The call had just ended. Another angry client, another tense escalation, another hour of my voice doing damage control. I took off my headset and let out a long breath. My body slumped forward over the desk. I wasn’t just tired, I was drained.
Just a few seconds to breathe. That’s all I wanted.
That’s when I heard them. Voices muffled through the wall, but familiar. The meeting room next door, separated by drywall, was supposed to be soundproof. But this building had its flaws. There was a thin crack in the drywall, nothing visible at first glance, but just wide enough to let certain things slip through.
Like betrayal.
“…always gossiping… wasting time… thinks she’s smarter than everyone.”
I frowned. That voice.. It wasn’t clear, but it was familiar. Friendly. Trusted.... That voice. No. It couldn’t be.
“She’s the reason the team’s performance is suffering. Everyone follows her lead. They think she’s some kind of celebrity”
Rohit.
My work brother. My confidant. The one person I trusted to have my back.
“She’s not a team player. Too much drama. Typical. Comes back from leave and thinks she’s running the place.”
Laughter. Cold. Sharp.
I held my breath. I stared at the wall like it had grown fangs. The words crept through the wall like venom through a crack. I slowly lifted my head.
And that was the moment it all fell apart.
Rewind a few months.
I had just returned from maternity leave. A little nervous, a little eager, but confident. I’d worked hard before I left, led key accounts, handled tough clients, and earned the respect I thought I had.
When the big opportunity came up, I believed I had a shot. I was even told I was being considered.
But in the final announcement, it was given to a male colleague, junior to me. When I asked, my manager gave a dismissive smile. “You just got back. I thought it might be too much pressure.”
It stung. But I swallowed it. Maybe he was right, I told myself. Maybe I needed time.
It was my “work brother,” Rohit, who had pulled me aside and whispered. “Don’t take it personally,” he said. “Your name was never even in the discussion.”
That stung. But at least I had him.
There was a time I looked up to him, my manager. I thought he was firm but fair. He wasn’t warm, but he listened. Or so I believed.
I remember how my chest burned. Not just because of the betrayal, but because Rohit was the only one I trusted to be honest with me. He was the one I vented to, who said the right things, who nodded when I cried over small things. He listened. Nodded. Sympathized.
And now, here I was, hearing his voice on the other side of a wall, slithering through that crack like poison. He repeated every word to the man who already saw me as lesser.
After I heard them through the wall, I sat there, silent.
I didn’t cry. Not then.
I said nothing. To them, to anyone.
What would I say? That I heard something I wasn’t supposed to? That the one person I thought was in my corner had been reporting my every complaint, every frustration, like a loyal dog to a man who saw me as nothing more than a liability?
No. I let it fuel me.
I got up. Went back to my desk. And something inside me shifted. I wasn’t going to confront them. They didn’t deserve the satisfaction.
Instead, I poured myself into work.
I took on a tough client, an account so big that could turn everything. I stayed late, showed up early, mapped their needs, and offered solutions that would suit them. I worked until they trusted me. Until they became one of our most valuable customers.
People started noticing. Not just colleagues, the upper management too.
Then I was offered to present monthly reviews, team metrics, trends, performance breakdowns. I wasn’t just a voice on the calls anymore. I became the face of my team.
Slowly, I was invited into higher-level conversations. Asked for input. Trusted with decisions.
Rohit kept his distance. Maybe he noticed the change. Maybe not.
My manager, still the same misogynist. But I wasn’t looking for his approval anymore.
Months later, I was offered a lead role. A chance to formally step into leadership.
I accepted it quietly.
But inside, I smiled.
Not out of revenge. Out of self-belief.
Because that crack in the wall didn’t just let betrayal in. It let the truth out.
Sometimes, I wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t heard those voices. Maybe I’d still be waiting for validation. Still believing in people who only saw me as a threat.
But I did hear them. At the time, it felt like a curse. Now, I know it was necessary.
A necessary scar which made me strong.
I needed to be reminded: the only voice that matters is the one that believes in me.
And mine never stopped.
React
