The Supplements We Swallow

Maya stood by the office kitchenette sink, swallowing her daily vitamin with tepid tap water. The yellow pill dissolved slowly on her tongue, bitter despite the coating—much like the last three years of her marriage.

The corporate wellness program mandated these supplements now. "Optimize your productivity," the email had announced, as if nutritional science could solve the structural rot of middle management.

"You look tired," said Marcus, leaning against the doorframe. He was the new senior director, thirty-two to her forty-two, with the kind of unearned confidence that made her teeth ache.

Maya turned off the faucet. "It's called being forty-two, Marcus. You'll get there."

His gaze drifted to her hand, still clutching the vitamin bottle. "You're not thinking about staying, are you?"

The question hung in the fluorescent-lit silence. Maya's mind flashed to the dog waiting at home—Barnaby, the golden retriever her ex-husband had promised would "bring them closer" before he himself drifted away. Barnaby, who now slept on her pillow and required walks at dawn, forcing her into the morning light when she'd rather stay buried in blankets.

"I'm thinking," Maya said, "that wellness programs are just cheaper than therapy."

Marcus laughed, surprised. "That's cynical."

"It's not cynical if it's true." She placed the vitamin bottle on the counter. "I'm taking the sabbatical."

"The one they approved for 'personal renewal'?"

"The one I applied for three months ago. Starting next month."

Marcus studied her, something like respect softening his face. "You'll actually do it."

Barnaby greeted her with desperate joy at the door, his tail thumping against the wall in a rhythm that had become her heartbeat. She filled his bowl, poured herself a glass of wine, and dropped another vitamin—this one for "restorative sleep"—into her water. The pill dissolved slowly, leaving yellow spirals through the glass.

She would write. She would walk the dog along the lake. She would discover what remained when all the performative productivity fell away.

For tonight, she swallowed the evening vitamin with her water, and for the first time in years, the bitterness didn't taste like defeat.