Throwaway because people from my old job might recognize this.
I’m Hannah Lewis, 27F, living in Boston, Massachusetts. My best friend Nicole (also 27F) and I have known each other since middle school—sleepovers, breakups, family drama, the whole thing. We were ride-or-die. I always thought that meant something.
Last year I was working as a customer success manager at a mid-sized SaaS company. Good pay, great team, remote-friendly. Nicole had been jobless for eight months after her startup folded. She was stressed, borrowing money from her parents, sending out hundreds of applications with no bites. One night over wine she broke down about how worthless she felt. I told her we had an opening on my team for another CSM—basically the same role as mine. The pay was solid, and I knew she’d be good at it once she got her confidence back.
I went all in. I sent her resume directly to my manager, vouched hard in Slack (“Nicole is sharp, loyal, and learns fast—I’d trust her with my biggest accounts”), helped her prep answers, even did a mock interview. My boss hired her on my recommendation without making her jump through all the usual hoops. She started two weeks later, crying happy tears when she texted me the offer letter. We carpooled the days we went in, grabbed lunch together, celebrated her first closed ticket like it was a holiday.
The first three months were honestly fun. We bounced ideas, covered for each other on calls, shared wins in team meetings.
Then things shifted. Nicole started staying late, volunteering for extra projects, scheduling one-on-ones with our manager every week. I didn’t think much of it—good for her. But I noticed small things: she’d correct me in meetings over tiny details, rephrase my suggestions as her own, stop copying me on client emails I used to own.
In month five, a couple of my accounts had churn threats. Normal in SaaS, but Nicole sent an email to the manager (cc’ing the whole team) framing delays as “process gaps on Hannah’s side.” They weren’t. I clarified in the thread, but the damage stuck. My manager started asking me pointed questions in check-ins. I felt like I was suddenly under a microscope.
Six months after Nicole started—almost to the day—my manager called me into a conference room and let me go. “Performance concerns,” “not meeting expectations,” severance package, the usual script. I was stunned. My numbers were fine, feedback had always been positive before she arrived.
A week later a former coworker texted me screenshots from the internal Slack: Nicole had been promoted to senior CSM and was taking over my entire book of business. My role wasn’t being refilled—they just gave it to her with a raise and new title.
I confronted Nicole over text. She said she was “sorry it happened this way” but that leadership “saw her as the stronger fit moving forward” and she “couldn’t turn down the opportunity.” No apology for the undermining, no acknowledgment that she’d actively positioned herself by diminishing me. She ended with “I hope we can still be friends.”
We’re not. I blocked her. Got a better job three months later at a competitor, higher pay, nicer people. But losing my closest friend over workplace ambition still stings worse than the layoff.
