Three Objects in Empty Rooms

The apartment was too quiet now, a collection of rooms filled with things Maya had chosen and no longer lived to enjoy. Elias moved through them like a ghost, haunting his own life.

On the kitchen counter sat the bottle of vitamin D supplements — the ones she'd bought after his annual checkup, pressing him with that fierce tenderness she'd had about his health. "Take one every day," she'd said, kissing his forehead like he was a child. He took them now not because he believed they helped, but because it was the last command she'd given him.

The goldfish, absurdly named Admiral Bubblecheeks, swam in endless circles in its bowl on the windowsill. Maya had won it at a carnival exactly one year before the accident, and Elias had mocked her for bringing it home. Now he fed it every morning, watching its orange scales catch the light, thinking about how something so small could become so heavy with meaning.

And then there was her iPhone, still charged on his nightstand. He knew he should turn it off, cancel the service, return it to her mother who'd asked for it weeks ago. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, he'd see the screen light up with messages from friends who still didn't know, who still sent memes and party invitations and jokes she'd never read. He read them all, feeling like a voyeur, a thief of her unfinished life.

Tonight, the phone buzzed. A calendar notification: "Dinner reservation at Lauder's — 6 months anniversary!"

Elias sat on the edge of the bed, the phone in one hand, the vitamin bottle in the other. Admiral Bubblecheeks swam in the other room, oblivious. Something broke inside him — not cleanly, but jaggedly, like glass.

He walked to the fishbowl. "You deserve better than this," he whispered, then packed the fish into a container. He drove to her sister's house, left the phone and fish on her porch with a note.

Back home, he swallowed two vitamins instead of one. Tomorrow, he'd make an appointment with her doctor to discuss the grief that sat in his chest like something that needed treating. For tonight, he let himself finally, truly cry.