What Remains

The cat wound itself around David's ankles as he packed, its orange fur already coated with a layer of dust that hadn't been there three days ago. David stepped carefully over it, carrying another box to the door. Outside, the November rain pressed against the windows, blurring the city into streaks of gray and gold.

"She's not coming back," Julia said from the kitchen doorway. She held a wilted bag of spinach like evidence. "It's been rotting in the crisper drawer since Tuesday. That's when you knew, isn't it?"

David set down the box. The cat scrambled away, indignant. "I knew when she stopped charging her iPhone. Six days ago. The battery died, and she just—she didn't care anymore."

Julula dropped the spinach into the trash. It landed with a wet thud. "People don't just stop caring about their phones, David. They stop caring about the lives inside them."

She was right, of course. That's what terrified him. Somewhere between the missed dinners and the sleeping in separate rooms, Elena had decided that this life—this apartment with its exposed brick and carefully curated bookshelves, this relationship with its silent compromises and accumulated resentments—wasn't worth maintaining anymore. She hadn't left a note. Hadn't taken much. Just her passport, her favorite coat, and the small wooden box of jewelry from her grandmother.

The cat returned, hopping onto the counter where the spinach had been. It sniffed at the empty space, then looked at David with ancient judgment.

"What do I do with him?" David asked. "He was hers."

"He's yours now," Julia said. "That's how these things work. You inherit what's left behind."

She picked up her purse and keys. "Call me if you need anything. Or don't. Either way, lock up when you're done."

David stood alone in the apartment that would never again feel like home. His iPhone buzzed in his pocket—a work email, nothing important. He ignored it, watching dust motes dance in the afternoon light, and listened to the rain. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn sounded. The cat meowed once, demanding to be fed, and David finally moved, toward the kitchen cabinets, toward whatever came next.