What She Left Behind

The goldfish had been dead for three days before Marcus noticed. It floated at the top of the bowl, glassy eyes staring at something he couldn't see, a tiny orange martyr to his inattention. Sarah had bought it during what he now recognized as their anniversary — their last anniversary — at a carnival where they'd both been slightly drunk on overpriced wine and the delusion that they could still make this work.

"You couldn't even keep a fish alive," she'd said last night, throwing clothes into a suitcase with aggressive precision. "What hope did we have?" The words had hung in the air like smoke, burning his throat even after the front door slammed shut.

Marcus sat on the couch they'd bought together at IKEA, the one they'd argued about assembling for three hours. His brother's old taxidermy bear stared at him from the corner of the room — a ridiculous housewarming gift from a sibling who didn't understand that not everyone found dead animals charming. Sarah had hated it. "It's watching us judge," she'd say whenever they argued, gesturing toward the glass-eyed predator as if its silent opinion mattered. Now it was just Marcus and the bear, sharing the judgment of his empty apartment.

The cat, Barnaby, padded into the room and jumped onto Marcus's lap. He'd been Sarah's cat originally, a surrender from her first marriage, but the traitorous animal had chosen Marcus in the end. Barnaby purred loudly, kneading Marcus's thigh with claws that were slightly too long. Sarah had taken everything else — the good coffee maker, the vintage rug, her collection of first editions — but she'd left the cat. "He likes you better anyway," she'd said, and Marcus hadn't been able to tell if it was an act of mercy or cruelty.

He flushed the goldfish down the toilet, watching it spiral away in a final swirl of water and orange scales. Some things, he realized, you couldn't keep alive no matter how hard you tried. The bear continued its silent vigil from the corner. Barnaby curled into a ball on his lap, warm and alive and enough.

Marcus picked up his phone and ordered food from the Thai place Sarah had hated. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes, listening to the cat's steady, uncomplicated purring, and for the first time in years, felt something like peace.