Vitamins for the Living

Mara caught her reflection in the microwave door—stray hairs escaping her messy bun, dark circles etched beneath eyes that hadn't truly rested in months. The office had become a graveyard of ambition, where she and her colleagues shuffled through spreadsheets like corporate zombies, their souls eroded by quarterly targets and performance reviews.

That's when she saw him: the dog walker, golden retriever pulling toward her with desperate enthusiasm, its owner watching with amused tolerance. The dog's coat gleamed with health and vitality that seemed alien in her gray-scale world.

"Good boy, Buster," the man said, then caught her staring. "Rough day?"

Mara laughed, a rusty sound. "You have no idea."

"My ex-wife used to say I was emotionally constipated," he said, surprising a genuine smile from her. "Then she left me for a yoga instructor who sells essential oils. I started taking vitamin D supplements because apparently I was deficient in everything, including joy."

The dog, Buster, pressed his warm head against Mara's leg, and she felt something crack open inside her chest. She knelt, burying her fingers in his fur, breathing in his earthy, living scent. For the first time in months, she wasn't thinking about KPIs or the promotion she'd stopped caring about.

"I used to have passions," she admitted. "Before I became this."

"This?" He gestured at her work clothes. "Corporate attire? Zombiehood? It's reversible."

She looked up, really seeing him—kind eyes, laugh lines, hair that suggested he'd stopped caring about perfection years ago. "What's the cure?"

"A dog," he said simply. "Or leaving your job. Or finding someone who makes you feel alive again."

Mara stood, knees popping, heart racing with something dangerously like hope. The office loomed behind her, but for the first time, it looked like a choice, not a sentence. Buster wagged his tail, as if voting for escape.

"I forgot my vitamins this morning," she said. "I think I need something stronger."