Chapter 6

My new place was on the top floor of a six-story residential building in the old part of town.

There was no elevator. The apartment was about 376 square feet, with one bedroom, a living room, and a small kitchen.

It got plenty of sunlight, which poured in through the balcony and filled the whole place.

Claire carried my suitcase upstairs for me, then pointed things out one by one. "The stove is brand-new. I put some eggs and milk in the fridge. The sheets and pillows have all been washed, and there's a fresh towel on the bathroom rack.

"I covered three months' rent for you, and don't even try to fight me on it."

"I'll pay you back," I said.

"Don't worry about paying me back. Just focus on getting through this first," Claire said, her voice dropping. "Don't rush into finding a job. Give yourself a couple of days."

Her phone rang. Her company was urging her to come in.

"I've gotta go. I'll come get you for dinner after work," she said.

Before she left, she gave my shoulder a solid pat. In four years, she was the only person who had ever done that.

The door closed behind her, and it was quiet. Truly quiet.

There was no Margaret yelling from the next room. No health show playing in the background. No occasional sighs from Michael.

Only the faint sound of birds outside and children laughing somewhere in the neighborhood.

I sat on the old couch for a long time, long enough for the sunlight to move from the left side of the living room all the way to the right.

Then I picked up my phone. Michael had sent me two messages.

The first was a missed call. The second was a text. [Joy, we couldn't find a caregiver for Mom today. Can you come back and help out for a day?]

He used my old name. Maybe he was too desperate to think straight, or maybe he'd never bothered to remember what my name actually was.

I was Evelyn, not Joy. But it didn't matter anymore. I didn't reply. I blocked the number instead.

Then I scrolled through the rest of my messages. There were a few from Claire, some spam texts, and one more.

It was from a contact saved as "Rachel." The message had come an hour earlier.

[Evelyn, how have you been? I saw that you recently updated a few more projects on DesignHub. The coffee brand project looked really good. Let me know if you have time to talk.]

I stared at the message.

Four years ago, when I quit my job, Rachel Hayes had been the creative director at Nova Design Studio and my direct supervisor.

When I left, she tried twice to talk me out of it. She told me I had real talent and shouldn't throw it away. I didn't listen.

We'd stayed loosely in touch over the years, exchanging maybe one message each during the holidays.

But not many people knew about the work I'd posted on DesignHub.

For four years, my days had been filled with Margaret's medication, turning her over, cleaning her up, and giving her massages.

At night, after everyone was asleep, I had a few hours to myself, usually from eleven until one or two in the morning.

At first, I couldn't sleep. I'd lie on that four-foot bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to think about anything and unable to let anything go.

Eventually, I'd started opening my laptop and browsing design websites. The more I looked, the more my fingers itched to try something myself. I downloaded some design software and started making a few graphics.

It wasn't for money or anything else. It was simply a little space for me to breathe, squeezed into the cracks of a life crammed with filth and shouting.

Then I started taking it more seriously.

I set up an anonymous account and called myself "Breeze."

I didn't upload a profile picture. My bio simply said, "A designer who works late into the night."

I started uploading my work, like branding, packaging, and poster designs to DesignHub.

At first, hardly anyone saw my work. It took me six months to reach even a hundred followers.

Two years later, brands started reaching out to me through the platform with freelance projects.

I took them. Each project paid anywhere from a thousand dollars to a little over three thousand dollars, and I worked on them late at night or during the hours Margaret napped.

Over four years, I'd completed more than 30 projects on the platform.

I'd saved up some money. It was not a fortune, but more than I'd expected.

More importantly, in the glow of that laptop screen in the early hours of the morning, I'd slowly realized something.

I hadn't wasted away. I could still create. And I could still do it well.

I replied to Rachel. [Rachel, things have changed recently. Are you free for a call today?]

Her reply came almost instantly. [Anytime.]

I hit the call button.

She picked up after two rings. "Evelyn?"

"Rachel, it's been a long time."

"That it has. How have you been?"

"I got divorced. It was finalized today."

There was a brief silence on the other end. "So you're thinking about coming back to work?"

"Yeah."

"That's great." Her voice immediately brightened. "I've been thinking about you for years.

"I told you when you left that it was such a waste. I've been keeping an eye on your work on the platform all these years, and you haven't lost your touch at all."

"I was just messing around," I said.

"What do you mean, messing around?" Rachel said. "That coffee branding project you did last year was fantastic. I actually saved screenshots of the whole thing.

"You're anonymous in the industry, but your work has a huge number of saves on DesignHub. Several other designers have even asked me privately, 'Who is Breeze?'"

I had no idea. I hardly ever looked at the numbers after uploading anything.

"Let me tell you something." Rachel's tone changed. She sounded more serious. "I'm not with Nova Design Studio anymore.

"I moved to a company called Spectrum Creative last year, and I'm the creative director now. It's several times bigger than Nova Design. The founder is Victoria Lane. She's got a really good eye for talent."

"Congratulations," I said.

"Don't congratulate me yet." She paused. "For the past two years, Victoria has been trying to find Breeze to work with. Evelyn, would you be interested in coming in for a chat?"

I gripped my phone a little tighter. "When?"

"As soon as possible. How about tomorrow afternoon?"

"Sure."

After we hung up, I stood by the window. From the sixth floor, I could see the old street outside the neighborhood.

The breakfast stalls were starting to pack up for the morning.

My phone buzzed again. It was an unknown number. I answered.

"Hello, is this Evelyn?" It was a young woman's voice. "I'm Lucy Quinn, one of Emily's coworkers. Emily asked me to tell you—"

I hung up. Whatever she wanted to say, I didn't care.