The Weight of Unfinished Things

The rain had been falling for three days when Elena opened her front door to find Sarah standing there, soaked to the bone, clutching a cardboard carrier.

"Your **cat** got out," Sarah said. "Found him three blocks over by the old oak."

Elena hadn't seen Sarah in six months—not since the Christmas party where everything fell apart. Not since the announcement of Elena's promotion, the one Sarah had been certain would be hers. The water dripping from Sarah's hair pooled on the welcome mat.

"You didn't have to bring him back."

"We're still **friends**, aren't we?" Sarah's laugh was bitter, sharp. "Or did that end with the friendship?"

Inside, the cat—Barnaby—rubbed against Elena's ankles, indifferent to the tension filling the small apartment. Elena offered Sarah a towel, then a glass of **water**, which Sarah accepted with hands that wouldn't stop trembling.

"I'm leaving the firm," Sarah said, setting the glass down on the coffee table without drinking. "Moving to Portland. My sister's having a hard time with the baby, and honestly..."

"And honestly?"

"And honestly, I couldn't stay. Watching you walk into my office every day. Watching everyone pretend nothing happened."

Elena felt the old guilt rise like bile. The promotion had been offered to her first—she hadn't stolen it, but she hadn't turned it down either. Hadn't told Sarah until after the announcement. Some betrayals don't feel like betrayals until you see them reflected in someone else's eyes.

Sarah opened her **palm**, revealing a small brass key. "Your spare. From before."

Elena took it, their fingers brushing. For a moment, the apartment was silent except for the rain and the distant barking of a neighbor's **dog**—a sound that had somehow become the background music to all their conversations, since the night they'd found that stray puppy together, drunk and twenty-four, both convinced they could save it.

They couldn't, of course. The pound had picked it up the next morning.

"You'll come visit?" Elena asked, knowing she was asking for something neither could give.

"We'll see," Sarah said. She was already backing toward the door. "Take care of Barnaby."

Sarah left without looking back. Elena locked the door behind her, the brass key still warm in her hand, and listened as the rain washed over the city, washing nothing away at all.