I’ve been sitting here for two hours, just…breathing. Really breathing, for the first time in what feels like months, maybe a year. Maybe longer. It’s 2 AM and the only sound is the hum of the fridge, which is fine. More than fine. It’s quiet. So quiet. The kind of quiet that lets you hear yourself think, which is a scary thing sometimes, but right now, it’s just…peaceful. Sarah announced this afternoon that she’s leaving. Joining some rival marketing firm across the city. Just like that. After all the chaos, all the…everything. She gathered us in the conference room, looked at us with that fake smile, said it was a “new opportunity” and she was “excited for the challenge.” And the entire time she was talking, all I could think about was the time she sent back a banner ad design for the FIFTH time, with a sticky note that just said, in her perfect, infuriating script, “Looks cheap. Do it again.” Cheap. Every single day, every day, it was something like that. I remember thinking then, just sitting there in the meeting, how many times I’d almost quit because of her. How many nights I’ve spent staring at the ceiling, replaying some condescending comment, some snide remark about my color choices or my typefaces. “Are you SURE that’s what you want to go with?” she’d say, leaning over my shoulder, so close I could smell her overpriced perfume, watching me work. Like I was some intern, some kid fresh out of art school who couldn’t tell a sans-serif from a slab. I mean, I don’t even— whatever. It was just constant. Constant. And I couldn’t leave. Not with the lease, not with trying to save up for— well. Not with anything. And now she’s gone. Just…gone. The entire department is exhaling, you can practically feel the air shift. People are actually smiling. Genuine smiles, not the strained, polite ones we usually put on. It's like a weight has been lifted, and I didn’t even realize how heavy it was until it was gone. Until I could finally take a full breath without feeling that familiar tightening in my chest. And I’m just…furious. At her, for making it so impossible. At myself, for taking it for so long. For not having the discipline, the backbone, to just walk away. My drill sergeant would have had my head. “You let her push you around, Soldier?” he’d say. “You let yourself get complacent?” I should be happy, I know that. And part of me is, a small, vindictive part that’s celebrating. But mostly, I just feel this immense anger, this frustration that’s been building up inside me for so long that I don’t even know how to release it. It’s like being in a pressure cooker and then someone just turns off the heat without letting the steam out slowly. It’s just…there. And I’m still here, still sitting in this quiet apartment, still feeling the echo of all those tiny cuts, those little digs that chipped away at me, day after day. And now she’s off to her new "challenge" and I’m just…here. Breathing. Finally.