I.

The proof was done. Twenty years, Dollar Tree notebooks, coffee stains on page 47, a half-erased derivation on page 112, margin notes in three different pens. The final page read: consciousness is a causal byproduct of the universe, not a necessary feature. The universe would exist the same way without perception. His teaching, his research, his belief that understanding the cosmos mattered—all of it, mathematically meaningless.

7 AM Tuesday. He held the page.

II.

He called Claire. No answer. He emailed his resignation. He drove the 1998 Ford onto Highway 90 and stopped at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. Southern Comfort in one hand, the proof in the other. He watched a mosquito land on the window, try to fly, fail, try again. Three hours.

At the diner, Jake poured coffee without asking. Forty minutes of silence.

"Jake," Tommy said. "What if none of it means anything?"

"Then we got the whole day."

III.

Day 1: Bayou near Lafourche Parish. Cypress knee in the water. Alligators in murky green. Stayed till darkness. Mosquitoes stopped biting when it got too cold.

Day 2: Campus. Packed the office. Students had noticed—he was gone. No memo. No substitute. Whiteboard left in the hallway.

Day 3: Woke up. Coffee. Sun through the blinds. Noon: McDonald's off I-10. Applied for shift supervisor. Hired on the spot.

IV.

First shift. Nineteen minutes late. Denise, the manager, told him to put on an apron. 4:17 PM. Honda Civic at the drive-through. Tommy rolled down the window.

"Welcome to McDonald's, what can I get you?"

He smiled. The girl ordered a Quarter Pounder.

"Welcome to McDonald's."

A smile. Neither happy nor sad. Just a smile from someone with nothing left to prove.