The Vitamin We Never Took

Mara found the hat in the back of his closet three weeks after the funeral. A brown fedora, dust-covered, smelling faintly of tobacco and the cologne he'd worn since their first date in 1987. She shouldn't have been going through his things. The apartment was supposed to be packed, sold, forgotten. But grief has a way of making you do things you swore you wouldn't.

She brought the hat to her lips, inhaling him again, and that's when her phone buzzed.

His iPhone.

She'd kept it charged, irrational as it was. The screen lit up with a reminder: Vitamin D3 - take with breakfast. She'd set it up for him, the spring before his diagnosis. They'd laughed about it together—two health-conscious sixty-somethings, convinced they could outrun entropy with supplements and morning walks.

The reminder appeared every morning at 8 AM. And every morning, she dismissed it.

Until today.

Mara opened the pill drawer and retrieved the orange bottle. Expired six months ago. She dry-swallowed one, standing in the center of their bedroom surrounded by half-filled boxes, wearing his hat, the phone still warm in her hand.

The vitamin stuck in her throat. She coughed, doubling over, and when she straightened, she caught her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. A stranger stared back—gray hair unbrushed, eyes hollow, wearing a dead man's hat like a costume from a play she'd forgotten how to perform.

Her phone buzzed again. Not his this time.

Her daughter: Mom? Are you coming to dinner? We're worried.

Mara typed back: I'm fine. Just saying goodbye.

She paused. Her thumb hovered over the screen, the phone's brightness illuminating the dust motes dancing in the afternoon light. Saying goodbye to what? To him? To this life they'd built? To the vitamins and morning walks and the delusion that any of it mattered?

She deleted the message. Set both phones on the nightstand. Placed the hat on her head.

Outside, the delivery truck's reverse warning beeped. Somewhere, a dog barked. The world continued without him, carelessly ordinary.

Mara sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the vitamin to work, for some magical transformation, for anything to feel different. Nothing did. So she stood up, adjusted the hat, and carried the first box to the door.