Five Years as Their Doormat

Sophie, can you fix Tiffanys proposal?
Mr. Davis didn't even look up from his desk.
It's not like you have anything important to do anyway.
My fingers froze over the keyboard. At the desk next to mine, Tiffany Lee shot me a brilliant smile. Thanks, Soph, you're a lifesaver. I have a nail appointment I just can't miss.
She grabbed her purse and clicked away in her high heels.
I watched her go, a slow smile spreading across my face.
Five years.
My salary was $4,000 a month. It hadn't gone up once in five years.
Tiffany had been here for three years. Her salary was $7,500 a month.
And I had revised her proposals thirty-seven times.
I glanced up at Mr. Davis. He was scrolling through his phone.
"Okay," I said.
"This is the last time."
1
It was 9:30 PM by the time I finally shut down my computer. The office was empty, save for me. Tiffanys proposal was done. She'd said it was for a crucial client presentation.
Crucial.
But she had a nail appointment.
I stood up, rubbing the ache in my neck, my eyes landing on the photo frame on my desk. It was from my first day, five years ago. I was standing by the company entrance, grinning like an idiot.
I was twenty-three then, fresh out of college, thinking Id won the lottery by landing a job here.
Five years had passed.
I was still here.
Same desk. Same position. Same salary.
$4,000 a month.
It was $4,000 five years ago, and it was still $4,000 today.
I had asked for a raise three times.
The first time, Mr. Davis said, "Sophie, the company isn't doing too well this year. Let's wait until next year."
The second time, he said, "You're still young. Focus on learning. The salary can wait."
The third time, he said, "Look at Tiffany. Her performance is outstanding. You should learn from her."
Tiffany's performance.
I opened my computer and pulled up this year's project records. The department had completed twenty-three projects.
Eighteen of them were led by me.
The five with Tiffany's name on them? I wrote the proposals. I made the slide decks. Her only job was to present them to the client.
Because she was pretty and charming.
"You see, Sophie," Mr. Davis had explained, "youre great with the technical stuff, but youre not a people person. Tiffany is a better fit for presentations."
A better fit.
I closed the file, grabbed my bag, and walked out of the office.
In the elevator, I stared at my reflection.
Twenty-eight years old. Faint dark circles under my eyes, hair thrown into a messy ponytail, no makeup.
Tiffany was twenty-six, and she looked like shed stepped off a magazine cover every single day.
"You should really put in some effort, Soph," she'd told me once. "A woman can't let herself go."
I didnt say anything. I worked until nine or ten every night. By the time I got home, all I wanted to do was sleep. Who had time for makeup?
My phone buzzed. A text message.
"Sophie, the client wants to adjust some of the data in the proposal. Have it revised by tomorrow morning."
It was from Mr. Davis.
I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen.
Revise.
Again.
I saved a draft and didn't reply.
Outside the building, a bitter wind whipped through the streets. I pulled my coat tighter and headed for the subway. The mall next door was ablaze with light, bustling with people. I glanced at a coat in a window display. The price tag read $799.
My monthly salary was $4,000. Rent was 0-0,200. Food was $800. Commuting was $250. I sent $500 home to my parents.
That left me with 0-0,250.
I couldn't afford that coat.
The subway was packed. I found a corner to stand in and scrolled through the news on my phone. An article popped up.
"Career Advice: How to Know if You're Valued at Your Company."
I clicked on it.
The article said: "If the company can function perfectly without you, you're not important. If the company would fall apart if you left, you are indispensable."
I stared at that sentence for a long time.
If I left, what would happen to the company?
I was responsible for three major systems.
The order processing system, the client management system, and the data analytics platform.
Those three systems were the operational core of the company. Over two thousand data points ran through them every single day.
And I was the only one who knew how to maintain them.
Tiffany didn't. She could barely use Excel.
Mr. Davis didn't. All he knew how to do was hold meetings and scroll through his phone.
The other colleagues didn't. They only handled their own small parts.
I was the only person who understood all three systems inside and out. Because every time something broke, I was the one who fixed it. Every time there was a new requirement, I was the one who implemented it. Every time a new feature was needed, I was the one who developed it.
For five years, I had carried these three systems on my own.
No one helped me.
And no one thought it was a big deal.
"It's your job," Mr. Davis would say.
My job.
I earned $4,000 a month doing the work of three people.
Tiffany earned $7,500 a month doing the work of half a person.
The train arrived at my stop. I got off and walked out of the station. The wind was even stronger here. I stood at the intersection, watching the endless stream of cars, and suddenly felt a weariness that went bone-deep.
It wasn't physical. It was a sickness of the soul.
Five years.
I was a sticky note. Anyone could grab me, use me, and toss me aside when they were done.
No one ever asked if I was tired.
No one ever asked if I wanted a break.
No one ever asked if I wanted to leave.
I stood there for a long, long time.
Then I took out my phone and opened a chat.
"Jessica, is your company still hiring?"
Jessica was my college roommate. She was now an operations director at a major tech firm.
She replied instantly. "Always! You finally see the light?"
I typed, "Can you refer me?"
"Done! I'll submit your resume first thing tomorrow!"
I put my phone away and continued walking home. The wind on my face was cold.
But for the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of warmth inside.
2
The next morning, I finished revising the proposal and sent it to Mr. Davis. Without even opening it, he forwarded it to Tiffany.
"Tiffany, the proposal is ready. Take a look."
Tiffany replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
I stared at the screen and said nothing.
During lunch, Chloe, a new hire from last year, slid into the seat next to me. She was three years younger than me and the only person in the department who ever said "thank you."
"Sophie, you worked late again last night, didn't you?" She handed me a yogurt. "Got this downstairs. It's for you."
"Thanks," I said, taking it.
"Don't mention it." She lowered her voice. "You're too nice to them, you know."
I paused. "What do you mean?"
She glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "That proposal was clearly your work. How can Tiffany ask you to revise it? Can't she do it herself?"
"She..."
"She can't," Chloe scoffed. "Hey, did you know? During last Friday's presentation, the client asked a technical question, and Tiffany was completely clueless."
"And then what?"
"And then she called you, and you walked her through the answer remotely. The client praised her for being so professional, and she just stood there smiling and taking all the credit."
I remembered now. I was at the hospital with my mom for a check-up when Tiffany called, saying a client had an urgent question. I stood in the hospital corridor and explained it to her for twenty minutes.
When I hung up, my mom asked, "Work?"
"Yeah."
"Why didn't you take the day off?"
"I did, but it was an emergency."
My mom just looked at me, her silence saying everything.
Thinking back, the question was about one of the most basic functions of the system. Anyone who had bothered to read the user manual could have answered it.
But Tiffany never read the manual.
Because she knew she had me.
After lunch, I returned to my desk and noticed a new file on the desktop: "Q3 2024 Departmental Employee of the Quarter."
I clicked it open.
First place: Tiffany Lee.
Bonus: $5,000.
Reason: Led the successful completion of Project X, Project Y, and Project Z, generating significant revenue for the company.
I stared at the names of those three projects, stunned.
Those three projects were entirely my work.
I wrote the proposals, I ran the data, I compiled the reports.
Tiffany just did the presentation.
Her name was on the list of top performers.
Mine wasn't.
I scrolled down. Second place, third place... My name was nowhere.
I hadn't made the list.
I opened the company's email server and found the original files for those three projects. They were all sent from my account. The time, the content, the attachmentsit was all there, clear as day.
But on the final project summary reports, the "Project Lead" field read: Tiffany Lee.
I stared, my eyes burning a hole in the screen.
From the next desk, I heard Tiffany's voice. She was bragging to a colleague. "I got a $5,000 bonus! I'm thinking of treating myself to a new bag."
"Wow! Which one?"
"That new Louis Vuitton. I've had my eye on it for ages."
"So lucky! I only got $800..."
$800.
My bonus was also $800.
I completed eighteen projects and got $800.
She put her name on five and got $5,000.
I pulled out my phone and opened my chat with Jessica.
"Did you submit my resume?"
"I did! HR is reviewing it. They're looking for someone with a technical background, so you're a perfect fit."
"Great."
I put my phone away and opened a new document on my computer.
Title: My Work Log.
From this day forward, I would document everything. Every project, every proposal, every revision, every system maintenance task.
Everything.
At 3 PM, Mr. Davis called me into his office.
"Sophie, I need to talk to you about something."
I stood before him. "What is it?"
"We have a new project next month, a partnership with a major client. It's very important." He shuffled some papers. "Tiffany will be the client-facing lead. You'll handle the back-end support."
Back-end support.
Always back-end support.
"What's the budget for this project?" I asked.
Mr. Davis looked up, surprised. "Why are you asking that?"
"I'd like to know."
He frowned, displeased. "The budget is confidential company information. You don't need to know."
"Okay," I said. "Then what are my responsibilities?"
"The usual. System integration, data processing, report generation, and daily maintenance."
"And what will Tiffany be responsible for?"
"She'll handle client communication and business development."
"Understood."
I turned to leave.
"Sophie," Mr. Davis called out.
"Yes?"
"This project is critical. I need you to give it your all." He looked at me, his gaze pointed. "Do a good job, and I'll give you a raise next year."
A raise.
Always "next year."
I nodded. "Okay."
I returned to my desk, opened my work log, and typed a new entry:
October 15, 2024, 3:00 PM. Mr. Davis assigned new project. My responsibilities: system integration, data processing, report generation, daily maintenance. Tiffany's responsibilities: client communication and business development. Mr. Davis promised a raise next year upon successful completion.
I saved the document.
As I stared at the text, a strange calm settled over me.
It wasn't numbness.
It was clarity.
3
That weekend, I met Jessica for dinner. She looked sharp and energetic in a tailored blazer.
"You finally saw the light!" she said, pouring me a cup of tea. "I couldn't stand watching you waste away in that dead-end company for five years."
I gave her a wry smile. "I was just being foolish."
"Not foolish. Too decent," she sighed. "Sophie, don't you know? In the corporate world, decent people get screwed over the most."
"I know."
"Then why didn't you leave sooner?"
"I used to think..." I hesitated. "I thought if I just worked hard enough, someone would eventually notice."
"Did they?"
I fell silent.
Jessica shook her head. "Listen to me. No one in the workplace cares how much work you do. They only care about your value."
"What do you mean?"
"The work you do, can anyone else do it? If the answer is no, you have value. If the answer is yes, you are replaceable."
I thought for a moment. "The three systems I manage... no one else knows how."
Jessica's eyes lit up. "Then you have value. So why are you letting them treat you like a sticky note?"
"Because..."
"Because they don't know your value," Jessica cut in. "Or rather, they pretend not to know."
I froze.
Pretend not to know.
She was right.
Mr. Davis knew I was the only one who could handle those systems. But he never acknowledged it. In meetings, he'd just say, "Sophie is in charge of system maintenance."
System maintenance. It sounded like a janitorial task.
He would never say, "Sophie is responsible for our three core systems. Without her, this entire department would grind to a halt."
Because if he said that, he would have to give me a raise.
He would have to give me a promotion.
He would have to admit that I was more important than Tiffany.
And he would never do that.
"Jessica," I said, looking her straight in the eye. "What's the compensation for that position at your company?"
"Starts at $9,000 a month, three-month annual bonus, full benefits."
$9,000 a month.
More than double my current salary.
"When's the interview?"
"Next week," she grinned. "I told HR to expedite it. Get ready."
"I will."
When I got home, I opened my work log. A week had passed, and it was already a dozen pages long. Every day, every task, every detail was recorded. Looking at it, I felt a new sense of confidence.
I finally knew what my five years of work were worth.
Monday at the office.
I had just sat down when Mr. Davis walked over.
"Sophie, we have a meeting this afternoon. Prepare a performance report for all three systems."
"Okay."
"Also, Tiffany is meeting a client. There's a data question she needs your help with."
"Okay."
I opened my laptop and started working on the report. At the next desk, Tiffany was applying makeup.
"Hey, Soph, can you just walk me through that data question now? I'm afraid I'll forget."
I turned to her. "What's the question?"
She glanced at her phone and read off a string of technical terms. "The client wants to know how this metric is calculated."
I listened, then paused for a second.
"That question is explained in detail on page 32 of the user manual."
"Oh, come on, I don't have time to read the manual," she said with a little pout. "Just tell me, Soph. Please?"
I looked at her. Her makeup was flawless, her lipstick was a vibrant red, and her nails sparkled.
"Tiffany," I said.
"Yeah?"
"This is your job. You should be the one to understand it."
She froze.
The air in our little corner of the office went still.
"Sophie, what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," I said, turning back to my computer, "that my job is system maintenance. Not training you."
Her face changed.
"Sophie." Mr. Davis's voice came from behind me. "What was that?"
I turned. He was standing there, a thunderous look on his face.
"Helping a colleague is part of being a team player. How could you say that?"
I looked at him. "Mr. Davis, my job is system maintenance. Tiffany is in a client-facing role. Understanding the product is her job."
"You..."
"Furthermore," I cut him off, "over the past three years, I've answered 437 questions for her. I counted."
He was stunned into silence.
So was Tiffany.
The office was dead quiet.
"Four hundred and thirty-seven," I repeated. "That's an average of 1.7 per week. All unpaid."
Mr. Davis's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.
I turned back to my computer. "I'll have the report for the afternoon meeting ready by 3 PM."
Then I put on my headphones, blocking them out.
Behind me, I heard Tiffany whisper, "Mr. Davis, what's gotten into her?"
He didn't answer. I heard his footsteps retreat.
Chloe shot me a look from her desk and gave me a discreet thumbs-up.
I didn't react.
But the corner of my mouth twitched into a smile.
4
On Wednesday, I took a half-day off.
For the interview.
Jessica's company was in a sleek high-rise in the CBD. The lobby was impressive. The receptionist led me to a conference room to wait.
The hiring manager was a woman in her late thirties with a warm smile.
"Sophie, I've reviewed your resume. Five years of experience managing the development and maintenance of multiple systems. It's very impressive."
"Thank you."
"But I have to ask, why are you looking to leave your current company?"
I thought for a moment. "I feel that my value isn't being recognized there."
She nodded, not pressing further.
The interview lasted over an hour. I answered the technical questions fluently and presented my case studies with clear, logical thinking.
Finally, she said, "Sophie, your professional skills are excellent. We'll be in touch within three business days."
"Great, thank you."
As I stepped out of the building, I stood on the sidewalk and took a deep breath. The sun was shining, and the wind no longer felt cold.
My phone rang.
It was Mr. Davis.
"Sophie, Tiffany said she still doesn't understand that data issue. I need you to come back and walk her through it."
I looked at the screen, letting it ring.
Five minutes later, I texted back:
"Running errands. Will deal with it when I get back."
It was already 4 PM when I returned to the office. Tiffany was out, supposedly meeting with the client.
Chloe secretly filled me in. "She was in the conference room for half an hour and couldn't answer a single question. Mr. Davis had to jump in and save her."
"And then?"
"He was furious, but he couldn't show it." Chloe covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. "Soph, I think he's starting to panic."
"Panic about what?"
"That you're not going to bail Tiffany out anymore," she whispered. "I'm telling you, you're the one who solves more than half of the technical issues for his clients. Tiffany is just a pretty face."
I said nothing.
At 7 PM, just as I was packing up, Mr. Davis called me into his office.
"Sophie, have a seat."
I sat.
He looked at me, his expression unreadable. "Have you had any... thoughts about your work recently?"
"Thoughts?"
"For example," he said, choosing his words carefully, "is there anything you're dissatisfied with?"
I looked at him and almost laughed. Five years, and this was the first time he'd ever asked if I was "dissatisfied."
"Mr. Davis," I said, "do you want the truth, or do you want me to be polite?"
He blinked. "The truth, of course."
"The truth is," I said, looking him directly in the eye, "I feel that my compensation is not proportional to my contribution."
His expression shifted slightly.
"Sophie, you have to understand, the company has its challenges..."
"I do understand," I cut him off. "That's why I don't complain. I simply consider my own options."
"What options?"
"My career development options."
He stared at me for a few seconds.
"Sophie, are you looking for another job?"
I didn't deny it.
The color drained from his face.
"Sophie, listen to me, the company is considering a promotion and a raise for you..."
"Since when?" I asked.
"Just... just recently," he stammered, his eyes darting away. "Just wait a little longer, you'll hear something soon."
I stood up.
"Mr. Davis, I'm heading home. Let me know when you have news."
I walked out of his office, returned to my desk, and opened my work log.
I wrote:
October 23, 7:00 PM. Mr. Davis asked if I was job searching. Claimed the company is considering a promotion and raise for me. No specific timeline or offer was provided.
I hit save.
On Friday afternoon, a message from Jessica came through.
"Congratulations! You got the offer! $9,000 a month, 3-month bonus. Can you start next Monday?"
My heart hammered against my ribs as I read the message.
$9,000.
More than double my current salary.
I replied: "I can. But I need to give notice. It will be at least a month."
"No problem! Just let us know when you resign. We can be flexible with your start date."
"Okay."
I put down my phone, opened my computer, and created a new document.
Title: Resignation Letter.

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