Chapter 7: Poisoned Memories

Aubrey was the new intern at our company in Savannah.

Fresh out of college, she was cautious about everything she did, inevitably making mistakes.

So I was a bit strict with her, but sometimes, seeing her crying alone in the break room, I’d feel a pang of sympathy, remembering what it was like when I first entered the workforce.

So I looked after her more than most.

Sometimes, when she didn’t have suitable clothes for a client meeting, I’d buy them for her without hesitation.

I remembered standing with her in the Target dressing room, picking out a blazer and telling her she looked ready to take on the world.

I even brought Aubrey along on dates with Derek sometimes, just so she could have a good meal.

But when did things start changing between her and Derek, right under my nose?

Was it when Derek was sick, and I was away on business, so I asked her to deliver cold medicine?

Or when Derek was in the hospital with a stomachache, and I was busy closing a big contract, and she volunteered to bring him nutritious meals every day?

I never saw it coming.

I just thought their unspoken understanding was because they liked the same things.

But now,

none of it matters anymore.

Sometimes, at the office, I’d see her sipping coffee at her desk, hair pulled back with a scrunchie I’d given her, and I’d think she looked so young, so eager to please. I remembered my first months on the job—how a single smile from a mentor could mean the world. I tried to be that person for her. Now, every memory felt poisoned, each small kindness twisted by hindsight. I wondered how many other women learned too late that sometimes the ones you lift up are the ones who step over you.