The Wellness Curve

Marcus arranged his supplements in precise rows: Vitamin D for the bone density that was quietly abandoning him, Omega-3 for a heart that still felt too human, B-complex for energy he no longer recognized. The morning light hit the kitchen counter at 6:47 AM, exactly as it had every day since Elena left eight months ago. She'd taken the good towels and her half of the book club. She'd left Barnaby.

Barnaby was a Golden Retriever of existential dread. He stared at Marcus now, his head tilted, assessing the supplement ritual with what Marcus projected as judgment.

"You think I'm trying to buy my way out of mortality," Marcus said to the dog. Barnaby sneezed.

At 7:30, Marcus arrived at the padel court. It was Elena's idea initially, something they were supposed to do together in their mid-40s renaissance. Now he played alone with Javier, the estate lawyer who handled his divorce, which felt unnecessarily on-the-nose.

"You're gripping the racket too tight," Javier said, bouncing the ball. "Like you're trying to kill something."

"I'm trying to hit the ball, Javier."

"The ball is just a ball, hermano."

They played. Marcus's backhand sliced the air. He thought about Elena's last words: *You've optimized yourself into someone I don't recognize.* The truth was, he didn't recognize himself either. He was 47, taking vitamins he researched on PubMed at 2 AM, playing a sport he pretended to enjoy, living in a house that felt like a staged home for sale.

After the match, sitting in his car, Marcus's phone buzzed. A reminder: *Vitamin C with iron — take with food.* He stared at it. The dog waited in the passenger seat, chin on the console, breath fogging the windows. Barnaby didn't care about optimization. Barnaby cared about tennis balls, peanut butter, and whether Marcus would ever stop sleeping on the couch.

Marcus started the car. He drove to the pet store instead of home. Bought the expensive dog food. A new ball. A rope toy.

At home, he threw the vitamins in the trash. Not all of them — just the ones for problems he didn't actually have. He kept the Vitamin D. Even existential dread needs strong bones.

Barnaby chased the ball across the backyard, ears flying, completely uninterested in optimization. Marcus watched him and realized he hadn't felt this uncomplicatedly present in years. The supplements could wait. The padel rankings could wait. The ball sailed through the air, Barnaby sailed after it, and for the first time in eight months, Marcus forgot to check the time.