Tomorrow, he'd call the therapist Elena's sister had recommended. Tomorrow, he'd adopt this cat. Tomorrow, he'd start living again, however imperfectly.

The zombie shell cracked. Somewhere inside, something real began to wake up.