A Desk Facing the Exit

On her first day as a freelance translator, Nadia placed her desk beside the window. After twelve years in an office, she wanted daylight rather than a manager's door in front of her. She bought expensive coffee and promised herself that nobody would ever again measure her commitment by the hour she arrived at work.

Within a month, she was answering messages during dinner. Clients lived in different time zones, and each request sounded reasonable on its own. Whenever she considered refusing one, she remembered how proudly she had announced her independence. Admitting that she felt trapped seemed almost like asking her former employer to welcome her back with a knowing smile.

One afternoon, a client requested a revision by midnight. Nadia began typing an apology for being unavailable, then deleted it. She offered delivery the following afternoon instead. The client agreed within minutes. Far from celebrating, she felt embarrassed by all the evenings she had surrendered without discovering whether they had actually been required by anyone but herself.

She moved the desk again that weekend, this time so it faced the flat's entrance. The view was less attractive, but it reminded her that she could leave. On Monday, she missed a message while buying tomatoes. When she returned, the message was still waiting, perfectly capable of surviving twenty minutes without her. She put the tomatoes away before answering it.