CHAPTER THREE

It was Vanessa.

She held a few files on one hand while the other was on the handle of the slightly opened door.

“Fucking bitch”, Charlotte cussed under her breath.Her frustration was at the brim and ready to spill.

*Ohh hi Charlotte “, Vanessa greeted with the sweetest smile.

It was fake. This was something Charlotte didn't need to be told twice.

Charlotte turned away without a word and this time she didn’t look back. She couldn’t. Her pride was already hanging by a thread, and one backward glance would have snapped it clean. She held her breath the entire walk out of his office floor. It was tight, shaky, controlled, like exhaling too early would shatter her completely.

When she reached her new desk, the smaller one tucked awkwardly near the far end of the office, away from the windows and the gentle sunlight she always enjoyed, she finally let her breath go.

It came out uneven. Shaky.

She lowered herself into the chair. Not gracefully. Nor confidently. Just… carefully. Because her knees weren’t as strong as she pretended they were. Her things were still in a small cardboard box from the reshuffle, so she began unpacking them with slow, deliberate movements. Pen holder. Sticky notes. Desk calendar. The tiny fidget toy Jaina bought her last Christmas.

She arranged each item like her world hadn’t been flipped upside down in the last fifteen minutes.

People watched her, pretending not to watch her.

That was the worst part... It wasn’t the whispers, it was the silence. The tight, sneaky kind that followed her like a shadow, heavy with judgment and curiosity.

She could practically feel their thoughts poking at her skin.

Especially Vanessa.

The lady strutted past with a file in hand, her heels clicking against the tiles like she owned the building. She didn’t even bother lowering her voice.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come in today,” she said, pretending to flip through the file. “Brave. Really”, she scoffed and walked off.

A couple of people laughed under their breath.

Charlotte didn’t look up. She didn’t trust herself to not react if she did. She kept sorting her pens, pretending Vanessa’s words rolled right off her. But they didn’t. They struck her sharp and mean, like they were meant to.

Silence became her shield, the only thing she could still hold onto.

She powered on her computer and blinked away the tears threatening to drop. Her throat felt tight. Everything inside her felt scraped raw, like someone had reached into her chest and pulled something important loose.

At some point, a single thought settled heavily inside her.

‘I'm done. I can't take this anymore.’

****

After work, she met up with Jaina at a warm, cozy café along Montgomery Street. The place smelled like fresh pastries and roasted coffee beans. The kind of place that usually made her feel at ease.

Today, nothing could ease her. Her sweaty palms didn't make it any better.

Jaina slid into the booth across from her, took one look at her face, and froze. “Oh my God. What happened? You look like someone unplugged your soul.”

Charlotte let her head fall back against the booth. “I think I want to quit my job.”

Jaina blinked. Twice. “Like… quit quit? Not your usual ‘I hate everyone here’ venting?”

“No,” Charlotte whispered. “Like actually quit.”

Jaina’s expression softened instantly. “Char…”

“I can’t stay there anymore,” Charlotte said quietly, her voice cracking on the last word. “I feel small. Invisible. Miserable. And every day, it gets worse.”

“Then leave.”

Charlotte gave a tiny, humorless laugh. “You know I can’t.”

Jaina exhaled, nodding slowly. “Your mom..” she said, more of a statement than a question.

Charlotte stared at her hands. “Yeah.”

Jaina reached across the table and squeezed her fingers. “It’s okay to feel stuck. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

Charlotte blinked rapidly, trying to stop the pressure building behind her eyes. “I’m so tired, Jaina.”

“I know.” Jaina’s voice softened. “But you’re not alone, okay? Just don’t shut me out.”

They talked for a while,nothing deep, nothing heavy. Just soft, hearty conversatios. Half-laughed jokes. Silly stories. The kind of conversation that didn’t fix anything but made the pain less loud.

When they finally hugged goodbye outside the café, Charlotte held on a little longer than usual.

And Jaina didn’t let go until Charlotte did.

****

The next morning, Charlotte woke before her alarm. The sky outside her window was still faint and grey, like it wasn’t sure whether to commit to being morning. Her pillow felt warm from her restless sleep. Her eyes felt swollen.

She pushed herself upright and reached for her laptop. She stared at the blank document for nearly a minute before typing.

Then the words poured out.

Slow at first, then faster. It felt like releasing something she’d been holding onto for too long. Every sentence felt like peeling away another layer of exhaustion.

When she finished, she sat back and read it again. It was clean,calm and final.

“This is it”, she thought.

She printed the letter, folded it neatly, slipped it into an envelope, and held it against her chest. She breathed in deeply, then out again.

She could do this.

She had to.

At the office, she took the elevator up to Nathan’s floor. Her heartbeat picked up, steady, anxious, almost painful. She walked down the hallway, the envelope trembling faintly in her hand.

She reached for the handle of his door.

And froze.

Not because she was afraid of him.

Not because of pride.

But because reality crashed over her in a single, brutal moment:

Her mother’s latest medical bill. Her savings. Her rent. Her responsibilities.

And the terrifying truth that quitting meant stepping into a void she wasn’t prepared for.

Her fingers loosened around the envelope.

Not today.

She stepped back, shoulders heavy, and turned around.

Walking away felt like breaking her own heart.

She forced herself through work, but the world felt muffled. Like there was cotton in her ears and water over her eyes. She moved on autopilot, answering emails, filing documents, pretending to exist.

When she got home, she didn’t turn on the lights. She dropped her bag gently on the floor and sank onto her bed. Her apartment was quiet; quiet enough for her thoughts to echo.

She opened her laptop and began applying for jobs.

So many jobs.

She didn’t care where. She didn’t care what. She just needed something—anything—that could get her out. The clicking of keys filled the silence. Her résumé was uploaded again and again. Cover letters. Links. Forms. Hope and desperation all together.

By the time she stopped, her eyes were burning. The screen glowed faintly in the dark, reflecting her tired face back at her.

The room felt small.

And she felt even smaller.

Slowly, painfully, she understood the truth she’d been trying not to accept:

She wasn’t free, nor was she choosing to stay.

She was forced to stay. By life, bills, responsibilities, and by the love for someone who needed her.

Her resignation letter peeked from the top of her bag.

She pulled it out gently, holding it up to the light. Her vision blurred slightly, and a tear slipped down her cheek.

Then another.

Her breath broke, her face tightening as the emotions she’d bottled all day finally spilled out. She covered her mouth with her hand, crying quietly; like someone who didn’t want to be heard even by herself.

When the tears slowed, she wiped her cheeks with trembling fingers.

Her room was silent again. But her heart wasn’t.

She looked down at the resignation letter, creased at the edges now, softened by her shaking hands.

She sat up on her bed as a look of realization settled on her face. There was something else that couldn't quite be described.

She let out a small breath, her shoulders sinking under a weight too heavy to let her speak.

Then a sudden knock hit her door.

It wasn't polite. 

It was impatient 

An annoying thud that made her eyes close for a moment.

Charlotte didn’t need to guess. Her landlord had a very recognizable knock. The kind that said, “I’m already annoyed, don’t make it worse.”

Her heart dropped.

'Rent.'

Of course it was about rent.

A dozen thoughts crowded her mind at once 

Did I forget a message? What am I supposed to tell him? I don’t have the money yet. Should I pretend I’m not even here?

Her stomach churned as she stayed perfectly still, like any movement might give her away.

Another knock came, this one shorter but somehow louder, like he’d lost the little patience he had left.

She swallowed hard, fingers fisted into the blanket as she tried to breathe quietly.

This wasn’t a conversation she could have right now.

She didn’t even have the strength to form an excuse.

Then, just as suddenly as it started… the knocking stopped.

Silence spread through the room, the kind that made her more aware of every tiny sound ;her own breathing, the hum of the ceiling fan, the faint echo of footsteps moving away from her door.

She waited. 'Maybe he finally left…'

Then the doorknob made a soft, deliberate twitch.

A small shake.

Like someone testing if maybe… just maybe… it wasn’t locked.

Charlotte froze, breath caught in her throat, watching the knob settle back into place.

And the room went completely still again.