Chapter 2The Price Of Being Invisible

The next day, I went back to Accounting.

“Ms. Davis, can I get a refund for the $1,250.00?”

She checked her system and shook her head. “I can’t process it, Paige. Your department filed for mandatory attendance. We don’t have a process for individual refunds.”

“But I didn’t attend.”

“Then you’ll need a letter from your manager, confirming you were physically absent. Only then can we initiate an exception refund.”

I nodded. “Understood. I’ll ask her.”

I went straight to Gillian’s desk.

She was chatting with Tiffany. Seeing me, she gave me a dismissive smile. “Paige, something else?”

“Gillian, I need a letter certifying that I did not attend the department retreat.”

“A letter?”

“Yes, Accounting requires it to process my refund.”

She paused, her smile turning brittle. “Paige, that… that’s going to be difficult.”

“Why?”

“Look, your name was on the roster. The bus was chartered, the hotel was booked. You say you didn’t go—how can I prove that?”

“I definitively did not go.”

“I know, I know,” she waved a hand dismissively. “But you’re putting me in a difficult position here. I submitted the official roster. If I certify that you didn’t go, it makes it look like I messed up my job.”

I just stared at her, waiting.

She sighed. “How about this? I’ll reach out to Ms. Davis and see if there’s another way to handle it, okay?”

“When will you have an answer?”

“The…” She glanced at her watch. “Things are crazy busy right now. I’ll try my best.”

“How long is ‘try my best’?”

Her forced smile finally cracked.

“Paige Miller, I said I’ll try my best. Why are you being so difficult about this?”

Tiffany chimed in from the side. “Seriously, Paige, it’s $1,250.00. Is it really worth this drama?”

I turned to Tiffany.

She was wearing a new dress, one she’d showcased in her Instagram stories, likely purchased on the trip.

“$1,250.00,” I said, my voice even. “Is what I earned by working three full weekends straight.”

Tiffany pursed her lips and looked away.

Gillian put a hand on Tiffany’s arm and smiled at me again. “Paige, I understand, truly. But you need to understand me too, okay? I’ll try to handle this. Now, please, get back to work.”

I stood there for a few seconds, then turned and walked away.

Back at my desk, I opened my computer.

One thought kept looping: Who put my name on the roster?

I pulled up the email and reviewed the attendee list again.

Next to every name was a detail: Registration Date.

Tiffany Brooks: April 15th.

Scott Lewis: April 15th.

...

I scrolled down to my name.

Paige Miller: April 20th.

April 20th.

What was I doing that day?

I remembered.

It was a Thursday. I was rushing to finish the quarterly presentation deck.

I worked until after 10 p.m.

I had no time to check messages.

More importantly, I wasn't in the group chat.

April 20th. The day before registration closed.

Someone had "registered" me.

Who?

I checked the email sender again.

Sender: Gillian Shaw.

She submitted the roster.

I took a deep breath.

I remembered another incident.

This past March.

The department had a dinner to celebrate meeting the quarterly targets.

I was working late that night and missed it.

The next day, there was a receipt on my desk.

For the dinner. Split cost: $75.00.

I asked Gillian about it.

She said: “Oh, you didn’t come? I thought you were. I already included you in the count. I’ll be sure to check next time.”

I’ll be sure to check next time.

I paid the $75.00 and let it go.

Now, I wondered: Was I "forgotten" that time, too?

I opened my phone and scrolled back through my texts.

The notification for that dinner had also been posted in The Insiders’ Club group.

I wasn’t in it.

I scrolled back further.

Last December. The company holiday party.

The department was putting on a skit and rehearsing ahead of time.

I remember seeing them huddled in the break room often.

I’d asked once: “What are you all up to?”

Tiffany had said: “Nothing, just messing around.”

Later, at the party, the department performed the skit.

Twelve people.

I wasn’t one of them.

I thought then that I just wasn’t involved enough, that they were too polite to ask.

Now I knew the truth—

I was "forgotten" then, too.

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling tiles.

Three years.

How many times had I been "forgotten"?

Dinner.

Team-building.

Rehearsals.

The retreat.

But the deductions were never forgotten.

I picked up my phone and opened my contacts.

I found Scott Lewis’s name.

Scott was a peer, the closest thing I had to an ally, though even that was a stretch.

I sent him a message: “Scott, quick question.”

“What’s up?”

“The Insiders’ Club chat. Do you remember when it was created?”

He sent a thinking emoji, then replied: “End of last year, I think. Gillian started it.”

“Why?”

“She said it was for internal department-only communication.”

“Why not use the existing department chat?”

He didn't reply immediately.

After a moment, he wrote: “Paige, why are you asking?”

I didn't answer him.

I already knew the answer.

End of last year.

What happened then?

I remembered.

That was when I completed a major project.

I finished it single-handedly. The client was thrilled and signed a huge contract.

When the annual reviews came around, I thought I was a lock for the “Outstanding Employee” award.

The award went to Tiffany Brooks.

I asked Gillian about it. She said: “Paige, your work ethic is fantastic. But you need to improve on team collaboration. Tiffany, on the other hand, is great at connecting with everyone. She has real team spirit.”

Team spirit.

My project involved countless nights of solitary overtime.

While they were team-building, eating dinner, and rehearsing, I was working.

Therefore, I "lacked team spirit."

I understood.

I finally, truly understood.

I wasn't forgotten.

I was cut out.

Since the end of last year.

Or maybe even earlier.

I sat at my desk, looking at the computer screen.

A new proposal was open, due today.

Gillian’s morning assignment.

She’d said: “Paige, you’re the most efficient. This one’s for you.”

Most efficient.

So I got the heavy lifting, the thankless tasks.

The retreats and team-building? Those were for the “team.”

I wasn't part of the team.

My phone vibrated.

It was Scott.

“Paige, don’t overthink this. She probably just forgot to add you when she created the chat.”

Forgot.

Always forgot.

I replied with two words: “No problem.”

Then I put the phone down.

And I kept working.

What else was I supposed to do?

What could I do?

I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keys.

$1,250.00.

Three years.

A group photo of twelve people.

I wasn't in it.

Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming weariness.

Not physical fatigue.

A deep, profound exhaustion that settled in my bones.

Too tired to move.

Too tired to speak.

Too tired to pretend nothing was wrong anymore.

I saved the document and shut down my computer.

I stood up.

“Where are you going?” Tiffany asked.

“Restroom.”

I left the office, but I didn't go to the restroom.

I went to the roof deck.

The office was on the 18th floor. I went up to the rooftop terrace.

The wind was strong.

I stood by the railing, looking down at the city.

Traffic, people, skyscrapers.

I’d been here for three years.

Three years. No days off, no tardiness, no complaints.

I thought if I just did my job well, I would be recognized.

I thought if I just worked hard, I would be integrated into the team.

I was wrong.

Wrong from the very beginning.

Some circles don't let you in just because you try hard.

If you’re not in the chat, you’re never in the club.

I took a deep breath.

$1,250.00.

I was getting that money back.

Not because of the money.

But because I refused to be the one who was "forgotten" anymore.

Refused to be the one who was "easygoing."

Refused to be the one everyone could walk over.

I turned and went back downstairs.

Back in the office.

Tiffany gave me a strange look. “That was a long trip.”

“Mhm.”

I sat down and opened my computer.

Not to work.

But to open my email.

I searched and found every email related to department activities for the past three years.

I went through them, one by one.

Date, location, attendees, cost breakdown.

I built an Excel spreadsheet.

I logged every instance of being “forgotten.”

Dinners: 4 times. Team-Building: 3 times. Rehearsal: 1 time. Retreat: 1 time.

Total: 9 times.

Total cost: $3,250.00. (Adjusting total cost to reflect the new per-event cost)

Times I actually participated: 0.

Times I actually paid: 9.

I stared at the number, a small, cold smile touching my lips.

Three years.

I had paid over three thousand dollars for a place that didn’t exist.

A hefty fee, indeed.