The Wellness Regimen

Sarah placed the vitamin supplements on her desk with ritual precision. The B-complex for energy, the magnesium for sleep, the omega-3 for—she checked the bottle—brain fog. At thirty-four, she'd already accumulated more bottles than friends.

"Morning, sunshine!" Elena chirped, dropping into the adjacent cubicle. She smelled like expensive citrus perfume and misplaced optimism. "Want to see pictures of Max? He learned to fetch yesterday."

Sarah forced a smile. "Your dog?"

"Golden retriever puppy. He's everything." Elena's phone displayed an improbably perfect creature with fur like spun gold. "Dave and I are thinking of getting him a brother. Maybe a lab?"

Sarah's phone buzzed. Another text from her mother: *Have you tried that supplement I sent? The one for fertility?*

"I brought lunch," Elena announced, pulling out a container with what looked like garden debris. "Spinach salad with pumpkin seeds. Want some? It's loaded with iron."

"I'm good." Sarah's own lunch remained unopened in her bag. A sandwich. Processed meat on white bread. The kind of thing that would kill her, according to the five wellness influencers she followed.

"You know," Elena said, digging into her spinach, "my trainer says we're what we eat. Max too—only organic food for him."

Sarah stared at her vitamin array. B-complex for the energy she didn't have. Magnesium for the sleep that wouldn't come. Omega-3 for a brain that felt perpetually fogged, even before her diagnosis.

"Elena?" she heard herself say.

"Mmm?" Spinach leaf caught in her teeth.

"Does Max ever chew up things he shouldn't?"

"Oh, constantly. Dave's dress shoes, my favorite yoga mat. Why?"

Sarah smiled then, genuinely. "My dog growing up ate my entire vitamin collection once. Thought they were candy. Vet said he'd be fine."

"Was he?"

"Actually?" Sarah opened her sandwich. "He lived to be seventeen. Best health of any dog I've known."

Elena paused, her fork hovering over her perfect salad. "Huh."

"Yeah." Sarah took a bite of her processed sandwich. It tasted delicious. "Maybe we're overcomplicating things."

Elena looked at her phone, at Max's perfect golden face. Then at her meticulously prepared lunch. Finally, she laughed—a real laugh, not the performative cheer she'd been using all week.

"God, I hope so," she said. "This spinach tastes like disappointment anyway."