It was 2:00 a.m. in his apartment, with only the computer screen glowing a faint blue. Ethan stared at the blinking cursor in the document titled “Resignation Letter.”
This was the third time this month he’d opened this document.
During the day, he worked as a dispatcher at a logistics company, where the ringing of the phone was like a relentless drumbeat, continuing from morning till night. Customers urging him on, drivers complaining, system crashes, weather delays… Every problem felt like a thin thread tightening around his nerves. He remembered saying “I’m sorry, we’re working on it” forty-seven times over the phone today, his voice as steady as a pre-programmed machine.
But now, late at night when all was quiet, those suppressed emotions slowly began to surface.
He typed a line: “Dear Manager, after careful consideration…”
Then he paused.
He recalled 3:00 p.m. that afternoon, when Lily, the new intern, had emerged from the break room with red-rimmed eyes, clutching a cup of cold coffee. She whispered, “Ethan, am I not cut out for this job?” He handed her a tissue and said, “It’s not that you’re not cut out for it—it’s just that this job isn’t easy to begin with.”
He also recalled last month, when Mark, a longtime employee, suddenly resigned. Before leaving, he patted him on the shoulder and said, “Ethan, don’t push yourself too hard.”
He deleted the line he’d just typed and started over: “I…”
But he deleted it again.
It wasn’t that he was afraid—it was just that he suddenly realized that no matter how beautifully written this letter was, it wouldn’t solve anything. His rent wouldn’t be any lower because of it, his credit card bills wouldn’t magically disappear, and the subway commute tomorrow morning would still be just as crowded. Quitting wasn’t the end; it was just trading one kind of exhaustion for another, unknown kind.
He leaned back in his chair and looked out the window. The city hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet; in the distance, scattered lights glimmered like stars strewn across the sky.
He suddenly remembered that on his way home from work today, as he passed the bakery on the corner, the aroma of freshly baked croissants wafted out onto the sidewalk. He bought one, and when he took a bite, the flaky crust crumbled all over the ground, yet for a moment, he felt an inexplicable sense of peace.
Perhaps that’s just how life is—it isn’t something you can turn the page on with a single letter, but rather something you endure bit by bit through countless moments of “just a little longer.”
In the end, he didn’t send that resignation letter.
Instead, he saved it to his drafts folder and titled it “Maybe Someday.”
Then he shut down his computer and went to the kitchen to heat up a cup of milk for himself.
Outside the window, dawn was breaking.
He knew tomorrow would be exhausting again.
But at least tonight, he allowed himself to get a good night’s sleep first.
