What Remains in the Empty Room

The **vitamin** supplements sat on the counter where Ethan had left them—that optimistic orange bottle promising health, promising more time. Sarah hadn't touched them since the funeral. What was the point of extending a life that already felt complete?

She found his old **baseball** glove in the closet, leather worn soft from decades of summer evenings in the park. He'd taught their son to catch with that glove, both of them collapsing into laughter whenever the ball went wildly astray. Marcus was twenty-three now, living in another city, building a life that didn't include weekend games.

Buster—their elderly golden retriever—had stopped waiting by the door months ago. The **dog** slept instead on Ethan's side of the bed, as if holding his place. Some mornings Sarah woke with her arm draped across the dog's warm flank, pretending, before reality settled in.

She finally called the cable company to cancel their service. The **cable** had been Ethan's domain: sports, news, those terrible reality shows he secretly loved. The customer service representative asked if she wanted to upgrade to a premium package. Sarah nearly laughed. Nearly.

That's when she saw it—a flash of russet fur in the backyard. A **fox**, sleek and improbable, standing near the garden Ethan had planted but never harvested. The fox looked directly at her through the glass, unafraid, almost knowing. Then it turned and vanished into the overgrown tomato plants.

Sarah stood there for a long time. Finally, she went to the kitchen, opened the vitamin bottle, and swallowed one pill with a glass of water. She called Marcus. She found Buster's leash. She went outside and began pulling weeds from the garden.

The fox returned at dusk, watching from the edge of the woods. Sarah waved, just slightly. Tomorrow she'd ask Marcus if he remembered how to throw a fastball. But tonight, she simply sat on the back porch and watched the darkness gather, feeling something like hope begin to stir, fragile and uncertain, in the space grief had left behind.