Vitamin D and the Art of Losing

Marcus stood at the pharmacy counter, staring at the orange bottle of Vitamin D supplements in his hand. The fluorescent lights hummed above him, an artificial sun that had been his only source of light for weeks since Maya left.

"You're back again," the pharmacist said, not looking up from her screen. "Third time this month. You know that stuff won't fix what's broken."

Marcus winced. The lightning strike that had ended his marriage hadn't been dramatic—no screaming matches, no thrown plates. Just Maya quietly packing her things while he was at work, leaving behind a note that said she'd grown tired of being the only one trying.

He'd become a bear in hibernation, sleeping fourteen hours a day, emerging only to buy more supplements that promised to fix some deficiency he couldn't name.

"My doctor says I'm deficient," Marcus lied, setting the bottle on the counter.

The pharmacist finally looked up, her expression softening. "Honey, what you're deficient in can't be found in a bottle."

Outside, rain began to fall, the sky splitting with sudden lightning that illuminated the parking lot. Through the downpour, he saw it—a fox, orange-red and impossibly wild, darting between cars, carrying something in its mouth. A bird? A rat? It didn't matter. The fox was alive, hungry, doing what it needed to survive.

Marcus thought about Maya's last words to him: You sleepwalk through everything. You don't even know you're alive half the time.

He'd tried to argue, tried to explain that he was just tired, that the corporate job had drained him, that he needed time. But she'd already been gone by then.

The fox paused, looked toward him through the rain, eyes glowing like amber coals. Then it vanished into the darkness beyond the streetlights, taking its prize with it.

Marcus left the Vitamin D on the counter and walked out into the storm, letting the rain soak through his shirt, cold and shocking and real. For the first time in months, he didn't want to sleep.