What Remains in the Bowl

The marriage counselor's office smelled of lavender and stale coffee. Mara sat on the beige sofa, hands clasped in her lap, watching the goldfish in the tank on the bookshelf. It swam in endless circles, its orange scales catching the afternoon light.

"You're not hearing me," David said from the armchair. "I'm trying to tell you why I did it."

"I heard you," she said. "I just don't care anymore."

The fish swam to the surface, mouth opening and closing in silent desperation. Mara remembered buying that fish three years ago, at the county fair where they'd kissed under the fireworks. She'd won it, actually. The goldfish in the plastic bag, David's hand warm in hers, both of them drunk on cheap wine and new love.

"The water's getting cloudy," David said, following her gaze. "Someone should change it."

"That's your department, isn't it?" She'd meant it as a joke, but it landed as something else.

He looked away. His phone had buzzed three times during the session. Each time, he'd glanced at the screen, a small smile touching his lips before remembering himself. Mara knew who was texting. She'd seen the messages herself — half-written drafts and full-on conversations about how trapped he felt, how he'd never loved anyone the way he loved her.

The cat they'd adopted together, Oscar, had disappeared two weeks ago. Just stopped coming home. David had put up flyers. Mara had secretly hoped he'd found a better family, one where the people looked at each other without resentment.

"I'm not happy," David said, as if stating it for the hundredth time might make it original.

"You haven't been happy in years," she said. "That's not new. What's new is that you finally did something about it."

Outside, rain began to fall. The therapist watched them both, silent. The goldfish continued swimming, oblivious to the dissolution taking place before it.

"Remember when we talked about having kids?" David asked quietly.

Mara stood up. "Don't."

"Mara—"

"We're not swimming back to that shore, David. The tide went out a long time ago."

She walked to the fish tank. The fish regarded her with its expressionless eye. She thought about taking it, but decided against it. Let David have the goldfish. Let him change the water. Let him watch it swim alone in its small glass world, circling the same territory, going nowhere, wondering why the view never changed.

"Goodbye, David," she said.

The door clicked shut behind her. She didn't look back.