[ WP ] You live in a world where age is counted as how many years of life you have left

Today is not my Doomsday, but it might as well feel like it as I groggily roll out from under the sheets. I do n't bother making the bed. I stumble into the dark bathroom and flip on the light. As I'm doing my thing, I can hear my wife downstairs in the kitchen. She never cooks. I wonder why she's making a fuss about breakfast when she knows she does n't have to. 
 
 Then it dawns on me. She must have gotten the calendar alert on her phone. I flush the toilet and move to the sink. My reflection stares back at me as I absentmindedly begin to wash my hands. I do n't look old. I'm relatively fit, and have never had any health issues. The scent of Orange Vanilla fills the bathroom. Normally I hate the expensive foamy soaps my wife buys, but today it does n't bother me. I break my gaze from the mirror as I turn and dry my hands on the towel behind me, then quickly exit the bathroom. 
 
 As I pull my black work pants on, I tell myself I still have time. I still have fifty-two more weeks... I grab a white button up shirt from the closet, and an orange tie from my drawer with matching aiguille socks. I look over at the clock on our dresser. The red face reads 9:15am, and I immediately start to panic. I'm late for work! I was supposed to leave over an hour ago! 
 
 I'm angry at myself as I start to rapidly put on clothes. I shove my arms through my shirt and in my haste I accidentally button the shirt wrong. My legs shoot into my pants, followed by my mis-buttoned shirt, then a black belt rapidly slithers though the loops. Next are socks. The left one has a wrinkle under my foot that needs to be straightened, but I jam it into my dress shoe hastily. I'll fix it later. I am fiddling with my tie as I rush toward the door. I grab the door handle, ready to run downstairs and out the door when it dawns on me. 
 
 I'm retired today. 
 
 The government declared that during someone's 1st year, they will no longer be eligible for work. I stare at my hand on the door for a long moment, soaking that in, and slowly deflate. I ca n't go to work. I hear plates being set on the table, and my thoughts rush to my wife. I feel bad for her. We have three kids together, and now that I can not work she will have to get a second job. My throat clenches tightly. It's hard to breathe. 
 
 She should have married someone else. Someone with more time. 
 
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 I actually wrote this for a different prompt, but they were very similar so I edited it a little for this submission.
