Vitamins for the Bull

Marcus stood in the pharmacy aisle, staring at the orange plastic bottle. Vitamin D — the sunshine vitamin, they called it. Outside, rain battered the windshield of his Honda Civic. He'd promised Elena he'd pick them up on his way home, but the CVS had been out of stock. Three pharmacies later, he'd found them.

His phone buzzed. Another text from his boss, Richardson. Come in early tomorrow. We need to discuss your numbers.

Richardson was a bull of a man — massive forehead, thick neck, a temperament that charged through conversations like they were china shops in his path. Last week, Richardson had thrown a baseball across the conference room during a sales meeting. It hit the whiteboard with a crack that made everyone flinch.

"That's how we close deals," Richardson had bellowed. "Fast. Hard. No apologies."

Marcus had been with the company seven years. He knew the baseball wasn't about salesmanship. It was about dominance. About reminding everyone who held the bat.

The vitamins were supposed to help Elena. The doctor said her levels were critically low — fatigue, depression, bone pain waiting to happen. But their insurance wouldn't cover the good stuff, the prescription strength. So Marcus had picked up extra shifts, the Richardson-mandated Saturday morning calls that made his chest feel tight.

He climbed back into his car, vitamin bottle clutched in his hand like a lifeline.

At home, Elena was asleep on the couch. She looked smaller somehow, collapsed into the cushions like a discarded jersey. Marcus gently covered her with a blanket, then placed the vitamins on the kitchen counter.

In the bathroom mirror, he saw his own face — drawn, pale, eyes that had forgotten how to smile. Richardson's voice echoed in his head: *Numbers, Marcus. Numbers don't have feelings. People do. That's why people fail.*

Marcus thought about the baseball sailing through the air. About how he'd flinched along with everyone else. About how he'd sat there nodding while a grown man threw sports equipment to prove a point about supplements nobody needed.

He went to the kitchen, uncorked the wine he'd been saving for their anniversary, and poured two fingers. Then he picked up his phone and drafted a text to Richardson.

*Can't make it in early. Actually, can't make it in at all.*

His thumb hovered over send. Behind him, Elena stirred.

"Marcus?"

"Yeah, honey."

"Did you find them?"

"I did." He set down the phone, pressed send, and walked toward her with the vitamin bottle. "They're right here."

She smiled, and for the first time in months, Marcus felt something like hope. The bull could charge through someone else's china shop tomorrow.