The Riddle of June

Maya pressed the vitamin D supplement to her lips, swallowing it with the cold remains of her morning coffee. Three months since Marcus left, and she'd become religious about things that never used to matter. Calcium. Omega-3. Walking three miles a day before dawn, as if movement alone could outrun the quiet that had settled into her apartment like dust.

"You're like a sphinx," her sister had said last night, drinks untouched between them. "Silent. Impossible to read. What are you thinking, Maya?"

Maya hadn't answered. How could she explain that at forty-two, she'd become strange to herself? That the promotion to vice president had felt less like triumph and more like stepping onto a tightrope without a net?

The elevator dinged. Richard stepped in—chief investment officer, silver-haired, with a reputation that moved markets. The office whispered about him: brilliant, ruthless, currently riding the bull run of his career like he'd invented gravity.

"Maya." His eyes flicked to her hand, where her engagement ring used to be. "You look tired."

The irony nearly choked her. Richard, who lived on adrenaline and takeover deals, commenting on her exhaustion.

"I'm fine."

"You know what they say about the fox," he said, unexpectedly. "She knows many things. The hedgehog knows one big thing."

She stared at him. "What's your point?"

"You're running from something. I can see it. We all can."

The elevator doors opened on her floor. Maya stepped out, heart hammering. Behind her, Richard pressed the button for the top floor.

"For what it's worth," he said, "I think the sphinx's riddle wasn't about what walks on four legs in the morning. It was about admitting what you are, even when it changes."

That night, Maya called her sister. "I think," she said, voice trembling, "I think I need to stop running."

The vitamin bottle sat on her counter. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she'd figure out what came next. But for tonight, she simply poured a glass of wine and watched the city lights blink on, one by one, like stars daring to shine through the darkness.