I remember feeling it, that sort of prickle under my skin, the first time she really laid into me about a font choice. Not just ‘I don’t like this,’ but this whole… dissection, really, of why it was wrong, how it didn’t ‘speak to the brand’s core essence,’ whatever that even means. I just remember looking at the screen, at the clean lines of Futura, and thinking, *it’s just a damn font*. But then, I guess, that was the thing with her, wasn't it? Everything was monumental, a test of your worth, kind of. I’d spend hours on a single layout, maybe skip lunch, just trying to anticipate the exact shade of green she’d prefer or the exact placement of a call-out box, knowing that if it was even a hair off, the whole thing would be torn apart. And I needed this job, you know? Paycheck to paycheck is a real thing, and rent doesn’t care about your creative spirit. So I just sort of… shrunk, I guess. Got really good at making myself invisible, at not having opinions, at just trying to do exactly what she wanted. Then yesterday, it happened. The email, short and to the point, about her ‘exciting new opportunity’ with that rival firm across the city. It was sudden, really. No big farewells, just a quick announcement from HR. And I didn't feel relief, not at first. It was more like this strange lightness, like when you’ve been carrying a really heavy box for a long time, maybe your whole adult life, and someone just takes it from you without a word. And you’re just… standing there, arms still bent in the shape of the box, not quite sure what to do with yourself. Like a ghost limb, maybe. The memory of the weight still there, but the actual burden gone. I stayed late, just me in the office, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I opened up a new document and just started playing. No brief, no client feedback loop, just… pushing pixels around, trying different colors, wild layouts, things she would have absolutely ripped to shreds. And I found myself laughing, actually laughing out loud, at some of the ridiculous things I was making. It was a weird sound, I guess, after months of silence and hushed conversations. And then I felt it, this sudden, sharp burst of anger. Not at her, maybe, not really, but at myself. For letting myself become so small. For letting that weight become so familiar I almost forgot what it felt like to not be carrying it. And I don’t know what comes next, or if I’ll ever truly shake off that feeling of being watched, of having to justify every single decision. But the air… it feels different now. Thinner, maybe. Or just easier to breathe.