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Quitting
Last Updated:
2025-03-13 23:04:27
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Day one of unemployment, I stayed in bed until two, wrapped in blankets despite the stuffy heat of my apartment. My phone buzzed constantly—mostly Alex, occasionally Olivia. I ignored them all. Even getting up to pee felt like a monumental achievement.Day two, I moved from bed to couch, upgrading from total paralysis to mindless TV binging while my brain looped through increasingly catastrophic scenarios. I'd never work in design again. I'd have to crawl back to Daniel. I'd lose my apartment. Mami Lulu would end up in some state-run hellhole because I couldn't afford her care.By day three, anxiety had burned away, replaced by a hollow, ringing fury. I paced my small apartment like a caged animal, fingers itching to create, to destroy, to do fucking something besides spin in endless circles of panic."You'll find another job," I told my reflection as I finally showered, hot water turning my skin pink. "You have talent. You have experience. You have—"My phone rang again. Alex's numbe
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Despite Olivia's advice, I chose the plain black flats instead of my most intimidating heels. This wasn't about impression or power—it was about dignity and closure. Simple black pants, white blouse, minimal makeup.Thorne Designs looked exactly the same as I approached the building, which felt wrong somehow. My world had imploded, yet the revolving doors still turned, the security desk still buzzed with the same morning energy, the lobby's marble floors still gleamed under soft lighting."Ms. Russo," the receptionist greeted me, surprise evident in her tone. "You're... um... not in the system anymore.""I have a meeting with HR at ten," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady."Oh! Yes, here it is. I'll need to issue a temporary pass." She tapped at her computer, glancing up occasionally as if expecting me to cause another scene.The elevator ride was mercifully empty. I watched the numbers tick upward, breathing deeply to calm the nausea bubbling in my stomach. Tenth floor. HR's d
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I arrived at Bistro Lucien twenty minutes early, a habit ingrained from years with Daniel who considered tardiness a personal insult. The lunch crowd hadn't materialized yet, giving me my pick of tables. I chose one by the window—good lighting, clear view of both entrances, easy exit if needed. Old survival instincts die hard."Just water for now," I told the waiter. "I'm waiting for someone."My fingers drummed nervously on the tablecloth as I checked my phone again. No messages from Sarah canceling. No threats from Daniel. No apologies from Alex. Just the time—11:42—and my racing thoughts.Three days had passed since the surprise meeting at Thorne. Three days of vacillating between excitement about Paris and paralyzing fear that it was all some elaborate trap. Three days of Olivia reassuring me that Lumière Gallery was legitimate, prestigious, and—most importantly—financially independent from Thorne Designs."Their connection is purely familial," she'd said, showing me articles and
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I thought of his face when I'd confronted him about the investigation—not defensive or angry, but genuinely pained at having hurt me. It didn't excuse what he'd done, but it added a dimension I'd been reluctant to acknowledge."Enough about my brother," Sarah declared, clearly sensing my discomfort. "Let's talk Paris. If you accept the showcase offer, you'd come for eight weeks. We'd provide an apartment, studio space, materials budget, and a stipend."My pulse quickened at the concrete details, making the opportunity real in a way it hadn't been before. "And I'd have complete creative control?""Absolutely. Our role is support, not direction. We help with production resources, technical challenges, and of course, publicity and sales." She leaned forward, eyes bright with excitement. "Maya, your work could be in major European collections by spring. We're talking career-changing exposure."I took a deep breath, allowing myself to imagine it. My name, my vision, recognized internationa
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"That's my ex," I said quietly. "The one I told you about."Sarah's expression hardened. "Want me to stay? I'm pretty good at telling men to fuck off."The offer was tempting, but I'd spent too long hiding behind others' protection. "I'll handle it," I said, gathering my purse. "But thanks.""At least take my number," Sarah insisted, scribbling on the back of another business card. "Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything."I tucked the card away, touched by her concern. "I'll be fine. And Sarah? Thank you for lunch. For everything.""We're not done," she assured me with a smile. "I'm in town for a week, and I intend to convince you about Paris before I leave."I stepped out of the car, straightening my shoulders as I prepared to face Daniel. Sarah waited, engine idling, making sure I reached the sidewalk safely before pulling away with a small wave.Daniel spotted me immediately, pushing off from his car with practiced nonchalance. His eyes flickered to Sarah's departing co
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Sarah's business card lay on my kitchen table, mocking me with its elegant simplicity. I'd smoothed out the wrinkles from my earlier breakdown, though the creases remained—permanent reminders of damaged possibilities. My finger traced the embossed lettering as I stared at her number, the phone heavy in my other hand.One call. One fucking call to change the trajectory of my life. All I had to do was say yes.Except I couldn't.The memory of Daniel's video burned behind my eyelids every time I blinked. The way my face had looked on that screen—glassy-eyed, vulnerable, stripped of all defenses. Not just physically naked, but emotionally exposed in a way that made me want to crawl out of my skin.Bali. Our third anniversary. Daniel had surprised me with the trip, playing the devoted husband with such conviction that I'd almost believed we were happy."Just us," he'd whispered on the plane, his fingers tangled possessively in my hair. "No distractions, no work. Just my beautiful wife and
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The empty apartment closed in around me, every surface a reminder of what Daniel had taken. My designs on the wall. My beaded lamp I'd rescued from the break-in. My life, still circumscribed by his influence even after I'd escaped.Fuck this. Fuck him. I wasn't going to just sit here and marinate in self-pity.I grabbed my laptop and settled grimly at the kitchen table. If Paris was off the table, I needed a regular job. Something stable, with a steady paycheck to cover rent and Mami Lulu's care.Four hours and seventeen applications later, I'd received three automated rejections, two "we'll keep your resume on file" responses, and a stunning silence from the rest. Even entry-level positions at second-tier design houses seemed beyond reach—Daniel's influence tainting my prospects with methodical precision.By early afternoon, claustrophobia drove me from the apartment. I needed to see Mami Lulu—the one person in my life untouched by Daniel's machinations, even if she barely remembered
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Alex straightened as I approached, hands shoved deep in his pockets, expression carefully neutral. My steps faltered as our eyes met, but there was nowhere to retreat."Maya," he said, voice low and controlled. "We need to talk.""No, we don't." I moved to step around him, fumbling for my keys. "I have nothing to say to you.""Then just listen." He didn't touch me, didn't block my path, but his presence felt like a physical barrier nonetheless. "Sarah told me you turned down the Paris offer."Of course she had. Because nothing in my life could remain private, could stay my decision alone."And?" I finally found my keys, gripping them tightly enough to leave imprints on my palm."Why?" The single word carried more weight than a paragraph of accusations. "It's everything you've been working toward.""Maybe I changed my mind," I said, voice deliberately flat. "People do that.""Not you. Not about this." His eyes searched my face, seeing too much, understanding too little. "Something happ
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I hung up and stared at the cabin. Warm light, dark outside. Maya moved around in there, her shadow crossing windows. What was she thinking? How much did she hate me right now? I wanted to go to her. Explain everything. Make her understand.I popped the trunk instead. Grabbed my overnight bag. Underneath sat that fucking folder. Twenty years of Maya's life. News clippings, surveillance photos, background checks. All the shit I'd told myself was necessary. Protection. Due diligence.Opened it. Looked different tonight. Not thorough research anymore. Just—stalking. Obsession.Dr. Winters' voice in my head: "Where were you most afraid as a child, Alex?""Not knowing what was coming. When Victoria would be waiting after school, but I wouldn't know what for this time.""So you learned information means safety.""Knowledge is control.""Or just the illusion of it?"I slammed the folder shut. Maya's words echoed: "Everyone in my life has tried to own me." Had I been different? Really? I'd to
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The specific amount hit me like a slap. Ten million. Ten. Million. Dollars. My brain couldn't even process it. That's like... what? How many zeros is that? One, two... Jesus. The vague mention in Eleanor's book hadn't prepared me for that reality. Ten million fucking dollars sitting somewhere with my name on it while I'd been eating ramen three nights a week, calculating if I could pay both rent and Mami Lulu's care or if I needed to sell another piece of jewelry just to keep the lights on."So you've been watching me stumble around piecing things together when you had all the answers? While I was struggling with Daniel, fighting for independence... you knew there was money waiting for me?""I tried to tell you, Maya—""No." I cut him off. "Trying would be saying something. Having a fucking conversation instead of dumping a mysterious envelope in my lap and walking away clean.""That's not fair.""Fair?" I laughed, the sound harsh even to my own ears. "You know what's not fair? Everyo
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"Don't even think about it," he warned. "You're coming with me. We're going to fix this—fix everything you've broken.""I'm not going anywhere with you."He lunged forward, grabbing my arm with bruising force. "You don't get to decide anymore. I'm taking back control."I twisted, trying to break his grip, but his fingers dug deeper into my flesh. "Let go of me!""Or what?" he hissed, dragging me toward the path that led to the driveway. "You'll slap me like you slapped your sister? Make a scene? There's no audience here, Maya."I fought harder, kicking at his shins, trying to wrench my arm free. Something in Daniel snapped. He grabbed both my arms, his fingers digging painfully into my skin as our struggle intensified. We stumbled backwards, him pushing, me pulling, neither of us paying attention to our surroundings until I felt empty air behind my heels.We'd reached the steep drop-off I'd discovered during my first week here. Daniel held me there, at the edge, my feet half on solid
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The next morning, I woke with newfound clarity. My entire life, I'd been running or hiding—first with Mami Lulu in these mountains, then within my marriage to Daniel, then from the truth about my past. I was done with all of it. Whatever came through my door, I'd face it head-on.I made coffee and carried it to the porch, watching dawn break over the trees. The SUV from last night had turned out to be nothing more sinister than the local vet making a house call to a neighbor I didn't even know I had. False alarm. But the adrenaline had been real enough.Instead of hiding inside all day jumping at shadows, I decided to work. Kept my hands busy with the torch, tried some color combinations I'd been thinking about. Work had always been my escape. Glass didn't lie or manipulate. It just did exactly what it was supposed to do when you handled it right.By noon, I needed a break. My back ached from hunching over the torch, and my eyes burned from focusing on tiny details. I decided to gathe
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"It wasn't revenge," I countered instinctively. "She was protecting me.""Was she?" Eleanor asked, voice neutral. "Or was she protecting her legacy through you? The line between protection and possession can be remarkably thin."That struck uncomfortably close to what I'd been wrestling with since finding the journal. Had Mami Lulu loved me for myself, or as a vessel for her stolen techniques? Had she been genuinely maternal, or calculating in a different way than the Kingstons?"Why are you here?" I asked, changing the subject. "What do you want?""I watched you work at the fair." Eleanor set her cup down. "It was like seeing a ghost. Not just the technical execution, which was flawless, but the intention behind it. Lupe's techniques perfectly preserved, down to the way you angle the mandrel during the final turn."I didn't respond. There was nothing to confirm or deny."When I heard someone had bought Lupe's old cabin, I wondered if it might be you. Few people would have reason to w
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A week passed in self-imposed isolation. I'd barely left the cabin since returning from town, the memory of that black SUV creeping through Spring Creek still nagging at me. Could have been anyone—some rich tourist looking for a quaint mountain café, some lost city driver checking addresses. But instinct told me otherwise. Daniel had resources, connections. Just because he hadn't found me yet didn't mean he wasn't looking.I'd turned the place into a glass workshop that would've given safety inspectors a heart attack. Beads piled on every flat surface, tools scattered wherever I'd last dropped them. My latest obsession was taking photos of everything I made—setting pieces against the east window where the light hit best, snapping them from every angle. If someone tried to steal my work again, I'd have dates, images, proof it was mine first. Paranoid? Maybe. But paranoid people sometimes have real enemies.I'd been saving the best shots as Instagram drafts, ready to post when I finally
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A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. One of the staff, not bothering to wait for an answer before entering."Phone call for you, Fiona. Your mother."I followed her to the communal phone, accepting the receiver with a practiced neutral expression."Hello, Mother.""Fiona." Caroline's voice was tight, controlled. "How are you progressing?""Excellently. I'm journaling my feelings and embracing sobriety one day at a time."The sarcasm was thick enough to spread on toast, but Caroline ignored it, as she ignored anything unpleasant that couldn't be fixed with money or public relations."Good. We've arranged for you to stay at The Residence when you're released next week. It's a transitional living facility for people in recovery. Very discreet.""I thought I'd be coming home." I knew the answer even as I said it."That wouldn't be best for your recovery." The practiced line of someone who'd consulted experts for the right way to abandon their child. "Besides, your father and I are
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I hurled the notebook across the room, my carefully maintained composure cracking. The soccer mom—Tracy? Stacy?—jumped in her bed, eyes wide with alarm."Sorry," I muttered. "Bad memory."She nodded with the instant forgiveness of the perpetually frightened and turned back to her recovery romance novel.I closed my eyes, but the memories kept coming. The day my parents brought Maya "home." The press conference, the tearful reunion carefully staged for maximum emotional impact. Me, standing to the side, watching Caroline Kingston touch Maya's face with a reverence she'd never shown me."Look at you," she'd whispered. "You have your grandmother's eyes. We thought we'd never see them again."I'd given interviews, playing the ecstatic sister. I'd shared my room, my clothes, my parents. I'd shown her the family business, introduced her to industry contacts I'd cultivated for years. All while watching Caroline and Robert orbit around her like she was the sun and I was just some distant, dis
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FionaThe white walls of the rehab center wouldn't stop spinning. Thirty days sober and I still couldn't get my balance. The therapist said it would pass, but what the fuck did she know? She hadn't lost everything in one night.I studied my reflection in the bathroom mirror. They'd taken my makeup during the "contraband check," claiming the compact mirror was a "cutting risk." As if I'd slice my wrists with a cheap plastic mirror. If I wanted to die, I'd do it with style. Nothing half-assed for Fiona Kingston.Kingston. I traced the outline of my face, searching for traces of them in my features. Was my nose Robert's? My eyes Caroline's? I'd spent years finding family resemblance where there was none."You're making excellent progress, Fiona." Dr. Levine's voice echoed in my head, that patronizing tone she used when lying to make patients feel better. "These breakthrough revelations about your adoption are painful but necessary for healing."Breakthrough. Like I hadn't known since I w
