The Undead Living

Maya woke to the sound of her cat, Barnaby, scratching at the bedroom door — a ritual as predictable as everything else in her life. At thirty-seven, she had become what she never wanted to be: a zombie moving through days that blurred together, animated by routine rather than passion.

The vitamin supplements lined her bathroom counter in neat rows — B12 for energy, D3 for mood, magnesium for sleep. She swallowed them each morning with the same desperate hope that something would finally kickstart her back to life. Nothing did.

"You coming to padel tonight?" David asked over coffee, not looking up from his phone. They'd been together four years, and she couldn't remember the last time he'd really seen her.

"I suppose."

"Good. Tom and Sarah are joining. They just got back from Tuscany."

Another evening at the club, another game she didn't care about, another performance of the person she used to be. Padel had become David's obsession after his fortieth birthday crisis — part of the whole package: the sports car, the cryptocurrency investments, the vitamins they both took without questioning.

That evening, as she returned serve after serve, Maya watched David laughing with Tom, his teeth flashing under the court lights. He looked alive in a way he hadn't with her in months. When had they become these people? Two zombies playing at happiness, pretending their marriage wasn't hollowing out from the inside.

Afterwards, over drinks that cost more than her first car, Sarah mentioned something about Tom sleeping in the guest room "because of his snoring." The way Sarah's eyes darted away made Maya's chest tighten. She knew that look.

Driving home, David reached for her hand across the center console. His palm was sweaty.

"Maya, I've been thinking..." He hesitated. "Maybe we should take some time apart."

The zombie inside her cracked open. Something like relief flooded through her, followed immediately by grief.

"Okay," she said softly.

Back at their apartment, Barnaby wound around her legs, purring loudly. In the bathroom, she swept the vitamins into the trash — all twenty-three bottles of them. For the first time in years, she didn't know what tomorrow would look like. It was terrifying. It was exactly what she needed.