Only the Strong Survive

The backlash hit my inbox thirty minutes after I turned down the request to cover the New Year’s shift. I was scrolling through my work feed when I saw it: an anonymous post titled, “Are Pregnant Coworkers Entitled to Special Treatment?” The outrage was immediate. The comments were a firestorm of judgment and self-righteousness. What the thread failed to mention, of course, was that I hadn’t taken a federal holiday off in nearly a year. I was the one who was constantly covering for everyone else. Tara had framed it perfectly—a desperate appeal to the court of public opinion, painting herself as the victim while leading strangers to openly harass me and, sickeningly, even curse my unborn child. I watched the venom spread with a cold, clear focus. So, Tara wanted the New Year’s shift covered? Fine. No problem, then the whole department should come and work with me together.

1 The holiday season was upon us, and the shift schedule was being finalized. Customer service was twenty-four-seven, which meant two people always had to be on the clock, even on federal holidays. It was the company’s way of ensuring we hit those quarterly numbers, and for the overtime pay and compensatory days off, most of us tolerated it. Except for Tara. She was always the exception. The moment her name appeared on the draft schedule for New Year’s Day, she was at my desk, all false humility and cloying smiles. “Chloe, honey, I hate to ask this of you, but…” It was a routine. We had done this dance so many times I didn’t even need to hear the rest of the sentence. She needed me to take her shift. But this time, I wasn’t playing along. I kept my eyes fixed on my monitor, pointing to a flight search page with a sigh. “Ugh, look at these prices. A simple trip home is costing a fortune this year.” Tara’s eyes went wide. “You’re traveling for New Year’s?” I feigned innocence, flashing a bright, fake smile. “I haven’t been back to see my parents in ages. Figured I’d take advantage of the holiday weekend.” “Oh, no, you absolutely can’t,” she blurted out, her saccharine tone immediately dropping. She caught herself, pivoting back to her sickly-sweet voice. “What I mean is, you’re pregnant, Chloe. You should be thinking about the baby. Your hometown will still be there in February, but you shouldn’t be on a plane right now.” When I didn’t argue, she took it as permission to move in for the kill. “Look, you’re not going anywhere, so why don’t you just stay here and cover my shift? My son is finally done with chemo and in remission. School is out for winter break, and this is our only chance to take him somewhere special.” A memory flashed: Tara’s son had been diagnosed with leukemia last year. I had felt genuine pity, not only agreeing to cover her shifts for months but also driving to the clinic to donate blood. It had felt like the right thing to do. It meant I’d missed every major holiday with my own family, but I had genuinely believed I was helping a struggling mother. Now, that same good deed felt like an open invitation for her to exploit me. Her son was healthy, yet she still wanted to cash in on my past kindness. It was maddening. “My tickets are booked, Tara,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “The cancellation fee is significant. Besides, your son is out for the whole winter break. You can go any day.” The smile slipped from her face, replaced by a rigid mask of entitlement. “Chloe, it’s the only time my husband has off. We rarely get a chance to take a family trip. Just help me out.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping into a patronizing stage whisper. “And honestly, is a cancellation fee more important than the safety of your child?” I turned back to my screen, ending the conversation with a line so cruel it almost surprised me. “If I can’t handle a domestic flight, I’m not fit to raise him. Only the strong survive in this world, Tara.” She stood there, speechless, before turning and stalking back to her cube, her face a thundercloud. 2 I thought that was the end of it, a minor clash resolved. I should have known better. It was during my late-morning coffee break that I saw the initial post. At first, I didn’t recognize the user. It was the comments section that gave her away. There, in a thread, was a blurry photo of the back of my head—and the distinct profile of my pregnant belly. The “entitled pregnant coworker” she was dragging through the mud was me. Tara had posted a litany of my fabricated “atrocities,” wrapping it all in a cloak of self-pity and motherhood. “I tried to be the bigger person and cover for her, even with my son only recently recovering from leukemia, but she demanded I cover her shift…” Followed by a string of oversized, weeping emojis. The thread exploded. Thousands of comments poured in, most of them viciously aimed at me. “Who let this little princess out? Didn’t think to consult her coworkers when she was getting knocked up, but now wants them to pay the price?” “One bad apple spoils the bunch. These self-centered jerks are why office culture is so toxic.” “Don’t let her walk all over you, Tara. People like this think niceness means weakness.” The sight of the vile comments sent a white-hot spike of rage straight to my head. I was about to storm over to her desk when Diane, our senior rep, materialized by my side. “Sweetie, Tara has been through a lot,” Diane said, placing a hand on my arm. Her eyes were warm, but her words were the sharp blade of misplaced concern. “Just be a good sport and swap with her. It’s the holiday spirit, right?” I stared at her, stunned. Diane, a woman I had always respected, was taking Tara’s side, sacrificing my peace for Tara’s convenience. It was easy for her to play the magnanimous veteran; she was taking the full week off. Tara, meanwhile, was smiling a smug, triumphant smile at her desk. “Diane has been your mentor since you started, Chloe,” Tara chirped, sensing victory. “She’s stuck up for you countless times. You wouldn’t throw her advice back in her face, would you?” My expression hardened. “I remember everything Diane taught me, and I appreciate her guidance. But this isn’t about loyalty. It’s about a work schedule.” Tara scoffed. “A pretty sentiment from someone who won’t even grant a small favor to her mentor. If you won’t do this, you certainly won’t be around when Diane really needs a favor later on.” The moral blackmail was so blatant it made my stomach turn. Before I could fire back, Brad, the department manager, came stomping in, a new clipboard clutched in his hand. “Last minute change!” he announced, his face tight with annoyance. “This is the final roster. No more modifications, understood?” He slammed the paper down on my desk. I picked it up, and my stomach plummeted. CHLOE was listed for the New Year’s Day shift. I frowned, my tone edged with impatience. “Brad, Tara was scheduled for that. Why am I on this list?” He scowled, his face darkening. “Wasn’t it you who agreed to swap with Tara? I went to bat for you two, pushing this through with HR, and I got a major dressing-down from above! Do you know how much paperwork that takes?” Tara’s smirk deepened. The confirmation I needed. “I never agreed to swap,” I explained slowly, trying to contain the fury thrumming in my veins. “My flights are booked. I cannot work that day.” Brad wasn’t hearing it. He threw his hands up, scattering documents on the floor. “I don’t care! You people treat this office like your personal playground. This is the final schedule. Anyone who doesn’t show up on New Year’s Day is marked as a no-call, no-show and will be terminated immediately.” I couldn’t believe his hypocrisy. Brad was a manager who was routinely saved by me when his quarterlies looked shaky. Last year, when he was in a desperate situation with a bad lease, I had housed him for a month, free of charge, as he sorted out his mess. Now, he was sacrificing me to cover his own managerial mistake, not even bothering to verify the story. Tara gave me a superior, pitying look before settling back at her desk, perfectly content. “Chloe, we all know the pregnancy hormones are spiking your temper,” she said, loud enough for the department to hear. “But you shouldn’t take it out on the rest of us. The company pays us well, and we have to respect their scheduling decisions.” Then, with perfect theater, she pulled out her phone and called her family. “Sweetheart? You know how much you wanted to see the National Mall? Well, guess what we’re doing for New Year’s!” The feeling in my chest was no longer rage. It was a cold, desolate clarity. I was too soft. I let them see me as a mark. 3 Tara didn’t stay quiet. Why would she? She had won a small battle and, true to form, immediately ran back online to gloat to her cheering section. The congratulations rolled in immediately. But then, a new conversation began. “She got what she wanted, but don’t let her off the hook. People like this need a real lesson.” “Right. She thinks the world orbits her belly. She’ll just do it again next time.” A comment buried in the thread caught my eye, and a knot of dread formed in my throat. “I recognize this woman. She works on the floor above us.” “She’s huge, but I’ve never once seen a husband or boyfriend pick her up. It’s probably a textbook single mom situation.” In less than two minutes, the thread blew up with speculation. “That far along and no baby daddy in sight? She probably doesn’t even know who the father is.” “Explains the entitlement. Probably having sex with a senior exec for ‘special treatment.’ Gross.” The slut-shaming and personal attacks were so vile they made my stomach clench. I tried to post a rebuttal, but it was immediately dismissed as a paid attempt to “wash the floor.” Then, Diane’s voice chirped from behind me. “Chloe, sweetie, your bump is getting so big. Why doesn’t your husband ever come get you after work?” I knew immediately she had read the post. Whatever answer I gave, Tara would spin it as a lie. To speak was to give them more ammunition. I stood up and walked straight out of the office. “Just had a coworker ask her. Looks like the rumors are true. She couldn’t even answer the question.” Tara’s latest comment was now pinned to the top of the thread. It was Diane’s betrayal that stung the most. She wasn’t just not helping me—she was actively aiding my tormentor. I had respected her, seen her as a mentor, and showered her with gifts that cost more than her monthly car payment. And for what? For her to join the digital mob? I had been a fool. I walked to the nearest coffee shop, canceled my airline tickets, and messaged Declan about the change of plans. He called me immediately. “The folks are expecting us. They’ll be crushed. Should I call your manager and sort this out—” “No,” I interrupted, cutting him off with a firm finality. “Don’t. If I don’t handle these venomous people myself, I won’t be able to live with it. I need to finish this.” 4 When I returned to the office, Tara and Diane were huddled together, gleefully comparing photos of travel outfits. “Oh, the white puffer is so cute, Tara!” “I know, but the black one is better for traveling. It hides the grime.” The laughter died the second I entered the room. Diane looked briefly embarrassed. “Chloe, hey,” she stammered. “Look, working the holiday isn’t so bad. It’s a good way to show initiative when you’re still young.” Tara jumped in, oozing false concern. “Diane is right. It’s for your own good. It’s icy outside this time of year. What if you slipped and fell? We’re just looking out for the baby’s safety.” I stared at her. A mother who had begged for her own child’s life was now wishing harm on mine. It was a depth of malice I hadn’t expected. My fists clenched. “Working New Year’s is a minor inconvenience,” I ground out, my voice low and dangerous. “But a soul that rotten is a lost cause.” Tara merely tilted her head back, a smug, untouchable expression on her face. “You can keep talking, Chloe. That’s all you’ve got left.” At that precise moment, Brad rushed in, his face serious. The noise in the office died immediately. Tara, convinced she was safe, jumped to the front. “Manager Brad! Happy almost-New Year’s!” Brad ignored the cheap pleasantry, holding up a printout. “New directive from the C-suite. The entire Customer Success department will be on mandatory, all-hands overtime for the duration of the New Year’s weekend. Everyone. We’ll arrange comp time after the holiday.” The announcement landed like a bucket of ice water on Tara’s head. Her smug smile froze mid-stretch. “W-why?” she squeaked, the sound barely a whisper. Brad glared at her. “Since when do company decisions require a consultation with you, Tara?” “No, that’s not what I mean!” she rushed to explain, her voice rising in panic. “It’s just that our call volume is never that high during the holiday. We shouldn’t need a full staff.” “It’s because the call volume is low that we’re doing this,” Brad snapped, spittle flying. “You need to be proactive. If every employee operated like you, we’d all be out of a job by spring. You will work. You will find projects. We need to be seen as indispensable.” The office was silent. Tara, desperate, whispered, “But… but I just booked tickets to back home…” Brad’s stare was a warning. “Tara, if you’re so committed to your vacation, no one is stopping you. Just make sure to drop your letter of resignation on my desk on your way out.” The subtext was clear: Push this and you’re fired. Tara’s face went white. She collapsed into her chair, silent and defeated. “I did all that work,” she murmured, “and I still have to work?” Diane, quick to calculate the changing tides, rounded on her immediately. “You have the nerve to complain? This is all your fault! Now the entire department is paying for your selfish, back-stabbing drama!” 5 Diane was right. Tara was the reason. But she only had half the story. The all-hands order wasn’t Brad’s idea. It was mine. I knew our department was a constant target for corporate cost-cutting. Declan had warned me about it. We dealt in high-end luxury products, and in a slowing economy, the budget axe was always hovering. Brad knew his job was always on the line. My proposal had solved all his problems at once. I had recently seen a viral video—a low-level customer service rep for a popular bread brand who used a clever, funny reference to a viral meme in a customer chat. The video blew up, driving an unprecedented surge in sales. Brad’s eyes had gleamed when I showed him the concept. “This is genius, Chloe. Write up a full strategy. Now.” “The plan is easy,” I replied, feigning hesitation. “But there’s a problem…” “Spit it out, I’ll handle it,” he said, desperate for a win. I leaned in. “Online trends are fleeting. If we want to capture the moment, we need to launch immediately. But New Year’s is next week, and we’re short-staffed.” Brad didn’t even think twice. “Short-staffed? That’s nothing compared to our quarterly goals! It’s New Year’s, not Christmas. I’ll just make the entire department work overtime.” I smiled internally. Tara wanted me to work the holiday? She was getting her wish, and then some. I would have the entire office to myself, watching them all squirm. Diane’s accusations made Tara’s face contort with fury. She shot up from her chair. “What are you talking about? It was management’s decision!” Diane folded her arms and sneered. “Was it? You set Chloe up to cover your shift, which forced Brad to scramble and change the schedule. He was so mad at the department’s instability he had to come down hard on all of us!” The rest of the team instantly saw the logic, their collective anger turning on the true culprit. “Tara, this is because of you!” “Chloe was nothing but helpful to you! She gave you everything you asked for, and you went and did this?” “I knew it. Honestly, it’s probably your bad karma that caused your son’s sickness in the first place.” The final insult was too much. But before the chaos could fully erupt, Brad returned, holding a stapled memo. “Attention, everyone,” he announced, voice clipped. “You will all adhere strictly to Chloe’s new marketing proposal. You will double last month’s performance by the end of this month. If we fail, all of this month’s performance bonuses will be withheld.” The words “all withheld” were a punch to the gut. Our base salaries were barely minimum wage; we all lived off the bonuses. Brad had just put a gun to everyone’s head. Tara, cornered, lashed out at Diane. “Don’t pin this on me! You were happy to take all my little gifts! You’re just as complicit!” Diane’s eyes darted around the room. She was flustered, her face pale. “You stop lying!” she shrieked, before snatching her bag and fleeing the scene. 6 The plan worked. Lowly as the tactic was, the marketing campaign was a massive success. Sales spiked, and Brad was practically giddy, the worry lines around his eyes softening. But in the rush to capitalize on the moment, we made a catastrophic mistake. The price of the newly listed product has been marked with an extra decimal point. A luxury serum priced at 599 was briefly listed for 59.90. It hung there for almost an hour, racking up thousands of orders before it was caught. The profits from the entire successful campaign vanished in a single, careless keystroke. Brad, apoplectic, slammed his hand on the table. “Who did this?! Own up, now!” Silence. Everyone exchanged terrified glances. “Fine. Don’t say anything,” he roared, already moving toward the door. “I’ll go drag it out of the tech department.” “Wait!” Tara suddenly shouted, leaping to her feet. Brad paused. He turned back, lifting his chin, waiting for her to speak. Tara carefully avoided my eyes, adopting a look of profound, reluctant integrity. “Brad, I know who did it. It was Chloe.” She pointed a thin, accusing finger straight at me. I was instantly the object of everyone’s scrutiny. “She’s lying,” I shot back, but Tara was already talking over me. “The new product price tag was supposed to be my job, but my computer crashed that morning. Chloe volunteered to cover it. Everyone here knows my system was down.” She glanced at Diane, soliciting support. Diane, squinting slightly as she recalled the day, nodded softly. “Tara’s computer was acting up. I remember that.” The others mumbled their agreement. I felt a cold rush of disbelief. It was a half-truth, but effective. Her computer had briefly crashed, but Tech Support fixed it hours later. Knowing her malice, I would have sooner set the building on fire than “volunteer” to help her. But everyone was too busy and too stressed to remember the specifics. They only remembered the drama. I knew, in that gut-wrenching moment, that she was the one who did it. The truly guilty person is often the first to point the finger. “It wasn’t me! Tara is lying!” Brad cut me off, his voice heavy with performative disappointment. “Chloe. I thought you were a hard worker. This is unbelievable negligence. Not only that, but you’re trying to pin a major, company-crippling error on a colleague.” He shook his head, relishing the moment of authority. “This is beyond my pay grade. I’m reporting this directly to the owner. Get ready for the termination notice.” He stomped out, leaving me speechless. He didn’t care about the truth; he just needed a fall guy. And I was the perfect, pregnant scapegoat. As he walked out, I caught Tara’s eye. A fleeting flicker of pure, unadulterated triumph crossed her face.