I’ve worked at my firm for 9 years — longer than anyone. I also do the hardest work. But recently I found out I have the lowest salary.
My boss laughed: “You get what you ask for — they’re better negotiators!” I smiled. The next day, everyone froze when they discovered I had quietly handed in my resignation. No drama.
No loud goodbye emails or angry rants in the break room. Just a crisp letter, dated and signed, placed neatly on my boss’s desk before anyone else had walked in. By the time he noticed it, I was already gone.
Left my company badge in the tray by the door and walked out with nothing but my bag and a calm heart. My phone buzzed nonstop for the next three hours. Calls from coworkers, texts from the HR lady, two missed calls from the boss himself.
I didn’t answer. I wasn’t trying to punish anyone. I just needed a day for myself—for once.
The truth is, I’d known for a while. You always feel it before you see it. The tiny “accidental” meeting exclusions.
The way new hires would walk in with better chairs and bigger paychecks. One even asked me how to log in on his first day — turns out, I’d trained him for a position that paid 30% more than mine. And I never made noise.
I showed up early, stayed late, helped the team finish projects others had long given up on. I was the unofficial mentor, the quiet fixer, the go-to problem-solver. And I stayed that way, until that meeting.
It was a budget review, where our department head casually threw up the salary breakdown on the screen. My number was at the bottom, so low I thought it was a mistake. The room went silent for a second, then chuckles started.
“You need to learn to negotiate,” someone said. My boss shrugged and added that line — “You get what you ask for.” I laughed too. But not because it was funny.
I left the room with a strange calm in my chest. A kind of stillness you only feel when something is finally, finally clear. That night, I didn’t cry.
I opened my laptop, updated my resume, and sent out just one application — to a company that had approached me a year ago. I’d turned them down then out of loyalty. This time, I got a response within two hours.
A video interview was set for the next day. By the end of the week, I had a job offer. Higher pay, remote flexibility, and a role that respected the depth of my experience.
I didn’t even have to negotiate — they gave me what I deserved from the start. So I left. But the story doesn’t end there.
A week into my new job, I received a message from Alina, a junior analyst from my old team. She was sharp, kind, and always stayed back late helping me clean up messy data reports. She wrote, “They said you just walked out.
People are talking. Honestly, it’s chaos here. And now they’ve put me on two of your old accounts — with no raise.
I don’t know what to do.”
I didn’t respond immediately. I let that message sit with me. Another message came from Raj, the developer I always worked with on integration projects.
“Did you really leave? I’ve been meaning to talk to you — they offered my friend 20% more for the same role I’m in. Been here five years.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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