My birthday. It’s always been a quiet affair for me. Not a big deal. Especially not at work. I was still fairly new, navigating the unspoken rules, trying to find my footing in a sea of established friendships and inside jokes. I just wanted to be a part of something. To not feel like an outsider looking in. I’d seen the casual birthday lunches, the shared cakes for others, but I never expected anything for myself. I didn’t even mention it was coming up. What was the point? I was just… there.
The day arrived. I tried to act normal, kept my head down. Then, mid-morning, it happened. The lights flickered. Someone shouted. A small group of them, grinning, wheeled in a little cart. A cake, of course. And a box. A beautifully wrapped box. My heart did a strange flip. They remembered. They actually cared. As they sang, a blush crept up my neck. It was more attention than I’d had in years.
Then I opened the gift. It wasn’t just a gift. It was the gift. A limited-edition, first-pressing vinyl record of an incredibly obscure, deeply personal album that I had mentioned exactly once, years ago, in a long-deleted forum post I thought no one remembered. A piece of music that felt like my soul in audio form, something I’d only ever dreamed of owning. It was impossibly perfect. Tears welled up, blurring the faces of my smiling coworkers. I stammered out thanks, utterly overwhelmed. They saw me. They truly saw me. In that moment, surrounded by their kind smiles and the warmth of the breakroom, I felt more loved and understood than I had in a very long time.
A woman talking on her phone | Source: Pexels
That gift changed everything. It felt like a key, unlocking something in me. All the walls I’d carefully built around myself at work crumbled. If they knew something so intimate about me, if they cared enough to go to such lengths, then surely, I could trust them. My guard dropped entirely. We started going to lunch together, then drinks after work. I shared stories about my upbringing, my family’s struggles, my past heartbreaks, the deep insecurities I carried. They listened, nodding, offering advice, sharing their own vulnerabilities in return. This was it, I thought. My work family. The connection I’d always craved. We laughed. We confided. We became a unit. They knew things about me that my closest friends didn’t, secrets I thought I’d take to my grave. And I felt safe, truly safe, in that shared space.
But after a few months, a tiny, almost imperceptible shift began. A flicker in their eyes. A joke that hung in the air a beat too long, where the punchline felt aimed at something I’d said in confidence. A quick glance exchanged between two of them when I was talking about my ongoing financial struggles. Was it just my paranoia? I’d always been a bit sensitive. I told myself it was nothing. Just office dynamics. But the feeling persisted, a dull ache beneath the surface of our camaraderie. A quiet thought that maybe, just maybe, something wasn’t quite right.
Then came the day. I was heading to the breakroom to grab a coffee, a bit earlier than usual. The door was ajar. I heard voices, familiar voices. Laughter. I pushed the door open, ready to join the conversation, but the laughter died instantly. Two of them were hunched over a phone, which was connected to the large screen in the corner, projecting something. They froze, eyes wide.
And there it was. Blasted across the screen, a group chat I didn’t recognize. Not our group chat. Their group chat. My eyes locked onto a message bubble near the top, dated just days before my birthday. A screenshot was attached. It was that old, obscure forum post of mine, from years ago, where I had rhapsodized about my dream of owning that specific, rare vinyl record. The post I had thought was long gone, buried in the internet’s graveyard.
A woman sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall | Source: Pexels
And below it, the messages in their chat. The words burned into my retinas.
“Operation Newbie Birthday initiated. Let’s make them feel super special.”
“Target: [The exact name of the obscure album]. Saw it on their old forum post. Nailed it.”
“Let’s see how much we can get them to spill with a little ‘kindness’. Bet they tell us about their awful ex by the end of the month.”
“Update: They just told me about their mom’s health issues. Actual tears. It’s working!”
“HAHAHA! They actually think we’re friends. Gullible much?”
My breath hitched. The air left my lungs. The room started to spin. ALL CAPS. NO. NO. THIS ISN’T REAL. THE GIFT. THE FRIENDSHIP. ALL OF IT. My work family. Every shared secret. Every vulnerable confession. Every time I thought they cared. It was all a performance. A cruel, calculated experiment. A game. I was the entertainment. A pawn in their sick little drama. MY HEART STOPS.
The two of them just stared at me, pale, their feigned shock giving way to genuine horror. But it was too late. The damage was done. The truth, ugly and devastating, lay bare. The gift that had made me feel so incredibly seen had actually been the instrument of my deepest humiliation, reducing me to nothing more than a spectacle for their amusement. Every laugh, every sympathetic nod, every shared confidence was a lie. And I had fallen for it, completely. Utterly. My world crumbled.
A smart home security camera | Source: Pexels
