It started innocently enough. A new job. A fresh start in a new department, new challenges, new faces. I was excited, full of that nervous energy that comes with uncharted territory. I dressed carefully those first few weeks, eager to make a good impression, to fit in. I wanted to be seen as competent, professional, and approachable.Then she arrived. Not new to the company, but transferred to our team shortly after I started. She had a presence, an air of quiet authority that I initially admired. She was impeccably dressed, always. Perfect hair, perfect makeup, designer accessories. I remember thinking, wow, she’s really got it together.
It didn’t take long for the comments to begin. Subtlety was her weapon. It started with small things. “Oh, that’s an interesting choice of blouse for a Monday, isn’t it?” delivered with a saccharine smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Or, “Are you feeling alright? You look a bit… tired. Perhaps a touch more concealer?” She’d say it softly, leaning in, as if sharing a secret, but her gaze would sweep over me, dissecting every flaw.
A teenage boy sitting in his car and looking sideways | Source: Midjourney
At first, I brushed it off. Maybe she’s just trying to be helpful? I thought. Maybe she’s just particular. But the comments escalated. They became more frequent, more pointed. My natural curls were “unruly.” My minimal makeup was “unprofessional.” My comfort-first wardrobe choices were “lacking polish.” She even critiqued the way I held my pen, the sound of my laughter.
I started to dread coming to work. Every morning was a battle with my mirror. Is this too casual? Is this too bright? Does this make me look tired? Her words burrowed deep, planting seeds of doubt that blossomed into full-blown insecurity. I’d catch myself scrutinizing other women in the office, wondering if they saw what she saw, if they agreed. I became hyper-aware of my appearance, constantly adjusting my posture, smoothing my hair, trying to melt into the background.
Silhouette of Man and Woman Kissing | Source: Pexels
One day, I’d worn a new dress, something I felt genuinely confident in. It was a soft lilac, simple, elegant. I walked into the office feeling good about myself for the first time in weeks. She approached my desk, her own outfit a sharp, tailored navy suit. She smiled, that unsettlingly sweet smile. “That’s a brave color for you,” she said, her eyes tracing the fabric of my dress. “It really highlights… everything. You know, sometimes certain colors just don’t do us any favors. They wash us out. Or worse, they accentuate.” Her gaze lingered on my hips, my stomach. It wasn’t a comment, it was an accusation. My confidence evaporated. I felt hot, exposed, ugly. I wanted to disappear.
I started avoiding her at all costs. I’d take the long way around the office to bypass her desk. I’d eat lunch alone. My once-bubbly personality was replaced by a quiet, cautious shell. The joy of my new job was slowly, meticulously, being stripped away by this woman’s relentless, insidious critiques. She must hate me, I’d think. But why? What did I ever do to her?
A determined woman | Source: Midjourney
During this tumultuous period at work, there was a beacon of light in my personal life: my brother. He was absolutely smitten. Had been for months. He couldn’t stop talking about his new girlfriend. “She’s incredible,” he’d gush over the phone, his voice brimming with unadulterated happiness. “So smart, so beautiful, so kind. She just gets me.” He’d described her as everything wonderful in the world. He was proposing soon, he told me. He’d found the one. My heart swelled with joy for him, even as my own world at work felt like it was crumbling. I tried to focus on his happiness, to push aside the gnawing anxiety that woman at work instilled in me. Don’t burden him with your silly office drama, I told myself. He deserves this happiness.
He called me a few weeks later, practically shouting with excitement. “SHE SAID YES! I’m engaged! We’re engaged!” My stomach did a happy flip for him. He deserved all the good things. He asked me to be there when he introduced her to the whole family properly, a small intimate dinner at our parents’ house. “She’s so excited to meet you,” he said. I bet she is, I thought, pushing down a pang of something akin to jealousy. I was thrilled for him, truly.
A happy couple | Source: Midjourney
The night of the dinner arrived. I dressed simply, choosing something comfortable and muted. I didn’t want any attention on me. My parents were buzzing, the table set beautifully. My brother was practically vibrating with anticipation. He kept glancing at the door. “She’s almost here,” he said, a huge grin plastered across his face.
Then the doorbell rang.
My brother practically sprinted to open it. I was in the living room, smoothing down my skirt, a genuine smile ready for the woman who had made my brother so utterly happy. He threw the door open, his laugh echoing.
And then I saw her.
The woman he pulled into the house, beaming, was wearing a striking emerald green dress. Her hair was perfectly coiffed. Her makeup was flawless. Her eyes, however, were not kind.
Woman at a gas station | Source: Midjourney
My heart didn’t just sink, it plunged into an icy abyss. My breath hitched. The air left my lungs. My vision narrowed.
NO. IT. COULD. NOT. BE.
My brother turned, his arm around her waist, pulling her forward. “Everyone!” he announced, his voice ringing with pride. “This is her! This is my amazing fiancée!”
It was her. The woman from work. The one who had systematically, cruelly, chipped away at my self-esteem. The one who had made my life a living hell for months. She stood there, beside my brother, glowing in the soft light of the living room, her eyes darting over to me.
For a fraction of a second, I saw it—a flicker of something in her eyes. Surprise? Recognition? A hint of triumph? Then it was gone, replaced by a practiced, warm smile. A mask.
A person holding a bank card | Source: Pexels
My brother, oblivious, beamed. “And this,” he said, gesturing to me, “is my wonderful sister! I’ve told you so much about her!”
I felt a cold sweat break out on my skin. My legs felt like jelly. Every fiber of my being screamed. I WANTED TO RUN. I WANTED TO YELL. I WANTED TO EXPOSE HER. To scream about every cutting remark, every veiled insult, every moment of agony she’d inflicted.
But then I looked at my brother. His face was alight with pure, unadulterated love and joy. He was so happy. So utterly, blissfully ignorant. He adored her. He saw her as everything good.
She walked towards me, extending a hand, her smile still perfect. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you,” she said, her voice smooth and cordial. Too cordial. She knows. She knew perfectly well who I was. And she had never once mentioned my brother. Not once.
Frustrated woman carrying her baby | Source: Midjourney
I took her hand, my fingers icy, my smile a rictus of terror. “You too,” I managed, the words catching in my throat. My brother was watching, beaming at the easy introduction.
He had found his soulmate. And his soulmate was my tormentor.
The entire evening was a blur of forced smiles and internal screaming. I watched her charming my parents, laughing at my brother’s jokes, playing the role of the perfect future daughter-in-law. I saw my brother look at her with such adoration it physically hurt. Every compliment she received felt like a fresh stab wound.
Frustrated couple having a disagreement | Source: Midjourney
I knew, in that moment, what I had to do. Or rather, what I couldn’t do. I couldn’t ruin this for him. I couldn’t take away that pure, radiant happiness from my brother. He wouldn’t believe me anyway. He’d think I was jealous, or making it up. She was too good at her performance.
So I kept silent. I swallowed every bitter pill, every past insult, every shred of dignity she had stolen from me. I smiled and nodded and pretended that meeting my brother’s fiancée for the first time was anything other than the most horrific, soul-crushing moment of my life.
Men pushing an old car at a gas station | Source: Midjourney
And the heartbreaking twist? I have to watch my brother marry this woman. I have to stand there, smile, and celebrate the union of the man I love most in the world with the woman who systematically tried to destroy me. I have to live with this secret. I have to pretend she’s wonderful. Every single day, I have to pretend. And every single day, a piece of me dies knowing the truth she hides, and the pain she’s capable of. My brother’s happiness has become my eternal prison.
