The file hit the wall with a sharp slap, pages splaying mid-air before fluttering to the floor like defeated wings. Celeste Moreau stood in the middle of her apartment—if the cramped, peeling box of concrete deserved that name—breathing hard. Her fingers still trembled from the force of it, and the ache in her knuckles throbbed, but it didn't matter. That damn report wasn't the reason for her headache. Not really.
Her phone buzzed violently on the chipped kitchen counter.
She didn't need to check. She already knew.
She snatched it up anyway. "Hello?"
"Celeste." Her mother's voice, sharp as ever, full of expectation. "I've been calling."
"I've been working." Celeste's voice was clipped, tight. She didn't apologize.
A sigh crackled over the line. "Well, if you had picked up earlier, I wouldn't have to call so much. Anyway, listen—your sister found the most beautiful dress for the graduation banquet. A bit pricey, but she needs to look her best. I told the store to hold it for us. I'll need you to send fifteen hundred by tonight."
Celeste froze. "Fifteen hundred?"
"Yes. It's a designer one—on sale, even. You know how important this is. Everyone from her college will be there. She can't show up in something cheap."
Celeste swallowed back the bitter laugh. She sat on a secondhand chair with a wobble in the leg and stared down at the cracked linoleum under her bare feet. "I don't have fifteen hundred, Mother."
"Don't be ridiculous. You're working in that big company, aren't you?"
"I make enough to scrape by. I'm behind on bills again. I don't even know how I'll pay for groceries this week."
Another sigh. This one louder. "Why are you making excuses? Your sister deserves this. She's worked hard too."
Celeste blinked. Her eyes stung.
"Has she?" she asked softly.
"What's that supposed to mean?" her mother snapped.
Celeste looked at her hands. Callused. Tired. Ink-stained. "Nothing."
"It's always something with you, Celeste. You think you're so noble, so selfless, but you can't even help your family when it matters."
"I help all the time," Celeste muttered. "More than anyone realizes."
"Then do it again. Just this one time."
Just this one time. She'd heard that line too many times to count.
She hung up before her voice cracked. Let the silence fall like ash.
The walls of her apartment crept closer with every heartbeat. She stared at the shattered pieces of her report on the floor, pages still rustling from the impact. It was symbolic, in a cruel sort of way. No matter how hard she worked, it would never be enough. Not for them.
She wrapped her arms around her knees and let herself sit in the thick, choking quiet.
One day, she told herself. One day they'd stop seeing her as a bank account or backup plan.
She would be someone they couldn't ignore.
Even if she had to become someone they didn't recognize.
Celeste's breath came in shallow gasps, her fingers trembling as she wiped at her eyes, which stung with the salt of unshed tears. She hadn't meant for it to come to this. The weight of everything had built up like a tidal wave, threatening to pull her under, but she couldn't let it drown her. Not yet.
She sat there, on the floor, curled up in the corner of her apartment, surrounded by the remnants of her life—discarded files, old textbooks she never used anymore, and a half-empty mug that had long since gone cold. There was no warmth here, only the bitter chill of the reality she had fought so hard to ignore.
Her phone lay face-up on the floor, the screen cracked, but she couldn't bring herself to pick it up again. Not after the call with her mother. Not after hearing the same words she'd heard every day for as long as she could remember. She had to do more. Be more. Why couldn't she just do more?
The anxiety in her chest squeezed tighter, and for a moment, she wondered if she could breathe at all. Her mind spiraled, the thoughts like a storm that refused to settle. The project—the one that she had thrown everything into—had taken so much of her time, so much of her energy, that she hadn't seen what was happening to her. She hadn't noticed when her once-safe job, the one that kept her afloat, slipped away because she was too consumed by ambition.
She hadn't realized that in the quest for more knowledge, for the promise of a better future, she had lost her grip on the present.
And now… now, she was left with nothing.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn't stop the tears from spilling. Her breath hitched, and she gasped for air, but there was none to be had. The suffocating weight in her chest was too much to ignore. She could feel it closing in, the tightness gripping her lungs as if they were being squeezed by an invisible hand. She needed to calm down, but her mind wouldn't let her. It was a relentless tide of panic, pushing and pulling at her, and she was too tired to fight it.
She reached for the water bottle beside her desk and took a swig, but it did little to help. Her mouth was dry, and she felt like she couldn't get enough air. The walls were too close, the space too small. The room felt like it was spinning, and she had to fight the urge to crawl into herself and shut everything out. But there was no escape.
Not anymore.
The sound of her phone buzzing again made her flinch, and her stomach churned at the thought of facing the world outside. Her mother's words still rang in her ears: Just send the money. Please. It's the last thing I'll ever ask of you.
It wasn't just the money that hurt. It was the realization that no matter how much she gave, it was never enough. Not for her family. Not for her mother, who had always made it clear that Celeste was never quite what she expected. Not for her sister, who got everything she ever wanted without having to lift a finger. Not for anyone.
She had done everything right. Graduated with honors. Put in the hours, the sweat, the pain. And for what? To be left in the same place, the same cycle, with nothing to show for it but exhaustion and a hollow ache in her chest. She had been good enough for the company she worked for. She had been good enough for the project she had poured herself into. But it hadn't been enough to keep the only job that had ever given her a sense of stability. And now, here she was—worse than before. Alone. No job. No money. And no one who truly understood.
Her hands shook as she wiped her face again, feeling the slickness of her tears mixed with the cold sweat that clung to her skin. She hated this feeling. Hated the weakness, the helplessness. She wasn't the type to break. She wasn't the type to fall apart.
But in that moment, she couldn't pretend anymore. She couldn't keep up the façade of being strong, being perfect, being everything for everyone else. She had to face the truth: she was tired. She was overwhelmed. And for the first time in a long while, she wasn't sure how to keep going.
Her phone buzzed again.
She ignored it. Then it buzzed again.
And again.
Finally, she picked it up. But she couldn't even bring herself to check the screen. She knew who it was—her mother again. She didn't need to read the message. She could already hear it in her head. "I need this. I need that. What's wrong with you?"
She tossed the phone back onto the couch with a shaky exhale, pressing her palms to her eyes. She couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't keep pretending like everything was fine when it wasn't. She couldn't keep putting on a smile for the world when she was falling apart inside.
I can't do this anymore.
The thought hit her like a wave, crashing over her with an intensity that took her breath away. She had been trying to keep it together for so long, but the pressure of everything—the constant demands, the endless expectations—was too much to bear. It was suffocating. And as much as she hated to admit it, she wasn't sure if she could keep fighting.
She let the tears fall. She let the sobs shake her body, the way they always did when the weight of everything came crashing down. The frustration, the anger, the fear. It all poured out of her in a tidal wave of emotion.
Her whole life had been about pushing through. About working harder, doing more, sacrificing her own happiness to make everyone else happy. But no matter how much she gave, it was never enough. She was never enough.
Her chest tightened again, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. She gasped for air, but it was like there was none to be had. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in on her. She could feel the panic rising in her throat, the overwhelming anxiety clawing its way up from her stomach.
She stumbled to her feet, her vision swimming, her heart pounding in her ears. The room felt like it was spinning, and she pressed a hand to the wall to steady herself. It wasn't enough. It never would be enough.
"Please," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Please, make it stop."
But the world outside didn't stop. It kept moving, kept demanding, kept taking.
And Celeste? She was still just trying to keep up. To survive. To hold onto the pieces of herself that still remained.
Celeste's breath came in jagged bursts as she clutched the fabric of her worn sweater, her hands trembling as though she could hold herself together if she just squeezed hard enough. Her body shook with every sob, every jagged breath. The chaos in her chest felt like it was about to tear her apart, and yet, nothing could stop it.
Please, she thought, her mind frantically begging for some kind of release, some kind of peace. But there was nothing. The world outside her cramped apartment felt like it was slowly suffocating her. The air was thick, too thick, and her lungs burned as she struggled to fill them. Each breath was harder than the last, and her vision began to blur.
She stumbled, the world tilting as her knees gave way beneath her. The cold floor met her skin with a harsh slap, but it didn't even register. She barely felt it as she crumpled against the walls of her tiny apartment. It was as though everything in her body had given up, her mind following soon after. The sounds of the city outside, the distant hum of cars and people, seemed muffled, as if she were sinking into some kind of oblivion. She couldn't keep fighting. She couldn't keep pretending to be okay. Not anymore.
Her breath became more labored, every Inhale shallow and desperate. Her head swam with dizziness, and the sensation of being disconnected from herself grew stronger. The harshness of reality had finally cracked her open, leaving her exposed, raw, and too fragile to hold the pieces of herself together.
The tightness in her chest constricted, the fear seeping in like a poison. The panic, which had been smoldering for so long, now roared through her, crashing violently inside her ribs. She couldn't breathe. Her body was suffocating, and no matter how hard she fought to inhale, there was nothing but an aching void inside her.
It wasn't until the sharpness of the pain in her chest grew unbearable that she realized she had stopped breathing entirely. The world around her blurred, a rush of heat and dizziness overtaking her senses. She could hear her own heartbeat, pounding in her ears, faster, faster… until the world went dark.
The next thing Celeste felt was a soft touch against her skin, a voice calling her name. She blinked rapidly, her mind still foggy, trying to process where she was. Her body felt heavy, like it was made of lead. She tried to move, but everything was stiff, unresponsive.
"Celeste? Can you hear me?" the voice said again. This time, the voice was familiar. A lifeline. It was Maya, her best friend. The one person who had always been there, even when Celeste felt like the world was falling apart.
Celeste struggled to open her eyes, the weight of exhaustion still weighing on her, but finally, she managed to blink up at the ceiling. She could make out the edges of her living room—the mess of papers and textbooks scattered across the floor, the clutter of her life. But Maya's worried face soon came into view, her expression taut with concern.
"What happened?" Maya asked softly, gently cupping Celeste's face with her hand. Her eyes flickered over Celeste's face, taking in the tear stains and the pale complexion. "You scared me half to death, you know that?"
Celeste's lips parted, but she couldn't find the words. Her throat was dry, and her mind felt like it was still wrapped in cotton. She opened her mouth again, but only a strangled sound came out, one that barely resembled speech.
Maya's brow furrowed. "Hey, hey, it's okay," she murmured, pulling Celeste into a sitting position and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I'm here. Just breathe, okay? Try to breathe with me."
Celeste felt like she was drowning, her chest tightening with every failed breath. But Maya didn't let go. She didn't leave her alone. Instead, she guided Celeste's hand to her chest, pressing it there to feel the rise and fall of her breath. Maya's voice was soft, steady, reassuring, but Celeste couldn't find the strength to hold on to it.
Maya continued, "Slowly, just like this. In and out. In and out. You're safe now."
Celeste closed her eyes, focusing on Maya's words. Slowly, hesitantly, she inhaled. The air felt thick, burning in her lungs, but it was better than nothing. She exhaled shakily, the panic still coursing through her veins, but Maya's presence calmed the storm inside her. It didn't take it away, but it made it bearable. Maya was the calm in the chaos, and Celeste clung to that like a lifeline.
They stayed like that for a long moment, Maya rubbing soothing circles on her back, her touch grounding Celeste in the reality that she wasn't alone, not anymore. Slowly, Celeste's heartbeat began to steady, the pulse in her neck slowing, her breathing becoming more even, though the anxiety still lingered just beneath the surface.
"I'm so sorry," Celeste finally whispered, the words slipping from her like a confession she had buried deep inside. Her voice was hoarse, and it trembled with the weight of everything she had kept hidden. "I don't know what's happening to me. I thought I could keep going, keep pushing through, but…"
Maya shook her head, cutting her off. "No, don't apologize. Don't you dare apologize for this." She tightened her hold on Celeste. "You've been carrying so much, all by yourself. No wonder you're falling apart. You need help, Celeste. You need to talk to someone. You can't keep doing this on your own."
Celeste shook her head, even as her chest tightened again. "I can't. I'm… I'm supposed to have it together. I'm supposed to be… I don't know, better than this. But I'm not. I'm failing, Maya."
"You're not failing, Celeste," Maya said, her tone firm, but gentle. "You're human. And you've been pushing yourself way too hard. You've been carrying the weight of everyone else's expectations, and you've had no room left for yourself. That's not your fault. But you need to stop trying to handle it all on your own. I'm here. Let me help."
Celeste pressed her hands to her face, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to break free once again. She had been so sure that she could make it through this—through everything—that she didn't want to admit she needed help. She hated feeling vulnerable, hated feeling weak.
But Maya was right. She couldn't keep pretending anymore. She couldn't keep drowning in her own expectations and everyone else's. She needed to breathe, to let go.
"I'm so tired, Maya," Celeste admitted, her voice breaking. "I don't know how to keep going."
Maya's expression softened as she pulled Celeste into her arms, holding her close. "You don't have to keep going alone, okay? I'm right here with you. And I'm not going anywhere."
Celeste clung to her, letting herself be held, letting herself be cared for the first time in so long.
She wasn't alone anymore. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to feel the weight lift, even if just a little.