Rising up: Seirras's new dawn

SEIRRA'S POINT OF VIEW

It’d been weeks since I signed that contract, and honestly? I’d poured everything into it.

Late nights. Cold coffee. Headphones in, back bent over my laptop, fingers clicking and dragging until my eyes blurred. I wasn’t just designing pages—I was rebuilding myself, one graphic, one code, one layout at a time. This wasn’t just for their brand. This was for me. My name was going on this, and for the first time in forever, I wanted something with my name on it to matter.

I worked from the corner of the apartment, my desk filled with sticky notes, sketches, ideas. Sometimes I lost track of time. Sometimes I forgot to eat. But I didn’t care. I was in a zone. A good one.

Then one evening, while I was fixing a layout on the homepage, I heard Becca in the kitchen clanging pots.

I looked up. She was making dinner.

I smiled quietly.

She peeked her head in and raised her brows. “Still working on your project?”

“Yeah,” I said, stretching my arms. “Almost done with the homepage redesign. I think they’ll love it....i hope.”

She grinned. “They better. You've been glued to that laptop like it’s your man.”

I laughed, for real this time. “It’s the only thing giving me attention lately.”

Becca rolled her eyes playfully and turned back into the kitchen. “Well, this man made you pasta with creamy garlic sauce and grilled shrimp, so shut that laptop and come eat. It's your fav”

I hesitated, glancing at the clock. “I still need to tweak the—”

“Sierra.” Her voice was firm, sisterly. “Eat.”

I sighed and shut the lid. “Okay, okay. I’m coming. Sorry, mum.”

I joined her at the dining table. She poured us some lemon water, and we dug into the food. It smelled like peace. Warm, buttery peace. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until the first bite hit.

Becca watched me for a second, then smiled softly. “I’m proud of you.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I said I’m proud of you,” she repeated. You’ve come a long way. I remember when you came here, Sierra… broken, scared, barely speaking. And now look at you. Designing for a major company? Chasing your life again? It’s beautiful to watch.”

My throat tightened.

“I’m trying,” I whispered "Some days I still feel stuck. But I’m trying.”

“I know you are,” Becca said, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “You’re doing more than trying. You’re healing. You’re fighting. And you’re letting go of that darkness little by little. That’s what matters.”

The room went quiet. Just the soft hum of the fridge and the clink of our forks.

“I never thought I’d make it out,” I admitted.

“But you did,” she said, her voice soft. “You’re not just surviving anymore, Sierra. You’re living.”

I looked down at my plate, then back up at her. Tears burned my eyes but I didn’t let them fall.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” she replied, smiling.

I nodded, my heart a little light

The day finally came.

I stared at the flash drive in my hand like it held my whole future. Because honestly? It kind of did. This project… it wasn’t just another job. It was my comeback. My name. My worth. Everything I had left in me.

I had printed a physical copy too, for presentation purposes, just in case. I couldn’t afford to mess this up. My hands were already sweaty before I even left the apartment.

Becca fussed over my outfit like I was going on a red carpet. “Your blazer’s straight. Your skirt’s not wrinkled. You smell good. Your edges are laid. Girl, you got this.”

I laughed nervously, tugging at my sleeve. “What if he hates it?”

Becca gave me that look again. “Then he has no taste. But he won’t. You put your whole heart into that thing.”

I just nodded and grabbed my bag.

The drive to the company was weirdly quiet. I watched the city pass me by, people walking like they had it all figured out. Meanwhile, my heart was thumping so loud, I swore the driver could hear it.

When I got to the building, the receptionist smiled and made a call. “Mr. Anderson is expecting you.”

Oh God. My knees went jelly for a second.

They told me to go up. I took the elevator to the twelfth floor, trying to steady my breath. My reflection in the mirror-like doors looked calm, but inside? I was shaking.

When I stepped into his office, he looked up from his laptop.

Tall. Calm. Cool as ever.

“Sierra Morgan,” he said, with that neutral, unreadable expression. “Have a seat.”

I swallowed and nodded. “Thank you.”

I handed him the flash drive and printed mockup. He plugged it in, and I watched him scroll through the homepage. Then the inner pages. Then the mobile view. He was quiet. Too quiet.

My palms were sweating again.

“I know it’s not perfect,” I blurted, “but I tried to make it modern and user-friendly. And I adjusted the layout to flow better with the company’s color branding—”

“It’s clean,” he cut in. His voice was calm, but there was something behind it. “It’s really clean. Minimal. Strong UI. You knew what you were doing.”

My heart skipped. “You like it?”

He looked right at me, finally smiling just a little. “I don’t like it. I love it. You nailed the brief.”

Boom.

Just like that. Everything just… clicked.

He stood and reached for a folder on his desk. “I’ll have legal draft the final agreement and sign you in officially as our designer for the next quarter. Payment begins immediately, and if you continue like this, we’ll be talking long-term.”

I couldn’t speak for a second. My throat got tight.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you so much.”

He nodded. “No, thank you. You’ve got talent. And I’m glad I listened to my friend.”

When I walked out of that building, the sky felt bluer.

I did it.

I freaking did it.

And it wasn’t just the contract.

It was me—Sierra Morgan—finally standing on my own two feet.