The Wellness Riddle

The vitamin D supplement sat on her tongue like a tiny existential question mark. Sarah swallowed it dry, as she did everything these days—without water, without hesitation, without tasting it.

"You're running out of time," the text from David read. Not *We need to talk* or *I miss you*, but the same deadline-driven language that had ruled their ten-year marriage. David, who had left her for a junior associate half his age. David, who still texts her as if she's a project he's managing remotely.

Sarah stepped onto her balcony. The Los Angeles sun beat against her palm, leaving it sweaty and clinging to her wine glass. Below, the Hollywood Hills sprawled like a beautiful lie—everyone pretending, everyone selling something.

Three months ago, she'd joined Pyramid Wellness. Not a pyramid scheme, her upline Jordan had insisted during the recruitment session in a rented conference room. It was about *empowerment*. About *financial freedom*. About selling proprietary vitamin blends to people who couldn't afford them but bought them anyway because hope is expensive.

"You're a sphinx, Sarah," Jordan had told her last week, studying her across the conference table. "Mysterious. People want to solve you. That's your brand."

She'd laughed, a dry sound that tasted like ash. At 42, she wasn't mysterious. She was just tired.

Her phone buzzed again. David: *The divorce papers. Did you sign?*

Sarah set down her wine glass. The sunset painted the sky in violent pinks and purples, colors too bold to be real. She thought about riddles and questions without answers. About the way love curdles into resentment slowly, like milk left on a counter. About how she'd spent two decades running toward things—promotion, marriage, motherhood—only to find herself running away from everything she'd built.

The palm of her hand still held the impression of the wine glass stem, a temporary tattoo of indulgence.

She texted back: *Yes.*

Then she blocked his number.

Inside, the vitamin D bottle waited on the counter. Sarah walked past it, stepped into her running shoes, and opened the front door. She didn't know where she was going. But for the first time in years, she wasn't running away from anything.

She was just running.