I. Homecoming

“Victor, I’m back! I grabbed your favorite cinnamon buns for tea—want some?”

Lauren’s voice floated into the apartment before she did—bright, hopeful, almost singing. The sound of grocery bags rustled in the hallway, then the soft shuffle of her shoes. She stepped into the living room, still smiling from the crisp autumn air outside.

Victor sat on the couch, motionless, eyes fixed on the dark TV screen as if watching something invisible. He didn’t even turn his head. Just grunted—a dull, hollow sound that carried no warmth.

Lauren didn’t notice. Her thoughts were elsewhere—in the world of projects, color palettes, and tight deadlines. Today she was supposed to deliver the first part of a major commission for an overseas client. For days, she’d been dreaming of finally working on her new, perfect machine.

Her anniversary gift. The silver laptop.

She dropped her bag on the chair. “Let me wash my hands and get started,” she said cheerfully. “Two hours and I’m all yours. Then we’ll have tea with the buns and a movie, deal?”

The apartment smelled faintly of cinnamon and detergent. A calm evening. A routine one—until she turned toward her desk.

II. The Missing Machine

Her little creative corner stood in the far corner of the living room: large monitor, tablet, sketchbooks, everything in its place.

Everything—except the laptop.

Lauren froze mid-step. Her heart stumbled, then clenched tight. The desk looked stripped bare—only a faint rectangular shadow remained on the surface, the outline of where it had once rested. A coiled power cord lay beside it like a severed vein.

“Victor?” she called softly at first. “Where’s the laptop? Did you move it?”

He flinched, turning his head slowly. That look—guilty, hesitant, like a boy caught breaking something he couldn’t replace—spread across his face.

“Uh… I thought you’d be home later,” he muttered, eyes darting anywhere but hers.

Her pulse drummed in her ears. “I’m not asking when I got home,” she said, voice tightening. “I’m asking where my laptop is.”

Victor rubbed his hands together, his shoulders hunched. “It’s fine! It’s safe. Don’t worry. It’s just that… Nicole stopped by.”

At the name, Lauren’s stomach sank. Nicole—his sister. The walking hurricane whose every visit ended in something broken or missing.

“And?”

“Well… her boyfriend, Sean, his computer died. Total crash. He needed to play—some tournament thing—and he was devastated…”

Lauren blinked, uncomprehending. Her mind refused to arrange those words into any rational sentence.

“And?” she repeated.

Victor swallowed. “So… I lent her your laptop. Just for a few days! Until his is fixed! You know, family helps family.”

The silence that followed was bottomless.

Lauren stood still, not breathing. The words slid into her ears like shards of glass. She looked at the empty desk again. Every project, every file, her months of work—gone. Sent off so some twenty-year-old boy could play video games.

Then her body reacted. “That was my anniversary gift!” she shouted, her voice rising with every syllable. “Mine! I waited for months for that machine—because I work on it! And you just gave it away because your sister’s boyfriend needed something to play on?!”

Victor cringed, raising his hands defensively. “Lauren, stop! You’re overreacting! It’s just for a couple of days. Why make such a fuss over a piece of hardware?”

III. The Switch

The phrase landed like gasoline on open flame. The fury evaporated from Lauren’s face. What replaced it was worse—a terrifying calm.

She straightened slowly, her voice level and cold.

“‘A piece of hardware’?” she echoed, each word a blade. “You just called my work—my clients, our income—a piece of hardware?”

She stepped closer. “That laptop holds files for a project due tomorrow morning. It has software licenses worth more than your entire closet. And you lent it out like a child’s toy shovel.”

Then she turned. Walked across the room to his sacred space.

The black console gleamed on its shelf, its blue indicator light pulsing like a heartbeat. His pride, his only accomplishment after six months of unemployment.

“Oh, I get it now,” Lauren said softly. “Family first, right?”

Victor’s breath caught as she bent down and unplugged the cables—one by one, deliberately, almost gracefully. Power. HDMI. Controller dock.

“Lauren, don’t touch that!” he cried, panic rising.

She lifted the console, heavy and silent, and held it out to him. “Here. Your family needs a laptop. I need mine back. You don’t have a job, you don’t have savings—but you do have this.”

He stared, frozen.

“You take this,” she continued, calm as ice. “Take your passport. Go to the nearest pawnshop. I don’t care what they give you. I don’t care if you buy it back later. You have two hours to bring me enough for the same laptop. If you’re not back by then, don’t come back at all. Move in with your sister and her gamer boyfriend. The three of you can play together on my computer.”

IV. Countdown

Victor stood clutching the console to his chest, as if it could protect him from the force of her gaze.

She sat down in her chair, turned toward him, and said nothing. The air between them thickened. There was no clock ticking on the wall—only the soundless timer inside her, counting down every second of his humiliation.

He shuffled into the kitchen, the console thudding onto the counter. His fingers trembled as he dialed his sister.

“Nicole, this is bad—really bad,” he whispered. “Lauren found out. She’s furious. She made me pawn my console unless I bring back the laptop in two hours!”

A pause, filled with digital gunfire on the other end.

“Oh, come on,” Nicole said finally, her voice sharp with annoyance. “You’re scared? Of her? You’re a man, Victor. Put your foot down. Tell her family comes first. Why are you letting her boss you around over a gadget?”

He stammered. “Nicole, please, she’s serious. Just return it now, and it’s over—”

“No,” she cut in. “Sean’s in the middle of a tournament. He can’t stop now. Let me talk to her. I’ll handle it.”

Before Victor could stop her, the call ended. Seconds later, Lauren’s phone buzzed on the desk. She glanced at the name—Nicole—and smiled without warmth.

She answered on speaker.

“Hi, Lauren!” Nicole’s voice chirped, too bright. “Listen, your husband’s losing it over nothing. What’s this drama about the laptop?”

Lauren’s face didn’t move. “The ‘nothing’ you’re talking about,” she said, voice like glass, “is worth fifteen hundred dollars and contains three months of work. Your brother stole it. He has ninety minutes left to replace it.”

“Stole? He just helped his sister!” Nicole snapped. “We’re family! You could show some understanding. Sean will finish soon—we’ll bring it back tomorrow!”

Lauren let her talk herself empty, then said quietly, “First— I don’t sit at home; I work from home. Second— your boyfriend’s fun cost me my livelihood. And third, Nicole…”

Her voice lowered to an icy whisper.

“You just proved my husband isn’t only an idiot. He’s part of a system of idiots who believe everyone owes them. The clock’s still ticking.”

She hung up.

“An hour and a half,” she said without looking at Victor.

V. The Deadline

The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator. Lauren sat perfectly still, watching the door, not hoping, not fearing—just waiting for proof. Proof of who he truly was.

At the one-hundred-and-fifteenth minute, the lock finally clicked.

Victor entered, pale, trembling. Behind him stood Nicole, arms crossed, righteous fury etched into her face.

Victor held out a crumpled wad of cash. “I brought it,” he said weakly. “It’s not the full amount—they said it’s scratched—but I’ll pay the rest. I swear.”

Lauren rose slowly.

Nicole burst forward. “He humiliated himself for you! Pawned his things! And you’re still not satisfied?”

Lauren didn’t answer. Her eyes shifted from Victor to his sister—then to the small pile of money in his hand.

“How much?”

“Seven hundred and twenty,” he muttered.

She nodded once. Took the money. Set it on her empty desk. Then disappeared into the bedroom.

VI. The Box

When she returned, she carried an old cardboard box. Without a word, she walked to the TV stand, placed the console and controllers inside, then added his stack of game discs.

Victor’s voice cracked. “What are you doing?”

“I’m solving the problem,” she said simply. “You wanted to help your family. Well, now I am. Your family is her.” She nodded toward Nicole. “Your world fits neatly in this box—your games, your escapes, your excuses.”

She closed the lid and pushed it toward his feet.

“This money,” she lifted the cash, “isn’t enough for a laptop. But it’ll cover your first month’s rent somewhere closer to your mother. So she can keep cleaning up after you. Consider it severance.”

She looked him straight in the eyes. “You have ten minutes to take your things and leave. After that, everything that’s left here goes to the dumpster.”

Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. The silence around her did all the shouting.

Victor stood frozen. Nicole opened her mouth, but no sound came. She saw it—the finality. Lauren hadn’t lost her temper. She had ended something. Surgically. Completely.

Lauren turned away, sat back down at her desk, and opened the old computer she’d kept as backup. The screen flickered to life. She didn’t watch them leave, but she heard the shuffle of feet, the scrape of cardboard, the closing door.

And then—only the soft hum of the machine, steady and alive.

VII. Aftermath

Hours later, the apartment was quiet again. The air smelled faintly of dust and burnt-out emotions.

Lauren worked late into the night, her fingers steady over the keyboard. The old computer lagged, but it responded—faithfully, obediently.

Outside, the city lights blinked like distant stars. She leaned back and exhaled slowly.

No tears. No triumph. Just a clean, balanced silence.

She had lost a laptop, a husband, and a few illusions.

But what she’d gained was something no pawnshop could price: the certainty that she no longer lived among people who mistook her for less than she was.

End.