Thinning

Marcus stood before the bathroom mirror, tweezers in hand, plucking the stray hairs from his ears. Forty-two years old and his body was already betraying him—thinning on top, sprouting where it shouldn't. He swallowed his handful of supplements with practiced efficiency: Vitamin D for the bone density he'd apparently lost, Vitamin B12 for the energy that never came, that expensive proprietary blend his trainer swore by. The bathroom counter was a pharmacy of denial.

The apartment was too quiet since Elena left. She'd taken the cat—a haughty Russian Blue named Nikolai—who'd been Marcus's unexpected companion through three years of late-night quarterly reports and CNBC addiction. Nikolai had slept on his desk, swatting at the scrolling stock tickers. Now the desk was just mahogany and silence.

"You're married to the bull market," she'd told him during their final conversation. "Everything else is just a derivative to you."

She wasn't wrong. Marcus had ridden the longest bull run in history, his portfolio swelling while his life hollowed out. He'd forgotten their fifth anniversary last month—too distracted by a semiconductor IPO that ended up tanking anyway. Elena had packed her things with methodical calm, leaving him with a house he didn't need and a realization he couldn't afford.

His phone buzzed. A client email, another market analysis he should care about. Marcus set it on the counter and studied his reflection again. The hairline receding like a reluctant tide. The expensive vitamins that couldn't fix what wasn't medical. The silence where a cat used to purr.

He picked up the phone and drafted a different message—not to a client, but to Elena. Not about reconciliation. Just acknowledgment.

The bull market would end eventually. Everything did. But maybe, before it crashed completely, he could finally learn to value what didn't come with a ticker symbol.