My files disappeared from our shared drive after I was promoted. A coworker who wanted my job would say, “Oh!” Again, our new boss forgot!” Set up a hidden system and filmed her erasing my data. After HR fired her, I froze when I learned something unexpected.
Her name was Melina. Sharp and ambitious, always the first to volunteer for team endeavors. Every manager got a smile, while anyone below her got a silent eye-roll. When the promotion opened, we both applied. I didn’t think I’d get it—she had more company experience and contacts.
But I did. I got hired.
I attempted to act professionally despite the awkwardness. I solicited her input, acknowledged her in meetings, and invited her to lunch in my first week. She declined, citing errands. The bizarre stuff started then.
My uploaded files disappeared. Unjustified project notes editing. She nonchalantly mentioned it in group calls: “Not sure what happened to the timeline, but I guess we’ll rebuild it.” Or, “Maybe the promotion came too fast for some.” I laughed at first, but it affected our deadlines. I thought I was going insane.
I created a dummy folder. I encrypted genuine files, put dummy files, and installed access point logging software with video tracking. Two weeks later, it was mine. Grainy but clear enough to see her face. Her late-night login erased three crucial files. My throat was lumpy when I brought it to HR.
She left the next day.
After HR fired her, I froze when I learned something unexpected. I found an envelope in her drawer while clearing out her old workstation to reassign her responsibilities. Instead than hidden, it was buried under budget reports. My name was on it.
I opened. A brief handwritten note was inside:
“If you’re reading this, I’m probably out. I’m sorry. I was terrified and unhappy you got the job. I thought this was my only chance because my brother’s therapies cost more than I make. Thought I deserved more. You did nothing wrong. I wasn’t ready to lose. Look after the team. You outperform me.”
Simply no excuses. Just that.
Sat there for a while. My stomach twisted. My former righteous satisfaction vanished. I didn’t question why she’d do it. I was preoccupied with showing I didn’t deserve her disgrace. Her pain was quiet.
Still, she chose. She ignored me. No help was requested. She betrayed me.
Now what?
I assumed that was it. I kept my head down and moved onward. I gave the crew an anonymous feedback form to maintain morale after her abrupt departure. I tried to do everything right.
I met her three weeks later.
I picked up cold medicines at a 24-hour drugstore around 10 PM. She bought one box of cereal and instant soup at the register. She had little makeup, a disheveled ponytail, and black circles under her eyes. She stopped when she spotted me.
Not knowing what to do. I considered turning around and leaving. The other section… Just said, “Hey.”
She nods. “Hey.”
We paused briefly. While scanning her purchases slowly, the cashier pretended not to sense the stress.
I concluded, “I got your note.”
She looked down. “I doubted you would.”
I nodded, then shouted, “How’s your brother?”
She blinks. That surprised her. “He is stable. We await treatment progression.”
I stopped talking. Only nodded. Taking her luggage, she hesitated and replied, “Thanks for asking.” Then left.
I was awake that night. I kept considering how people suffer silently. We pass each other in offices, coffee shops, and elevators without knowing their struggles. That didn’t excuse her acts. But it made them human.
The next morning, I called HR. How did things go after the firing? They said she wasn’t suing or questioning anything. They never spoke again.
A week later, our team was overwhelmed. One analyst was sick and missed a big client presentation. Data model upgrades were needed, but no one had the time. I texted Melina without knowing why.
I realize it’s odd. If you’re available for freelance work, I need your aid on a tight deadline. Paying from my budget. Stringless.”
Three hours later, she said, “I’ll take it. Only if fair. No mercy.”
She labored. She sent promptly. It was flawless.
I paid her same-day. That may have been it. A clean swap. But something told me there was more to this story.
I gave her more freelancing work over the next few months. She got them. We stayed professional. She spoke more freely slowly.
I received an email from her. Subject: “Coffee?”
Meeting outside a tiny café near the office. She looked refreshed with a blue scarf. After a pause, she replied, “I’m applying to a nonprofit. They aid long-term medical patients’ children. Part admin, part outreach. Pays less. But I think I’ll like it.”
I grinned. “That sounds like your thing.”
A little ashamed, she laughed. “I thought I was only good at fighting my way up a ladder.”
Shaking my head. “Your chaos management is good. Being kind even while angry.”
Looking at me, her eyes were watery. “Thanks. Thanks for sticking with me.”
I shrugged. “You erred. Yet you possessed it. That matters.”
That was two years ago.
At that NGO, she manages her own department. We occasionally talk. She attended my wedding. When I had my first baby, wrote a note. I sometimes forget we fought over spreadsheets and titles in a corporate workplace.
Upon reflection, I realize that my victory promotion was merely the beginning of my challenge. Not in team management. I choose how to react to hurt.
I could have disregarded her note. Could have kept a grudge. I felt that I could learn more by leaning in instead of leaving.
I also learned that you can defend yourself gracefully. Not either/or.
Mistakes happen. Big ones sometimes. Consequences exist. If we allow it, redemption is possible.
If someone has injured you—betrayed your trust or let you down—don’t remove them. Find the story below. Maybe you can open a separate door instead of welcoming them back. It leads to something better.
Because sometimes, giving folks a second chance brings you serenity as well as grace.
Share if this story affected you. You never know who needs to hear grace and justice can coexist. Maybe someone else is waiting for a second opportunity.
If you believe in redemption, like and share.
