Vitamin Supplements and Secrets

I was never a real spy. That was the first lie I told Sarah, over gin by the hotel pool in Marrakech. The heat pressed against us like a physical weight, and I watched a bead of sweat trace the curve of her collarbone.

"Corporate intelligence," I corrected myself. "Legal. Almost."

She laughed, her hair — copper then, like the coins she'd later throw into fountains across three continents — catching the Moroccan sun. "You sound like you're trying to convince yourself."

I was. I'd spent fifteen years stealing secrets from pharmaceutical companies, trading in proprietary formulas and suppressed side effects. The vitamin division had been my specialty. I knew more about synthetic B-complex and placebo-controlled trials than any person should.

"My father's dying," I said, suddenly. The words felt foreign in my mouth. "Pancreatic cancer. Three months, maybe four."

Sarah's hand stilled on my knee. The noise of the pool — splashing children, the distant thrum of the market — seemed to recede.

"I'm sorry," she said. And she was. I could see it in the way her eyes softened, the careful weight of her silence.

"He was a bear of a man," I continued. "Not cruel, just... vast. He taught me to hunt, to track, to notice everything. I thought I was honoring him, using those skills. But yesterday he asked me what I actually believed in, and I couldn't answer."

Sarah stood up, the white cotton of her dress clinging to her legs in the humidity. "Then figure it out," she said. "Before someone else writes your story for you."

She walked toward the hotel without looking back. I watched her go, and somewhere in the space between us, between the lies and the heat and the smell of chlorine, something shifted. Something broke.

The next morning, I sent my resignation to the firm. Four months later, at my father's funeral, I saw Sarah again. She'd come alone. Her hair was silver now, or maybe that was just the February light.

"I figured it out," I told her by the graveside. "I believe in second chances."

She smiled, and it wasn't the smile from Marrakech. It was better.

"Good," she said. "Now tell me something true."

And for the first time in years, I did.