It’s the closest thing to politeness I’ve ever received from him. And yet, reading it, I feel nothing but clarity.
I don’t want to go back.
I don’t want to return to my tiny apartment, where the radiator clanks all night and the neighbor’s cat cries like it’s literally starving to death at precisely 5 AM every morning. I don’t want to go back to fourteen-hour workdays and granola-bar dinners while updating PowerPoints that Marcus will take credit for.
What I want is right here.
Snow and pine trees and small-town bakeries. With a llama who wears scarves and three men who look at me like I’m something precious.
I start typing.
From: Melody Winters
To: Marcus Ashcroft
Subject: Re: Matthews File
Marcus,
The Matthews file projections are in the shared drive under: Projections/Q1/THIS IS THE FINAL VERSION.
I’ve also attached them to this email for convenience.
Additionally, please consider this my formal resignation. I will not be returning after my vacation. I’m happy to help with transition documents remotely, but my last official day will be December 31st.
Thank you for the opportunity to work at Ashcroft Media.
Sincerely,
Melody Winters
My finger hovers over the send button. This is it. The point of no return.
I press send.
Nothing happens.
No lightning strike. No dramatic music. Just a quiet swoosh as my resignation flies through digital space to land in Marcus’s inbox.
But I feel it. A weight lifting. The invisible collar around my neck, loosening for the first time in years.
I’m free.
“Mel?” Finn’s voice is sleep-rough. “You okay?”
I turn to him, his hair sticking up in all directions.
“I just quit my job,” I tell him.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“It felt right.”
“And does it still feel right now that you’ve had thirty seconds to think about it?”
I consider this. “Even more right.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Well then, congratulations are in order.”
