The Weight of Untamed Things

The market had been brutal today—a charging **bull** of a session that had left Elena sweating through her silk blouse. She sat at the edge of the bathtub, watching the water rise, her phone vibrating on the marble vanity with messages she wouldn't answer.

Marcus had been like a **fox** in their marriage: clever, beautiful, impossible to pin down. She'd spent years thinking she could outsmart his disappearances, forgive his smallest betrayals, convince herself that a creature that beautiful couldn't truly be predatory. But this morning's credit card statement had told a different story.

The bathroom door creaked open. Her daughter, Lily, stood there clutching her stuffed **bear**—the one missing an eye from when the dog had gotten to it last summer. Lily's eyes were red.

"Mommy," she whispered. "Daddy says he's going away for a while."

Elena's stomach twisted. She pulled the drain plug and watched the **water** spiral away, thinking about how easily things disappear down holes you can't see the bottom of.

"I know, sweetie." She reached for her daughter. "Come here."

Later, she would draft the separation agreement. Later, she would calculate the cost of starting over. But for now, she held her child on the cold bathroom floor and watched the last of the water disappear, thinking about how some losses leave you drowning while others simply leave you hollowed out, waiting to be filled again.