I Quit.

“That’s the last of it…”

Elena said as she packed the last of her designer bags into a box that rivaled the size of her and taped it shut. She rose, wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, and retrieved her phone.

“I’d like to make a donation, 4897 Westwood. Everything will be in the lobby.”

The summary of her entire life was packed up in less than forty-eight hours and would soon be donated to the nearest Goodwill. Everything she sacrificed over the last thirty years would be gone in almost an instant.

She took one last walk through her penthouse at the crown of the New York high-rise. The platform bed still stood laced in perfectly smooth Egyptian cotton – as carefully maintained as the version she showed the world. Each night, she curled into the oversized, cold mattress with her arms wrapped around a much larger than her heated pillow shaped by no one. She remembered a time when she and her sister had once shared a bed for many years. Their parents' apartment was so small that there was little other option.

Pretending it was enough.

Her closet, the size of an average single-family home, once held the clothes of at least three. She could have changed her clothes four times a day every day and never run through her wardrobe. Alligator skin, imported furs, silk, and cashmere to clothe a small nation. She remembered how the girls in her school ridiculed her for the stained Goodwill she wore on the first day of school, the brand-new-to-her Vans on her feet that were half a size too small.

Pretending it made her better.

She strode past her bathroom. Marble counters with an enormous clawfoot tub that gave you the most beautiful view of Manhattan as she soaked in her luxury bubble baths. The drawers and cabinets filled with luxury makeup and skincare. La Prairie, La Mer, Clé de Peau Beauté—anything as long as it was expensive. The mask of forever chemicals she wore filled a gaping hole inside her that she had ignored for so long.

Pretending she was someone else.

Le Creuset, Demeyere, and Hestan filled her kitchen, yet she never cooked. She wasn’t home enough. Many evenings and late nights were spent staring at a computer screen with bloodshot eyes, eating whatever DoorDash delivered that late. She ran her fingers across the virtually brand-new cookware and sighed as dust stuck to her fingertips.

She never envisioned after how hard she worked for everything she owned, she would feel so alone and empty inside. She remembered all the guests that would gather around her parents' table at the humble meal her mother prepared. Hamburger Helper, Riceroni. She could do so much better now, but nobody gathered at her table.

She thought filling her home with expensive, imported art from all across the globe would fill the aching desire in her soul, but all it did was feed her greed.

She was a God-fearing woman once upon a time. As a child, she and her family came to church in their Sunday best, and she watched them pray diligently and give thanks to the Lord for what they had. She watched, confused, as they had so little, and the next meal was uncertain. She often wondered, “Is this the life I am to be thankful for?”

She renounced God, angry at him for the poor life she was expected to be thankful for. She renounced her family for their complacency. She renounced friends and love and vowed only to herself that she would work for a life free of struggle and strife.

For twenty-five years, Elena worked tirelessly; she had the highest marks in school, and she was a phenomenal athlete. She had won the friendship of many of her peers and the attention of many suitors, but she shunned them all because she had only one goal.

She was the first to arrive each and every day at her first job once she graduated from college, and the last to leave. She gave her mind, soul, and even body if it meant achieving what she longed for.

Her voicemail filled with calls from her sister and her parents. She was too busy for them. Too busy creating the life she never had and always wanted. Eventually, they all stopped calling; the only numbers that called her started with the prefix of the company she worked all the way to the top of.

And when she finally had achieved everything she dreamed of, she looked out from the terrace of her high-rise penthouse over the bustling city and exhaled. The weight of her vow that had been weighing on her for almost three decades had accomplished. She turned and looked at everything she owned and everything she had accomplished.

She finally picked up her phone, wanting to share her success with those she had abandoned so long ago, but they had no time for her now. They had friends and family. They had lived for more than just greed. A new weight, a new ache filled Elena, one that maybe she had all along but had pushed aside while she chased her career, her wealth, and possessions. Her banking app opened faster than her contacts. Never once considered that true happiness came not from wealth, or from earthly possessions, but from within, and who we surround ourselves with.

Fear, guilt, and hesitation washed through her as she made for the door of her penthouse. She shakily opened the door and turned to look at everything she had worked for in vain, one last time. With a reassuring breath, she reached for her phone. Her thumbs hovered over the screen. She shakily typed the two words she knew would set her free

As soon as she set the phone down, it started buzzing, but she did not spare it a second glance as she walked out the door. It clicked behind her, and for the first time in almost thirty years, she finally felt free.

And she never looked back.