I remember the first day like it was yesterday. New job. Fresh start. The kind of place I’d been dreaming of, filled with innovative people and challenging projects. I walked in, heart pounding with excitement, ready to make my mark. I felt good. Confident. Finally, I’m where I’m supposed to be.
Then I met her. She wasn’t my direct manager, but a senior colleague, overseeing a lot of the new projects. She had this intimidating air, perfectly tailored clothes, and eyes that seemed to dissect you. Our very first interaction was about a minor presentation slide. “Interesting effort,” she’d said, her voice cool and detached. “But your color palette choice is… uninspired. And frankly,” she paused, her gaze sweeping over my outfit, my hair, “your personal presentation isn’t quite aligned with the brand image we cultivate here. You seem to be trying to disappear.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a dismissal. A cutting judgment. My confidence deflated like a punctured balloon. I felt myself flush, mumbled an apology. From that moment on, she became my tormentor. Every project I touched, every idea I pitched, every outfit I wore, she found a flaw. It wasn’t constructive criticism; it was an active, relentless campaign to chip away at my self-worth. “That shade of lipstick makes you look tired,” she’d remark in front of a group. “Are you sure you want to wear those earrings? They’re… distracting.” Or, my personal favorite, delivered with a thinly veiled sneer, “Perhaps something more… professional. Less you.”
A close-up of a woman | Source: Midjourney
I tried to ignore it. I really did. But her words burrowed under my skin, festering. I started second-guessing everything. I’d spend hours picking out my clothes, trying to anticipate her disapproval, only to be met with another calculated critique. My vibrant spirit dimmed. I started hating going to work. The joy of my dream job was slowly, painstakingly, sucked out of me by this woman who seemed to revel in making me feel small.
I cried to my brother multiple times. He was my rock. “She sounds like a total witch,” he’d say, holding me close. “Don’t let her get to you. You’re brilliant. You’re beautiful. She’s just insecure.” He urged me to stand up for myself, or to consider finding another role. But quitting felt like letting her win. And standing up to her felt like walking into a meat grinder. So I just endured, simmering with a hatred I’d never known I possessed.
Then, he called. My brother. His voice was brimming with happiness. “I have news,” he practically sang. “I’m getting married!”
I gasped, tears of joy springing to my eyes. He’d been seeing someone for a while, but it had all been very low-key. He hadn’t brought her to any family gatherings, citing her busy schedule, her shyness. Finally, I’d get to meet the woman who made my brother so happy! Our parents were ecstatic. An engagement party was quickly planned. A small, intimate dinner with just family. I couldn’t wait. I imagined a warm, loving woman, someone who would fit perfectly into our boisterous, affectionate family. Someone who would bring even more joy into our lives.
An upset woman standing in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
The night of the party, I dressed carefully, trying to look my best, pushing aside the lingering doubt her criticisms had planted in my mind. I wanted to celebrate my brother properly. I arrived a little early to help set up. The doorbell rang. My brother went to open it, a huge grin on his face. He pulled her inside, and I heard him say, “Everyone, this is my fiancée.”
And then she walked into the living room.
My breath hitched. My heart stopped. The world tilted on its axis, colors draining, sounds fading into a dull roar.
NO. IT CAN’T BE.
She stood there, elegant, composed, a polite smile on her lips. A smile that faltered ever so slightly when her eyes met mine.
IT WAS HER. The woman from work. The one who had systematically dismantled my confidence, who had made my dream job a living hell. The woman I hated with every fiber of my being.
My brother, oblivious, beamed. “And this is my sister,” he said, gesturing proudly towards me. Her smile returned, tight now, almost imperceptible. A flicker of something in her eyes. Not surprise. Not shock. Something else. Recognition. And perhaps… triumph?
I managed a strained, “Hi.” My voice sounded alien to my own ears. The room swam. I felt lightheaded, nauseous. This isn’t real. This is a nightmare.
A pensive man wearing a black T-shirt | Source: Midjourney
The dinner was an agonizing blur. Every time she spoke, every time she laughed, it felt like a dagger to my gut. My brother was so happy, so oblivious. She kept her interactions with me minimal, professional even. No cutting remarks, no subtle digs. Just a polite distance, a chilling politeness that was somehow worse than her usual cruelty. She watched me, though. I felt her eyes on me, a silent accusation in their depth.
Later, as the evening wound down and my parents were distracted, I cornered her in the kitchen, my voice a strangled whisper. “What are you doing here?”
She turned, her face expressionless. “I think that’s rather obvious.”
“No!” I hissed, my body trembling with suppressed rage and terror. “Why are you here? Why are you doing this to me? You knew! You knew I was his sister, didn’t you?!“
A long pause. Her gaze was steady, unnervingly calm. Then, a slow nod. “Yes. I did.”
My world shattered. “But… why? Why would you do that to me at work? All those comments, the criticism… It was deliberate. You hated me.”
“I never hated you,” she said, her voice incredibly soft, a stark contrast to the venom I expected. “I needed you to quit. Or at least, I needed you to distance yourself from him.”
The exterior of a resort | Source: Pexels
WHAT?! “Distance myself from my own brother?! What are you talking about?” The confusion was suffocating.
She took a deep breath, her eyes suddenly filled with a profound sadness I hadn’t seen before. “He told me about you. Our first few dates, he talked about his family. His ‘sweet, naive sister’ who always believed the best in everyone. Who was always there for him.” She paused, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond me, as if watching a terrible memory play out. “He loves you. And he uses that love.”
My heart pounded. “What are you talking about?”
“Your brother,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly, “he has a problem. A serious one. He’s been gambling for years. Losing everything. And he’s been borrowing money from you for as long as I’ve known him. He told me about all the times you ‘loaned’ him money for ‘car repairs’ or ’emergencies.’ He said you never asked questions. Never pushed. You just… gave.”
NO. My mind screamed. IT’S A LIE. HE WOULDN’T. My brother, my wonderful, supportive brother… the money he’d asked for over the years, the emergencies, the vague explanations… It all clicked into place with horrifying clarity.
“I saw how much you were enabling him,” she continued, her eyes now burning with a fierce, protective fire. “How you were just another casualty in his web of lies. He’d come home, complain about you at work, how ‘sensitive’ you were, how ‘difficult’ you were becoming. All to justify his actions to himself. I watched him drain you, emotionally and financially, and you didn’t even know it.“
A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney
A tear escaped her eye. “I was trying to make you hate me. To make you leave. So he couldn’t use you anymore. So maybe, just maybe, losing you would be the wake-up call he needed to get help. I knew it was cruel. I hated myself for it. But I couldn’t bear to watch him destroy you too.”
The air left my lungs. My knees buckled. It wasn’t just my perception of her that had shattered. It was my entire world. My family. My brother. The man I loved and trusted unconditionally. He wasn’t just a victim of an addiction; he was my betrayer. And the woman I despised with every fiber of my being? She wasn’t an evil witch. She was a desperate, heartbroken woman, trying to save him, and in doing so, trying to save me from a truth I was too blind to see.
The bitter irony, the crushing weight of it all, was almost unbearable. I hated her for what she did to me. But I hated him, my own brother, infinitely more, for making her feel she had no other choice. For destroying me so completely without ever laying a hand on me.
