I hate you.
Maybe hate’s a strong word for a person like me, but I won’t use any other.

I am good at my job. Excellent, in fact. And you’re threatened by that.
I understand. I’m better at our work. You might not ever consciously admit that, but why else would you be so jealous you just had to screw me over?

You weren’t the only one angry over my promotion. The entire office was angry, jealous-nobody had my back. But you were the only one to pick up the knife. Et tu, Brute?
I used to admire you. Now I can barely look you in the eye.

The worst is that you never admitted to it. You never said, I wrote the letter. I did it, that’s how I felt. I was angry.

No. You said, someone wrote that letter. You said, we should consider their opinion.
You said, how interesting that it’s anonymous.

It wasn’t even well written!
I’d know. I keep it on my wall, now.

It’s a fresh reminder every day of how I will never stoop to your level.

And so I’d like to take this opportunity to say thanks.
You’re driving my success.

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