The Storm After

Mara stood in the doorway of their bedroom, watching David pack. The lightning flash outside illuminated his silhouette, made his movements jerky and unreal, like some old film reel stuck on repeat. She felt like a zombie moving through the wreckage of their life—numb, hollowed out, somehow still walking.

"You're taking Bruno?" she asked, and her voice sounded thin, stretched.

David paused, his hand hovering over the dog's worn leather leash. Bruno lifted his head from where he lay on his braided rug, sensing the shift in air pressure that always came before these storms.

"He's my dog, Mara. I got him from the shelter that day we—I mean, I got him."

Another flash of lightning. This time she saw the gray threads at David's temples, the way his hair had started to thin last year. How many mornings had she watched him in this mirror, running his hands through those dark strands, complaining about finding them on her pillow, on her clothes, everywhere she touched? His hair had been the first intimate thing she learned about him—the way it curled when he didn't get it cut, the particular scent of his shampoo that used to make her feel safe, that now just made her tired.

"Everything's changed," she said softly. "I don't recognize us anymore."

David finally turned to face her. His expression was bleak, final. "Maybe that's the point. Maybe we're supposed to become strangers."

Bruno stood up and walked to David, pressing his warm flank against David's leg. The dog's loyalty was simple, uncomplicated by pride or history or the weight of expectations.

Outside, thunder rattled the windowpanes. The storm would break soon, flooding the gutters, turning the street below into temporary rivers. And tomorrow they'd both have to go to work, and explain to everyone that nothing catastrophic had happened, just the slow erosion that wears down mountains given enough time.

"Goodbye, David," she said, and the word felt wrong in her mouth, like learning a new language at thirty-seven.

He clipped the leash onto Bruno's collar. He didn't look back as he walked out the door, taking the dog and his suitcase and whatever remained of the man she'd loved.

The first raindrops struck the glass as the door clicked shut. Mara stood in the empty room, the lightning flash illuminating everything she'd kept and everything she'd lost, and realized she was finally, terrifyingly, alone.