The Three-Second Memory

The goldfish had outlived her marriage.

Elena stared at the orange fish swimming lazy circles in the bowl on her kitchen counter. Clementine—she'd named the fish after the dessert, not the woman who'd left her six months ago—had been Sarah's idea. A trial run for responsibility, Sarah had said, carrying the bowl home from the county fair where Elena had won it by correctly guessing the number of jellybeans in a jar. That was three years ago. Sarah had packed her things in November. The fish remained.

"You're supposed to have a three-second memory," Elena whispered, tapping the glass. "I envy you that."

Her phone buzzed on the counter. Greg, from accounting.

Padel at 7? The text read. We need a fourth.

Elena hesitated. The padel court had become her refuge since the divorce—a place where she could hit balls as hard as she wanted, where the rhythm of the game drowned out the silence of her apartment. Greg's invite was kind, but his group of coworkers didn't know about Sarah. They didn't know she'd come home to half-empty closets and a note that said *I can't do this anymore*—a note Elena still kept folded in her wallet like some terrible keepsake.

She typed back: Can't tonight.

Another night, then. We miss you.

Elena set the phone down and walked to the living room, where the television sat dark against the wall. She hadn't turned it on since Sarah left, but she also hadn't called to cancel the cable. It was an eighty-dollar monthly tether to a life she no longer recognized—a subscription to channels she'd never watch, paid automatically from a joint account she hadn't bothered to split yet. Some days she called the cable company just to hear a human voice, then hung up before anyone answered.

"Ridiculous," she said aloud.

She returned to the kitchen and sprinkled flakes into the bowl. Clementine darted to the surface, gulping greedily.

"At least one of us eats," Elena muttered.

Her phone buzzed again. Greg: Seriously though. We're worried about you.

Elena stared at the text until the screen went dark. She thought about Sarah's laughter at the padel court, the way Sarah would make terrible jokes about being terrible at sports while actually being quite good. She thought about the cable bill she paid each month for a service she didn't use. She thought about the fish who kept swimming, who kept eating, who didn't seem to notice that the world had changed.

She picked up her phone.

I'll be there, she typed.

Then she opened her banking app and canceled the cable service.

Clementine swam another lap around the bowl, her orange scales catching the afternoon light. Tomorrow, Elena would buy the fish a companion. Tonight, she would play padel, and maybe, just maybe, she would let herself remember something new.