The apartment was unbearably quiet. The kind of quiet that made each creak of the floorboards sound like a protest, each drip of the leaky kitchen faucet like a taunt. Ruby sat on the edge of the couch, fingers absently toying with a loose thread on the sleeve of her sweater. The thread unraveled slowly, a thin, curling line of gray that grew longer with every tug.
It had been nearly two months. Nearly sixty days since she had submitted that desperate, impulsive application to the cruise line. Nearly sixty days since she had let herself believe, even for a moment, that this wild, reckless idea could be a real chance to change her life.
Her laptop rested on the coffee table, screen black and dormant. It hadn't been touched in hours. There was no use opening it again. She had checked her email dozens of times today, just like she had yesterday, and the day before that. The inbox remained empty. The same silence stared back at her, echoing the truth she didn't want to admit: no one was reaching out.
The last of her optimism had worn thin. The initial thrill of quitting had crumbled under the weight of her dwindling bank account, the unpaid bills stacked on her kitchen counter, the impossible cost of groceries that now seemed to multiply each week.
Her fingers tightened around the fraying thread, pulling it harder until it snapped.
The redhead glanced at the pile of envelopes scattered across the kitchen counter, their edges bent from being tossed there in a hurry. They had been gathering for weeks, unopened and accusing, reminders of the reality she had tried to ignore. Electricity. Internet. Credit card. Rent. All demanding payments she couldn't make.
Her savings had drained faster than she anticipated. The first month, she had still felt confident, careful but hopeful, convinced that something would come through. But now, the numbers in her account had dwindled to a double-digit balance, barely enough to cover the groceries she bought sparingly, choosing cheap pasta and instant noodles over anything fresh.
For a while, she had thrown herself into job hunting, determined to find something, anything, that would pay the bills and give her a semblance of stability. She had scrolled endlessly through job boards, submitted applications for positions that barely interested her, sent resumes to offices that looked as sterile and soul-sucking as Douglas's.
A handful of responses trickled in at first, most of them polite rejections:
"We've decided to pursue other candidates."
"Unfortunately, we don't believe your experience aligns with our needs."
Others had promised to keep her information on file, a vague, empty reassurance she had learned to stop believing. Some didn't bother to respond at all. The silence was worse than rejection, at least rejection was an answer.
She had tried temp agencies, waiting tables, anything that could bring in cash quickly. Yet every attempt seemed to evaporate before it began. Her frustration curdled into something heavier: self-doubt, regret, the sinking fear that she had made the worst mistake of her life.
It wasn't just the money, either. It was the isolation, the long days spent alone in the apartment, scrolling through social media, watching other people live lives that seemed to be moving forward while hers stood painfully still. Leah tried to check in, offering to meet up, to bring over takeout, but the thought of explaining her stalled-out life again made her stomach twist.
Her phone sat facedown on the coffee table, notifications turned off. The sound of it ringing had begun to fill her with a small, helpless panic, another reminder of bills she couldn't pay or friends she couldn't face.
Dragging herself off the couch, she moved to the kitchen, her eyes falling on the pile of envelopes again. The most recent one sat on top, glaring at her with its bold, red print:
"Final Notice – Rent Due."
Her throat tightened. The rent was due in three days. Three days to come up with an amount she didn't have, an amount she had no way of getting.
Her fingers shook as she flipped the envelope open, pulling out the thin sheet of paper inside. The numbers stared back at her, cold and unyielding. If she didn't pay, eviction wasn't just a possibility, it was a guarantee.
She gripped the edge of the counter, her mind racing. She had been so sure when she left Douglas's office, so sure that there was more out there, that she could find something better, something that didn't suffocate her. But now, faced with the brutal reality of unpaid bills and a rapidly draining bank account, she felt foolish. Irresponsible. Reckless.
Was this what freedom had gotten her? Was this what she had risked everything for, a shrinking bank account, an inbox filled with rejections, a silence that felt like punishment?
Her eyes burned, tears blurring her vision. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles went white, her breaths shaky and uneven. The room seemed to shrink around her, walls pressing closer, suffocating her with the weight of her own choices.
And then, in the silence, a desperate thought pushed through: what if she called Douglas?
The idea was so shameful that it made her stomach twist, but it lingered, stubborn and tempting. What if she called, apologized, begged for her job back? Maybe he'd take her on again. Maybe he'd gloat, remind her of what a foolish mistake she had made, but at least she wouldn't lose her home. At least she wouldn't be here, teetering on the edge of nothing.
Her gaze shifted to the laptop, still sitting on the coffee table, the screen dark and accusing. She couldn't go back. She knew that. She couldn't call Douglas, couldn't sink back into that numbing routine, no matter how desperate she felt.
Her knees trembled, weak with the weight of it all, and she sank slowly onto the floor, the cool tile pressing against her legs. The apartment was silent, the only sound her own unsteady breaths.
Tears slid down her cheeks, hot and bitter. The walls felt like they were closing in, the weight of her decisions pressing harder, suffocating. She had been so certain, so sure that breaking free would lead to something better. But there was no plan, no backup, no clear way forward.
She was drowning.
Her head dropped into her hands, fingers curling into her hair, shoulders trembling. The world outside the apartment felt so far away, too big, too distant, too impossible to reach.
But as she sat there, pressed against the cold tile, the memory of Leah's voice surfaced in her mind, warm, persistent, challenging.
"You deserve more than that."
The words settled in her chest, a fragile anchor. She didn't know what to do, didn't know how to fix this, but she knew she couldn't go back. She couldn't let fear pull her back into a life she had fought so hard to escape.
Eventually, she pushed herself up from the floor, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. The stack of envelopes still sat on the counter, still demanding answers she didn't have. But she couldn't stay trapped here, she had to keep trying, keep searching, keep fighting.
If she didn't, no one else would.