1. The Morning After

A piercing beep shattered the silence, dragging Ruby from the depths of sleep. She groaned, rolling onto her side and fumbling for the phone buried beneath the covers. Squinting against the brightness of the screen, she focused on the numbers.

11:03 a.m.

A sharp contrast to the usual 6:30 a.m. that had dictated her life for years.

The young woman in bed blinked, barely comprehending the time at first. Then, realization settled in like a slow, creeping tide. She had nowhere to be. No emails waiting. No mind-numbing morning meetings. No Douglas.

A slow, lazy smile spread across her face.

She stretched out, limbs sprawling across the mattress, enjoying the weight of the blankets and the quiet hum of the world outside. The blinds were still drawn, casting soft shadows across the small bedroom, and for once, she didn't feel the urgency to throw them open and start a day that wasn't hers to begin with.

It was the first time in years she had woken up without an alarm dictating her life.

Still holding the phone, she let her head sink deeper into the pillow and scrolled through the notifications. A couple of missed texts from her sister, another from Leah, a reminder about a bill due next week. She ignored them all for now, tossing the device onto the bedside table.

Last night felt like a blur. After walking through the city in a daze, she had made it home, still vibrating with adrenaline, her thoughts bouncing between exhilaration and disbelief. She had quit. Just like that. No plan, no safety net, no carefully laid-out next step.

And instead of spiraling, she had celebrated in the only way she knew how: by doing nothing productive.

For the first time since high school, she had stayed up until the early hours of the morning, sprawled across her couch with a plate of pasta in one hand and the remote in the other.

One episode turned into three, then into a full season. She had watched anything and everything: crime dramas, cheesy romantic comedies, even some ridiculous reality show that she would have judged before but now found stupidly entertaining. At some point, she had shifted positions, curling up under a blanket, half-listening to the dialogue on screen while scrolling through mindless articles on her phone.

When the clock had hit 5:00 a.m., she hadn't even panicked. There had been no "oh god, I need to wake up in an hour, no this is going to ruin me tomorrow". Just a quiet acknowledgment that she was free.

And now, lying in bed at 11 in the morning, she realized just how much of her life had been built on a routine she never even liked.

Her past self had been so disciplined. So painfully predictable. Wake up at dawn, drink a quick cup of coffee, sit in traffic, get to the office, suffer through the hours, come home, eat something simple, maybe watch an episode of a show before bed, but only one, because she needed sleep. She had lived for the weekends, but even those had become extensions of her work life, spent recovering from the exhaustion of the week or catching up on errands she never had time for.

She hadn't been living. She had been surviving.

Rolling onto her back, the redhead let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling. She was free now. No more Douglas. No more spreadsheets that meant nothing. No more feeling like a cog in a machine, slowly grinding down until there was nothing left of herself.

And yet…

The thought crept in before she could stop it.

How long could this last?

She sat up, rubbing her face, trying to push away the creeping sensation settling in her stomach.

She had no income. No backup job waiting for her. No steady paycheck dropping into her account every month.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where a sliver of daylight peeked through the blinds, casting warm streaks across the floor. It felt too bright, too careless, mocking her for enjoying this moment of peace when she knew reality was about to hit her like a freight train.

Her rent was due in few weeks. Her bills weren't going to magically disappear. Freedom felt incredible, but freedom didn't pay for electricity or groceries.

Pushing the blankets aside, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, letting her feet sink into the carpet. The air felt cooler now, the weight of her responsibilities pressing against her chest.

What the hell was she going to do? She stood and padded toward the kitchen, her mind racing. The apartment was quiet, too quiet, and for the first time, she realized how empty it felt during the day. Normally, she was out the door before sunrise and didn't come back until evening. She had never actually existed in this space in the middle of the morning, never stood in front of the fridge at 11:15 a.m. trying to figure out if she even wanted breakfast or lunch.

Pulling open the door, she grabbed a carton of orange juice and drank straight from it, not bothering with a glass. Another small rebellion. Another small act of reclaiming herself.

She could do this. People figured it out all the time. She wasn't the first person to quit a job without a backup plan.

Setting the juice down, she leaned against the counter and exhaled, staring at the sticky note stuck to the fridge. A list of expenses, neatly written in her own handwriting: Rent. Electricity. Internet. Credit card. Groceries.

She stared at the words like they might change, like maybe, if she looked long enough, the numbers would shrink or disappear. But they didn't.

She had savings, but not enough to coast for long. Maybe a month, if she was careful. Two, if she lived off instant ramen and never left the apartment. But eventually, that account would drain, and she'd be right back where she started: trapped, desperate, needing a job just to get by.

That thought made her stomach twist. She had fought too hard for this moment, for the chance to breathe, to feel alive again. She couldn't just go back to another office job, couldn't let herself be swallowed by another cycle of exhaustion and frustration. She needed something different. Something that wouldn't make her feel like she was slowly fading away.

Her phone buzzed again, pulling her from her thoughts. She grabbed it off the counter, expecting another message from Natalie or Leah.

But this time, it wasn't a text. It was a bank notification. A payment had gone through her internet bill. The number next to her account balance shrank. She swallowed hard. She needed a plan.

Fast.