Vitamin Deficiency

The bull market had been generous to Rafael, but generosity, like affection, could vanish without notice. He stood at the edge of the infinity pool at the Palm Springs resort, watching his reflection distort in the water—cool, blue, indifferent.

"You're going to burn," Isabel said from behind him. She was already coated in sunscreen, her skin smelling faintly of coconut and something clinical, medicinal. Vitamins. She'd been taking them religiously since the diagnosis.

"I don't care about the burn," Rafael said. "I care about the portfolio."

"The portfolio is fine. The portfolio is always fine."

She was right. The numbers were still climbing, still stubbornly ascending despite everything. But numbers didn't keep you warm at night. Numbers didn't know how you liked your coffee or that you hummed when you were nervous.

They played padel at noon, the court blazing with reflected heat. Rafael smashed the ball against the glass wall, over and over, each impact sounding like a small explosion. Isabel watched him from the bench, palm trees swaying behind her in the windless air, their shadows stretching long and thin across the clay.

"You're playing like you're trying to kill something," she said quietly.

Rafael stopped. The ball rolled to a stop at his feet. "Maybe I am."

"The market? The cancer? Your father?" She ticked them off on her fingers. "Choose your bull, Rafael. There are too many to fight at once."

He looked at her then—really looked at her—and saw the exhaustion etched around her eyes, the way her hands trembled slightly when she wasn't paying attention. The vitamins scattered in her bag like colorful promises.

"I'm tired of fighting," he admitted. "I'm tired of the constant charging. The bulls, the bears—it never ends."

"Then stop," she said. "Just stop."

He walked to the edge of the court where she sat and sank to the ground beside her. The water from the fountain nearby misted them both, light and cool against flushed skin. For the first time in months, he didn't check his phone. Didn't check the market. Didn't count the vitamins in her bag.

"Just for today," he said.

"Just for today," she agreed, leaning into him as the sun beat down on the court, on the palms, on the two of them sitting together in the heat, perfectly still.