The Wellness Pyramid

The smell of sautéed spinach wafted from Julia's pan, mingling with the sterile antiseptic odor that had permeated their apartment for three months. Mark sat at the kitchen island, sorting his daily vitamin regimen into a plastic organizer the size of a dinner plate.

"You know," Mark said, staring at the rainbow of capsules, "my oncologist literally laughed when I asked about supplements. Said there's more evidence for pyramid power than for half this shit."

Julia flipped the spinach with a wooden spoon. "And yet here you are, organizing them like a chemist. What does that make you?"

"A desperate man?" He smiled, but his eyes remained flat. "A zombie attempting to pass for living."

The word hung between them. Six months ago, before the diagnosis, before the treatments left him hollowed out and grey-skinned, they would've laughed. Now it just felt accurate. He moved through days with the mechanical deliberation of the undead.

Barnaby, their elderly golden retriever, nudged Mark's knee with his wet nose. Mark scratched behind the dog's ears without looking down. The motion was automatic, practiced.

"My boss called yesterday," Mark said. "Wants me to consult on that new wellness vertical. Build a pyramid scheme around 'mindful immunity' or something. Five figures per session."

Julia turned off the stove. "And?"

"And I'd be selling vitamins to zombies." He finally looked at her. "I might need the money, Jules. Insurance is fighting every claim."

She served the spinach onto two plates, added poached eggs, slid one toward him. The dog settled at his feet, chin resting on Mark's shoe.

"Eat your vitamins," she said softly. "We'll figure out the rest."

He picked up his fork. For the first time in weeks, something like genuine hunger crossed his face. Not for food. For life itself, however it came.

"Tomorrow," he said, "I'll call him back. But I'm setting my own terms."

The pyramid could wait. The spinach could wait. Even the pills. What mattered was sitting across from her, barnaby warm against his leg, feeling—however briefly—like he might someday be alive again.