The Supplements We Swallow

The padel court was empty at dawn, which was why Elena preferred it. Her backhand had improved since Marcus moved out — not because she practiced more, but because her rage transferred cleanly through the racket now. The ball cracked against the glass wall, a satisfying violence that made her shoulder sing.

She found the vitamin bottle on the kitchen counter that evening. Marcus had left them behind, of course. Organic vitamin D3 with K2, the expensive brand he swore changed his life. She'd never seen him take them regularly, but he'd buy them in bulk, a optimistic investment in a future version of himself who would finally be disciplined enough to swallow three capsules daily. The version who wouldn't cheat. The version who would stay.

Her palm still remembered the shape of his face the last time she'd touched it, that devastating caress before she slammed the door. Now her palm only held the smooth plastic of vitamin bottles and the rough grip of her padel racket.

The dog, Buster, had stopped waiting by the door after three weeks. Elena envied him. She'd come home to find him sleeping on Marcus's pillow, a calculated betrayal. Buster had chosen his loyalty strategically — whoever fed him, loved him. If only human hearts were so pragmatic, so efficiently trainable.

She swallowed one of Marcus's vitamins without water. It scratched her throat on the way down, a small defiance. Let him wonder where they went. Let him think she believed in supplements now, in the possibility of fixing what was broken from the inside out.

The next morning, her backhand was weaker. She missed the anger, sharp and clean. What replaced it was heavier, duller — the realization that some vitamins don't absorb. Some supplements just pass through you, expensive and useless, while you keep buying them because the packaging promises something you desperately want to believe is possible.