The Vitamin Bull

Marion stood in the breakroom, staring at the vitamin D supplement she'd been taking for three years. Her doctor said she was deficient, but lately she wondered if anything could truly fill the void that had opened in her life since the divorce.

"You're not listening, Marion," Richard said, leaning against the doorframe. He was the company's youngest VP, thirty-two with an MBA from Wharton and the kind of confidence that came from never having been truly broken. "The bull market isn't forever. We need to pivot now."

She looked at him—really looked at him. In the harsh fluorescent light, he seemed less like a man and more like a collection of expensive parts: Italian suit, perfectly tousled hair, watch that cost more than her car. Richard the corporate bull, charging through obstacles, hooves trampling whoever happened to be grazing in his path.

"I've been listening, Richard. I just don't agree."

He laughed, a sharp sound that bounced off the linoleum. "That's why you're stuck in middle management at forty-five. That's why you're still taking vitamins instead of actually living."

The words hit harder than she expected. Marion had bought those vitamins on the same day she'd signed the divorce papers—a pathetic attempt at self-care, a promise that she would rebuild herself stronger, healthier. But three years later, she was still the same woman, still fluorescent-lit, still taking supplements while Richard's generation seized everything they wanted.

She reached for her coat and the red hat she'd bought impulsively last weekend. The kind of hat women wore in movies—bold, unapologetic, ridiculous. She'd never worn it outside the apartment.

"Where are you going?" Richard demanded.

"Out," she said, placing the vitamin bottle in her pocket and pulling the hat onto her head. It was crooked, absurd, perfect. "I have a lunch meeting."

She walked past him, red hat bright against the gray cubicles, bull finally charging back.