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I want flexibility.

I want clients I choose, hours I set, and the kind of balance that doesn’t require me to schedule joy like a boardroom meeting.

I want my own consultancy.

There it is. The truth, clear as glass.

It’s terrifying, sure. Risky. Unpredictable. But the thought of what comes next makes me feel alive instead of just… responsible.

Still… the truth is, I don’t need to figure it all out today.

The work/life balance doesn’t start when I land my first client. It starts now. With the life part.

So, I shuffle into the kitchen to make another bag of popcorn. There are at least four unwatched series calling my name, and frankly, I intend to answer them all.

Just as I’m reaching for the remote to line up the next episode, a shrill ringing shatters the peaceful atmosphere. I groan, tempted to ignore it, but a nagging sense of responsibility propels me off the couch.

Padding across the room, I locate my phone beneath a pile of discarded candy wrappers. The screen flashes with an unfamiliar number with a Maine area code, and I frown, debating whether to answer.

Curiosity wins out. “Hello?” I say tentatively, hoping it’s not another telemarketer trying to sell me on a timeshare.

“Ms. Holmes? This is Jonathan Harcourt,” a gruff voice responds, and my eyes widen in surprise. “From Harcourt Foods.”

“Oh! Um, hello, Mr. Harcourt,” I stammer, caught off guard. My mind races, trying to figure out why he’d be calling me directly. “What can I do for you?”

There’s a brief pause, and I hear him clear his throat. “I was hoping we could meet, to discuss a potential opportunity.”

“Opportunity?” I echo, my curiosity piqued. I absently twirl a strand of hair around my finger, trying to picture what kind of opportunity he could be referring to.

“Yes,” he confirms, his tone businesslike yet not unkind. “I have a proposition I think you might find interesting. Are you available to meet in person, say, tomorrow afternoon?”

I glance around my apartment, taking in the snack debris and my less-than-professional attire. The old Rachel would have jumped at the chance, no questions asked. But something about this unexpected call gives me pause.

Still, I can’t deny the thrill of anticipation that runs through me at the prospect of a new challenge. Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me it’s time to get back in the game.

“Absolutely,” I find myself saying, my voice strong and sure. “Just name the time and place, and I’ll be there.”

As I jot down the details, I feel a renewed sense of purpose coursing through my veins. Whatever this opportunity entails, I’m ready to face it head-on.

Looks like my lazy week just got a whole lot more interesting.

I hang up the phone, my mind reeling with possibilities.Old Man Harcourt wants to meet with me? Why?

Suddenly, the cozy cocoon of my apartment feels… off. All week, I’ve been hiding out, convincing myself that stillness was the same as healing. But standing here, phone still warm in my hand, I feel a jolt of something I haven’t felt in a while—curiosity. Maybe even hope.

I don’t know what Harcourt wants, but whatever it is, it’ssomething. A break in the monotony. A door I hadn’t expected to find swinging open.

I toss the remote aside and rise from the couch, my pulse quickening.

Time to get your shit together.

I stand in the middle of my living room, chip bags crackling beneath my slippers like autumn leaves. The TV drones on, blissfully unaware that I’ve just been offered a lifeline—one that smells faintly of opportunity and stale popcorn.

I gather up the empty snack packages and shove them into the trash with a sigh that’s heavier than I expect. Not because playtime’s over—but because somewhere in the middle of watching other people whip egg whites into stiff peaks, I forgot what it felt like to care about something.

I glance around the room—wrappers, crumbs, the coffee table littered with the depressing buffet of my burnout. It doesn’t look like a woman on vacation. It looks like a woman who quit.

And maybe that’s what this call from Harcourt is: a line thrown into deep water. A reminder that I’m not done. That I don’twantto be done.