Have you ever accidentally found out that you were about to be fired?

Initial Betrayal and Vengeance

My boss’s secretary framed me for his murder and ruined my life.

So, I burned every bridge and ran. A year later, she sent a letter from prison promising she’d finish what she started. I spent most of my 20s working in a dead job at an office because in those days, that’s all you could get without a degree.

Needless to say, my boss loved to take advantage of me. He was the type to dump last minute work on you and then leave early. The type to beat his wife over the Knicks beating the Celtics, as if it was her fault that Jason Tatum is trash.

Anyway, there was one thing I did like about him, and that was his secretary, Julia. Whenever she could tell I was having a rough day, she’d surprise me with my favorite coffee at lunch, just the way I liked it. And whenever our boss speeched about her to me, I would always defend her.

So, one day, when I was standing beside her and my boss was nowhere to be found, she whispered something to me. “I’d update your LinkedIn tonight if I were you.” Her tone was cold and sharp.

I sighed. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. I had poured everything into that corporate hole, all in the hopes of getting a promotion that never came.

I’ve probably spent a total of 300 hours walking newbies through systems and protocols outside of working hours for free. I’ve canceled vacations that were planned months in advance because my boss swore he’d keep me in his mind for a better role. I had over 100 days off that I never took, all saved up.

I took a deep breath and thanked the secretary, Julia. And in that moment, I knew I needed to hatch a plan. You see, I knew that Daniel, my boss, had dozens of dirty little secrets hidden away because I was friends with all of the female co-workers there, and I was the one who’d saved them, so to speak.

I still remember the first time I noticed him in a room late at night with Julia. Most of the office had gone home already, and one of his hands went to cover her mouth while the other began to unbuckle his belt.

So, I did the first thing I could think of. I triggered the fire alarm. Next thing I knew, the entire office was surrounded with fire trucks and news reporting stations, ready to give out whatever juicy gossip they thought they were going to find.

I tried to convince Julia that she needed to come forward, that I would be her witness, but she just said the same thing that every other woman in the office said when I tried to do this. “I can’t afford to lose this job.” “Please stop bringing it up.”

It was heartbreaking every time. And it enraged me to see Daniel getting away with it. But now that I was getting fired, I could do exactly what I wanted.

And I always had the ice hockey mentality, meaning I firmly believed that everything ought to be solved with violence, by any means necessary. So, one day, I asked my sister if she could hang around outside of work and follow my boss home.

For context, she’s a bad batch and looks harmless. So, if she somehow got caught, Daniel wouldn’t assume it was me behind it all. She managed to plant evidence to frame him for cheating on his wife, which he obviously was.

She threw one of her earrings into the backseat of their car, left a pair of redhearted undies by their kitchen counter, and a suggested note by the plant pot. And as if by fate, it just so happens that Daniel sleeps with all his windows open, so this was extremely easy to do.

A few days later, on the day I was meant to be fired, Daniel never came to work. When I asked Julia what was going on, she told me that he and his wife were going through a sudden divorce. I couldn’t even hide my smirk.

Julia laughed, too, but only because she thought it was karma in the works instead of yours truly. I knew things were getting really good when he finally returned to work because for the first time ever, he went the entire day without yelling or trying to take advantage of the interns.

Like, wow. So, that’s when I struck again. Or at least my sister did.

That day, I brought Daniel his coffee, but instead of his usual, it was a decaf latte along with a side of three crushed up Bananadril. And sure enough, he ended up going home early in an Uber because he must have had a bad night’s sleep last night.

That night, my sister snuck into his home and found his depression meds. And she switched it for some harmless Vitamin C capsules. Lol.

The next day, Daniel looked like crap. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy. His hair was greasy like he had skipped a shower that morning, and he couldn’t even make eye contact with anyone, let alone fire me.

Me and Julia even joked that he looked like a zombie from that game Plants versus Zombies (lmao). I’m still not sure what I expected to happen next. Maybe for him to quit and move somewhere else, or to slowly become a better person.

Boy, was I wrong. Because a week later, as I had my feet on the coffee table while enjoying some Breaking Bad on Netflix, I got the call. It was Julia.

She was in tears and could barely get the words out. “Daniel, he took own life.” “Dead.”

My heart dropped. I immediately hung up the phone. That’s when I heard a knock at the door.

I opened it to see his wife death staring me. Christine stood there in my doorway. Her eyes red rimmed but disturbingly calm.

For a second, neither of us said a word. I just stared, completely frozen, heart pounding so loud I thought she’d hear it. She looked exhausted, holding herself tightly as though the slightest breeze might topple her over.

It hit me that I’d never seen her like this. Not in all those company parties or late nights where she’d show up at the office. Always composed, always in control.

Now she looked like someone had reached in and pulled out whatever strength she had left. “Can I come in?” She finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

It sounded rough and broken, and that shook me more than I wanted to admit. I stepped aside quickly, fumbling to close the door behind her. My thoughts raced, wondering if she knew, if somehow she’d figured out my part in this.

Christine moved past me without looking around, heading straight to my kitchen table like she’d been here before. Like this was just another one of Daniel’s company dinners, and we were about to sit down over drinks and fake smiles.

She sat down slowly, carefully pulling the chair out, like any quick movement might break her. I sat down across from her. She looked straight at me then, her gaze piercing.

“Did you know?” she asked bluntly, not breaking eye contact. “Now what?” I managed, trying to keep my voice level.

“Did you know he was seeing someone else?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly. She didn’t cry, didn’t even tear up.

“I heard rumors,” I admitted cautiously. “You know how the office is.” “People talk, but I never actually saw anything.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t entirely true either. My stomach twisted uncomfortably as I watched her reaction, hoping she’d believed me. Christy nodded slowly, seemingly processing this, turning it over in her mind.

“I didn’t either.” “I mean, I suspected, of course.” “Daniel was always distant, secretive, but I never thought he’d actually.”

She rubbed her face tiredly. I felt a sudden urge to comfort her, to reach out and place a hand on her shoulder or say something reassuring. But I stayed perfectly still.

“I just needed someone to confirm I’m not crazy,” she finally said, shaking her head slightly, “to tell me I’m not imagining things.” “You’re not,” I said quietly. “Daniel was complicated.” “He had a lot going on.”

We sat there for another few minutes in uncomfortable silence, neither of us knowing exactly what else to say. Christine eventually stood up, steadying herself briefly on the table as if gathering strength.

“I’m sorry to bother you.” “I just I needed to talk to someone.” “It’s okay,” I said quickly, standing up as well, awkwardly hovering near the table. “If you need anything else, just call.” “Seriously.”

Christine paused at my door, turning slightly to face me. “Thanks for listening.” “I mean, I just I guess I thought you might have known something I didn’t.”

“If I had,” I lied smoothly, “I would have told you.” Without another word, she stepped outside, closing the door softly behind her.

I stood rooted in place, listening to her footsteps fade away until I couldn’t hear them anymore. Only then did I let out the breath I’d been holding. My knees suddenly weak as I sank back into the chair.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. I kept replaying that conversation over and over, wondering if I’d said too much or if she suspected anything. The guilt pressed down harder than ever, suffocating me as I stared blankly at the ceiling until dawn.

In the following weeks, paranoia became my constant companion. I glanced nervously at every passing car, every unfamiliar face, convinced someone knew my secret. At work, whispers behind closed doors made me tense up, imagining accusations being thrown around.

I stopped going out, spent evenings double-checking locks on doors and windows. My sister tried to reassure me, but even her calm confidence couldn’t soothe the nagging fear lodged deep inside me.

After 3 months, the anxiety became unbearable. My sister suggested moving somewhere new, somewhere fresh, where no one knew us or our past. It seemed drastic, but I was desperate for relief.

We packed quickly, leaving behind everything familiar, hoping distance might finally bring peace. But deep down, even as we drove away from the city we’d called home, I knew that moving didn’t mean freedom, not really. Because the thing about guilt is that it travels with you, no matter how far you go.