Laverne is Free

 Laverne’s world was lit by the cool, relentless glow of her monitor. It was 1:37 AM, and her apartment was silent except for the hum of her computer and the frantic tap-tap-tap of her keyboard. Her to-do list app glowed helpfully on a second screen: Finalize client revisions. Design mockups for new project. Plan brand assets for launch. It was a lot, but it was her lot. Manageable, in theory.

But overlaid on that list, though invisible yet heavier, was another demand. The one written in the worried voice of her mother (“You should come for dinner on Tuesday, your cousin is in town”), the cheerful demands of her friends (“You should join the social club, it’ll be fun!”), the implied expectations from every group chat buzzing with weekend plans she felt obliged to join. Laverne had said “yes” to all of it. Her own project deadlines had consequently been shoved, night by patient night, into these silent, stolen hours.

Her eyes burned. The vector logo on her screen blurred into a meaningless shape. The stress was a tight band around her temples, but its source felt vague. She was behind, yes, but why was she so far behind?

Her phone buzzed on the desk. A message from her sister lit up the screen: Thinking of a beach day this Saturday! You should come. You need the sun! The word “should” seemed to pulse, a tiny, commanding heartbeat.

Something in Laverne snapped, softly. It wasn’t anger, but a sudden, clear wave of exhaustion, not from the work, but from the performance. The performance of being the available daughter, the fun friend, the reliable Laverne, all while trying to be the exceptional designer. She was living by an invisible checklist authored by everyone but herself.

Her fingers, which had been flying across the keyboard, stilled. An act of rebellion, small and seismic. She picked up her phone. She didn’t type a long explanation or a sorry-not-sorry. She simply wrote to her sister: That sounds lovely, but I’m going to take Saturday for myself this week. Have the best time! She sent it before she could dissect the tone.

Then, she opened her family group chat. Mom, I’m going to pass on dinner Tuesday. Need to focus on work this week. Send my love to cousin! Send.

Finally, she looked at her social club reminder. She clicked “Decline.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty; it was spacious. For the first time in weeks, the quiet was hers. It wasn’t just the absence of notifications; it was the absence of a phantom obligation.

She turned back to her screen. The logo was still there, the deadlines still real. But the crushing weight had shifted. The stress hadn’t vanished, but its source had clarified. It wasn’t the work. It was the life she was trying to build around everyone else’s blueprint.

Laverne saved her file, closed her laptop, and turned off her desk light. The room was dark. She stood in the middle of it, just breathing. She didn’t rush to bed. She simply stood, taking up space in the quiet, dark apartment. No explanation needed. No permission required.

Tomorrow, she would work. But she would also, she decided, leave the office at six. She would eat dinner without her phone. She would listen, not to the chorus of shoulds, but to the quiet, persistent voice that had been waiting underneath it all. For now, in the darkness, Laverne was exactly where she was supposed to be. Herself. And it was enough.