The Vitamin Theory of Loss

Marcus hadn't been himself since the diagnosis. The cancer ate him from the inside—first his appetite, then his strength, then the light in his eyes. Elena found herself measuring out vitamin D supplements with the precision of a pharmacist, watching him swallow them along with twelve other pills each morning. The bear of his illness had moved into their home, sleeping between them in bed, breathing hot and sick against her neck.

'It's just vitamins, El,' he'd say, but his voice was thinner now, like wind through old trees.

She met the fox at a bar three months later. David was sleek and sharp, with eyes that glittered with possibility. He didn't ask about her husband. He asked about her dreams, her work, the novel she'd abandoned five years ago. For two hours, Elena remembered she existed outside the hospital waiting rooms, the sterile smell of chemotherapy, the endless research into alternative treatments.

'I could show you the city,' David said, his thumb grazing her wedding ring. 'Whatever that means.'

Elena went home to Marcus counting out his evening medications—vitamin C, zinc, fish oil, calcium, hope in capsule form. He looked up at her with those soft, dying eyes.

'The bear is hungry tonight,' he whispered.

She knelt beside his chair and rested her head on his chest. Underneath his thinning frame, his heart still beat steady, still hers. The fox had offered her escape, but escape wasn't what she needed. She needed to stay here, in the messy, beautiful, heartbreaking middle of things. She needed to bear witness.

'I know,' she said. 'I'm here. I'm staying.'

Marcus took his vitamins without complaint. Elena called the fox the next day and told him she couldn't see him again. Some things, she realized, were more important than being clever. Some things were worth the weight.