Chapter 4: Resignation and Release
It felt like a punch to the gut.
When Emily first joined, she casually asked about my mortgage, 401(k) contributions, and so on. I thought she wanted to buy a house and was seeking advice. Turns out she was prying for information, using the 401(k) to estimate my salary. And I treated her as one of my own.
All this time, I’ve been guiding her wholeheartedly, but behind my back, she was mocking me. I was so angry I went cold.
I opened the copy I’d been editing for Emily and undid one of my revisions. When she returned, I sent her the document. "Emily, I did a rough pass on your copy. Give it another look. This trending topic you picked is good—get it up while it’s still hot; it could go viral."
She was overjoyed. "Really? Jason, thank you so much!"
Emily has been here three months and hasn’t produced any real results. She’s desperate to land a viral hit like I did. I smiled and said nothing.
Then I wrote my resignation letter and sent it to David Thompson and Rachel Parker. Next, I deleted the nearly finished proposal on my computer: "A New Strategy for Differentiating Short-Form Video Content." I’d spent two months of my own time, sacrificing sleep and weekends, to research and organize this. Originally, I wanted to help the company solve its creative drought and copycat sameness. Now it seems I was just being sentimental. Didn’t David Thompson say newcomers are smart? Let the newcomers solve his problems, then.
When I finished, I checked the time: 5:47. I packed up decisively, just in time to leave at six. This was probably my first time leaving work on time in six years.
As a final act of rebellion, I peeled my company badge off my lanyard and dropped it in the office trash. Then, just for fun, I scribbled a sticky note and slapped it on my monitor: "Guess the old-timer wasn't so dumb after all."
Linda from sales, who’s close to me, was surprised to see me leaving. “Hey Jason, what’s up? Leaving so early today?”
I replied softly, “Linda, I’ve already resigned. I won’t be coming tomorrow.”
For a second, I caught my own reflection in the elevator doors—rumpled shirt, tired eyes, a weight lifting off my shoulders. Six years of missed dinners and skipped weekends, gone in a flash. Walking into the parking garage, I actually felt my chest loosen for the first time in months. The evening air was sharp and real. My phone buzzed, but I let it go. This moment was mine.










