I’ve always prided myself on my work ethic. My dedication. The late nights, the early mornings, the way I always said yes to every impossible deadline. I poured my life into that company, into my role. And for years, I felt it in my gut: I was being shortchanged. Not just a little, but significantly. I saw others, especially him, doing less, contributing less in certain areas, yet seemingly living a more comfortable life. It was a gnawing feeling, a constant whisper of injustice that chipped away at my confidence.I’d tried to bring it up, of course. Casual conversations with HR, subtle hints during performance reviews. “I feel like my compensation doesn’t quite reflect my responsibilities,” I’d say, trying to sound professional, not petulant. I’d be met with reassuring nods, promises of “we’ll look into it,” but nothing ever changed.
The raises were meager, barely keeping pace with inflation, while the whispers of his rapid promotions and generous bonuses grew louder in the office. It hurt, deeply. It made me question my value, my skills, everything I thought I knew about fair play.
Then came the announcement. A company-wide salary audit. An external firm was being brought in to ensure equity and fairness across all departments. My heart soared. THIS was it. Finally, someone would see. Someone would acknowledge the discrepancy, the years of quiet resentment. I imagined the apology, the back pay, the validation. I pictured the look on their faces when they realized how much they’d undervalued me. Justice was coming.
A wooden box on a table | Source: Midjourney
I diligently gathered every shred of documentation they asked for: performance reviews, project successes, even old emails detailing my extra efforts. I laid it all out, a meticulous case proving my worth. He, my partner, my love, also worked at the company, just in a different department. He was supportive, or at least, he seemed to be. “It’s about time, love,” he’d said, squeezing my hand, “You deserve so much more.” He’d always been my rock, my sounding board. We talked about our future, our beautiful child, the house we dreamed of. His solidarity meant everything.
The audit dragged on for months. The initial excitement slowly curdled into anxious expectation. HR started acting strangely. My usual contact, Sarah, usually so open, became evasive, her eyes darting away when I mentioned the audit. Colleagues who knew I was a vocal advocate for pay equity started giving me pitying looks. What did they know that I didn’t? My stomach would clench every time I walked past HR, expecting to be called in, ready for my moment of vindication.
A vase of white lilies | Source: Midjourney
Finally, the email arrived. A meeting request from the Head of HR, not Sarah. The subject line: “Audit Results – Your Compensation Review.” My hands shook as I opened it. I took a deep breath. This is it.
The meeting room was cold. The Head of HR sat opposite me, flanked by a grim-faced legal representative. No Sarah. The air was thick with an unspoken tension. He started with the usual corporate preamble, talking about “organizational restructuring” and “benchmarking.” I just wanted him to get to the point.
“We have indeed identified some discrepancies,” he began, pushing a confidential report across the table. My heart pounded. Here it comes. I scanned the numbers, looking for my name, my current salary, the proposed new figure. My eyes found it. And then, I saw his name, right there, under my department, even though he didn’t work in my specific team. And his salary… It was more than double mine. My breath hitched. I knew he made more, but double? And why was his information in my review?
A woman wearing a pink t-shirt | Source: Midjourney
“We understand this is surprising,” the HR Head said, his voice carefully neutral. “While your base salary was indeed below market rate for your experience, the primary discrepancy we identified wasn’t just your direct compensation.”
I looked up, confused. “What… what do you mean?”
He cleared his throat. “The audit revealed a significant, consistent payment made to your partner, him, outside of his standard salary and bonuses. It’s listed under ‘special project compensation,’ but upon closer inspection, it doesn’t align with any known project deliverables or departmental budgets.”
A cold dread began to seep into my bones. “A special payment? For what?” My mind raced. Was he secretly taking on extra work? A side hustle? But why would that be in my audit report?
An envelope on a table | Source: Midjourney
The legal rep leaned forward, his voice low. “This payment originates from an external source, channeled through the company’s accounts, but initiated by… by your parents.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. My parents? WHAT? My head spun. “My parents? That’s… that’s impossible. Why would my parents be paying him? For what?” My voice rose, bordering on a screech.
The HR Head exchanged a glance with the lawyer. He then slid another page across the table. It was a summary. Not of my salary, but of his “special project compensation.” The numbers were staggering. And under “Purpose of Payment,” a few redacted lines, followed by: “Compensation for continued care and support, ongoing maintenance of agreed-upon arrangement.”
A smiling older woman wearing pearls | Source: Midjourney
“AGREED UPON ARRANGEMENT?” I SHOUTED. “WHAT ARRANGEMENT? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!”
The HR Head looked genuinely uncomfortable now. “We tried to get more clarity, but your parents’ legal counsel was quite firm. They stated it was a private family matter, but the payment schedule is clear. It began shortly after… the birth of your child.”
My mind went completely blank. My child. Our child. The light of my life. My everything. My beautiful, bright-eyed baby.
“This payment,” the lawyer continued, “was put in place to ensure a specific outcome. It was a retainer, essentially, paid to him, to… to maintain his role as the father figure.”
A pensive man sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney
NO. NO, this wasn’t happening. My head swam. Father figure? What did that even mean?
“He is,” the HR Head said, his voice barely a whisper, “not the biological father of your child. Your parents arranged this payment with him to ensure he would stay, to raise the child as his own, and to keep the truth from you.”
The room tilted. My vision blurred. The air left my lungs. He. My partner. The man I loved, the man I shared a home, a life, a child with. The man who had comforted me about my salary, who had promised me justice. He wasn’t just getting paid more. He was getting paid to be a fake father. Paid by my own parents. To perpetuate a lie so monstrous, so unfathomable, it shattered every single piece of my reality.
An amused woman sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney
He wasn’t my rock. He was a mercenary. My parents weren’t protecting me. They were orchestrating a deceit that had poisoned my entire existence. My child… my precious, innocent child… HE WASN’T HIS.
A cold, piercing scream tore from my throat. It wasn’t a sound of anger, or sadness, but of pure, unadulterated, soul-destroying betrayal. I pushed back from the table so hard the chair clattered to the floor. The world spun. Everything I believed, everything I cherished, every quiet moment with my family, every loving glance from him, every sweet smile from my child… it was all a lie. A meticulously constructed, obscenely expensive lie. And the truth, the brutal, horrifying truth, wasn’t revealed by a moment of honest confession, or a tearful apology. It was uncovered by a cold, calculating, workplace salary audit.
My life wasn’t just underpaid. It was a fraud. And I had no idea how I would ever breathe again.
