Julia didn’t hear her alarm at first. She woke up only because her phone buzzed with a new email, and the vibration against the nightstand pulled her out of sleep. She blinked at the screen, the brightness stabbing at her eyes.

7:12 a.m.

She’d meant to be up earlier.

Aaron was already gone. His side of the bed was neatly folded back, the pillow fluffed the way he always left it. The apartment was quiet except for the distant hum of traffic outside. Julia sat up slowly, rubbing her face with both hands. Her head felt heavy, like she hadn’t slept at all.

Her phone buzzed again.

A message from her manager:

**Need your revisions on the Whitman layout ASAP. Client changed direction again. Meeting at 10.**

Julia sighed. She swung her legs out of bed, grabbed a hoodie, and made her way into the kitchen. The coffee pot was empty, washed, and set on the rack. She didn’t know whether Aaron cleaned it out of habit or for her, but either way, the silence around it made the morning feel colder.

She made her own cup, grabbed a granola bar, and sat at the table staring at the phone. Her notifications were already filling the screen—emails, reminders, a missed call from a vendor, an automated message from the project software. She scrolled through them, feeling her nerves twitch under her skin.

She left the apartment fifteen minutes later than planned. Traffic was worse than usual, and every red light felt like a personal insult. By the time she reached the office parking lot, her pulse had already climbed into a familiar, unwelcome rhythm.

Inside, the design firm was buzzing. Phones rang, printers hummed, and her coworkers moved with the particular urgency that came when multiple deadlines collided. Julia threaded through the cubicles and dropped her bag on her chair.

Her manager, Elise, appeared before she even sat down.

“Morning,” Elise said, though her tone didn’t match the word. “Did you get my message?”

“Yes,” Julia answered. “I’m on it.”

“Good. They want something more neutral. Less bold. More approachable. But also unique.” Elise rolled her eyes slightly. “You know. The usual contradictions.”

Julia nodded. “I’ll revise it.”

“Great. Also—your presentation for the Kline project got moved to tomorrow morning, so make sure you tighten up your talking points.”

Julia blinked. “Tomorrow? I thought it was next week.”

“It was,” Elise said. “They bumped it.”

Of course they did.

Elise softened just a little. “I know it’s a lot. But you’re good at this. Just focus on hitting the marks.”

“I will,” Julia said. “Thanks.”

Elise moved on, leaving Julia with a desk full of deadlines and a stomach full of knots.

She opened the Whitman files first. The client’s new notes were vague—phrases like *subtle luxury* and *calming modernity*. Julia stared at the screen, trying to translate the nonsense into concrete design decisions. She revised color palettes, adjusted layout proportions, swapped materials, and reworked lighting concepts.

She checked the clock.

9:32.

Twenty-eight minutes until the meeting.

She worked faster.

By the time she saved the file, her fingers felt stiff, her shoulders tight. She grabbed her laptop and headed to the conference room.

Inside, the Whitman team was already seated. Elise gave her a quick nod. “Julia, walk them through the new version.”

Julia projected the layout onto the screen and started explaining the changes—cleaner lines, softer tones, more balance between contrast and neutrality. Her voice stayed steady, even when the client interrupted three times to nitpick small details.

Halfway through, the client said, “I don’t know… something about it still feels off. Maybe too warm? I want something inviting but not cozy. More elegant but less formal.”

Julia inhaled slowly through her nose.

Inviting but not cozy. Elegant but not formal.

That meant nothing.

But she smiled politely. “Of course. I can explore alternative palettes.”

“Good,” the client said. “And can we get another version by tomorrow morning?”

Julia blinked. “Tomorrow?”

“Is that a problem?”

Elise jumped in. “Not at all. We’ll make it work.”

Julia kept her expression neutral, even as her thoughts twisted. She nodded. “I’ll get it done.”

After the meeting, Julia returned to her desk feeling like someone was pushing a hand between her shoulder blades. She sat down, opened her laptop, and tried to breathe.

Her phone buzzed.

A text from Aaron.

**Hope your morning is okay. Let me know if you want lunch later.**

She stared at the message, unsure how to respond. Lunch sounded nice. But she knew she wouldn’t have time. And she didn’t want to send another short reply that made him feel shut out.

She typed:

**Busy. Maybe later.**

Then deleted it.

She typed again:

**Packed day. I’ll text if I get a break.**

She sent that one.

A moment later, Aaron replied:

**No worries. Hang in there.**

Julia swallowed. It was the kind of message that should have made her feel supported. Instead, it just made her chest tighten again.

She pushed the phone aside and tried to focus.

At noon, Elise appeared again. “We need to talk about the Kline project.”

Julia straightened. “What’s going on?”

“Their budget’s changing. They want a version that cuts costs without looking like it cuts costs. And they want to see three options.”

“Three?” Julia asked. “By tomorrow?”

Elise winced. “I know. I’m sorry. But you’re the one who can actually pull it off.”

Julia stared at the screen, the cursor blinking beside her unfinished notes. “I’ll do what I can.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Elise said.

Julia worked through lunch, through the early afternoon, through a short staff check-in that felt like a blur. By three, her head was pounding. She rubbed her temples, trying to ease the pressure building inside.

She checked her phone again.

No new messages from Aaron. No word from Melissa either, which somehow made everything worse. The house was still hanging like a shadow at the edge of her thoughts.

Around four, Julia finally stood and walked to the break room. She poured water into a paper cup and leaned against the counter, trying to slow her breathing.

Claire’s voice echoed in her head—**Marriage under stress is like building Ikea furniture with someone you love.**  

She almost smiled. Almost.

She took another sip of water.

Her phone buzzed.

For a fraction of a second, she felt relief—maybe Aaron checking in again.

But it wasn’t him.

It was Melissa.

**Still working on that update! So sorry for the delay! Will send soon ❤️**

Julia closed her eyes.

The emoji made something inside her twist.

She typed nothing. She put the phone face down on the counter.

She stayed in the break room another full minute before she returned to her desk. She forced herself back into the Kline layout, adjusting proportions, reorganizing sections, building color palettes.

But everything was harder now. Her thoughts kept drifting to the house, to the plastic sheet flapping in the wind, to the six-to-eight-week delay, to the feeling that they were moving farther and farther from the future she’d imagined.

By the time she packed up to leave, the sky outside had turned dark. Most of her coworkers had already gone home. She shut off her monitor and rubbed her eyes, exhausted in a way that didn’t feel physical.

On her way to the elevator, she checked her phone again.

Aaron had sent one last message an hour earlier.

**Home whenever you’re ready. I made dinner.**

Julia stared at the screen.

She knew he was trying.  

She knew she was tired.  

And she knew both things could be true at the same time without canceling each other out.

She typed:

**Leaving now. Be home soon.**

Then she slipped her phone into her bag, stepped into the elevator, and felt the weight of the day settle on her shoulders like something she’d have to carry a little longer.