What the Palm Forgot

The old woman traced the lines on my palm with a nail that had seen too many decades. Her shop smelled of incense and something burnt.

"You came here because you're wondering why he left," she said, not asking.

I nodded, throat tight.

In our apartment of seven years, the cat still waited by the window every evening, watching for his silhouette. That morning, I'd found his goldfish bowl empty — not broken, just sitting there on the counter, water level low but not dry, like he'd taken them somewhere or poured them down the sink before packing his bags.

"He's like a fox," the reader continued, eyes still closed. "Beautiful to watch, sleek and clever. But always hunting, always moving to the next thing."

I'm 42 years old, too old for this kind of dissolution. I realized with a sudden, sharp clarity that I'd been a friend to someone who never stayed still long enough to be one in return. The truth settled in my stomach like cold water.

"Palm lines don't lie," she said, pressing harder into my skin until I almost pulled away. "But they don't tell you everything. This line here — the life line — it curves, but it doesn't break. That's yours, not his."

I left her shop feeling strangely light, considering. Outside, a fox darted across the street — first time I'd seen one in the city. It carried something gold in its mouth, shimmering in the streetlamp light.

My phone buzzed as I turned onto our block. A message from him: "Found someone better. Sorry. Don't contact me."

The old woman's words echoed. Some people are goldfish — they keep swimming in circles until they bump into the glass walls. Others are foxes, always finding the way out.

The cat met me at the door, finally not looking for him anymore. In the bathroom, I found the goldfish — all three of them — swimming in the bathtub. He hadn't taken them. He'd moved them to somewhere larger while he packed his boxes, the last thing he did before walking out.

They were alive. They were fine without him.

I sat on the edge of the tub and watched them swim, realizing I would be too.