I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket again. The kind of persistent buzzing that made you wonder if it was going to explode.

I didn’t check it immediately. Not yet. I wanted a few stolen seconds—just me, the soft hum of the elevator, and the dizzying thrill of finally walking away.

The doors slid shut with a whisper, and I pressed the button for the ground floor. Every floor that ticked by felt lighter than the last, like gravity itself had loosened its grip.

By the time I stepped into the lobby, the cool air from outside hit my face like a shock. Crisp, clean, freeing. I finally looked at the phone. Four missed calls. All from Hal.

Each one made me smile in a quiet, ironic way. The universe seemed to be sending little confetti bursts of validation. I had left. And now he was noticing.

I walked to the coffee shop down the street, letting my senses drink in the city around me. The chatter, the aroma of roasting beans, the soft tapping of a barista’s hand. My phone buzzed again—texts this time.

“Come back. We need to talk.”
“Please.”

I paused, letting my thumb hover over the screen. Part of me wanted to let it go, to vanish completely and let him stew in the consequences. But curiosity… that stubborn, human curiosity… won.

I ordered a latte, took a seat in a quiet corner, and finally called.

The phone rang once. Twice. Then Hal picked up, breathless, desperate.

“Thank God,” he said, voice tight. “I need you back. Now.”

I tilted my head, sipping the latte, letting the moment stretch. “Why?” I asked, letting just a hint of satisfaction creep in. “I thought this was a business, not a hobby. You seemed pretty clear about that.”

He hesitated. I imagined him pacing, fingers running through hair, trying to craft the right words.

“The Norland migration…” he started, voice softening. “It’s not working. We can’t access the client’s data. I… I need you to fix it.”

I let out a quiet laugh, though it was more incredulous than amused. “You mean the system I’ve been holding together on my own? The one I stayed up all night for, while you got all the credit?”

There was silence. Too long.

“Yes,” he finally admitted, grudgingly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“You shouldn’t have fired me in front of the entire office,” I finished for him, calm but sharp. “You’re right. You shouldn’t have.”

Another pause. I could hear him swallowing whatever pride remained.

“If you come back, I’ll make it right,” he said, voice fragile. “Raise, promotion… whatever you want.”

I leaned back in my chair, letting the words wash over me. And still… my answer was already there. I wanted something he could never give: respect. Balance. Freedom from constant scrutiny.

“I appreciate it,” I said finally, steady. “But I think it’s time we both moved on.”

The silence on the other end was loud.

I hung up, and a strange, unfamiliar feeling filled me—peace. Real, unshakable peace. Free. Free to breathe. Free to choose where my efforts mattered.

Outside, the city thrummed along, indifferent and perfect. And for the first time in years, I walked into it feeling in control.

Because I knew that whatever came next… I’d be the one deciding.

And as I took that first long sip of my latte, letting the warmth anchor me, I realized freedom tastes even sweeter than victory.

The future waited, wide and uncharted, and I… I was ready.