My Ex-friend Said She Missed Me — I Blocked Her When I Realised She Only Wanted My Connections
Mara didn't send a "how are you" or an apology for the lie that nearly ruined my career four years ago. Instead, the first text I got from her was a link to a 2,000 cedi designer handbag. "It would mean more coming from someone as successful as you, Lina," she wrote.
Source: Getty Images
The light of my phone was blindingly white in my dark bedroom, carving sharp shadows into the corners of the ceiling as I sat up. The cool cotton sheets felt like ice against my skin, a stark contrast to the sudden, boiling heat rising in my chest.
"Is this a joke, Mara?" I whispered to the empty room, my thumb trembling over the glass screen. The scent of my expensive night cream—a small luxury of my new life—suddenly felt cloying and heavy. Four years of silence had been shattered not by remorse, but by a calculated invoice for a friendship she had already destroyed.
I remembered the taste of dust and the smell of cheap kerosene from our old flat, memories I had fought so hard to outrun. Now, she was reaching out from that past, not to reconcile, but to see if I was a big enough fish to hook.
The vibration of a second message made the phone dance in my palm: "I'm graduating Friday, and I told everyone my big sister Lina was coming back with a surprise." My breath hitched as the realisation hit me like a physical blow to the stomach.
The reconciliation was a trap, and I was already walking into the snare. Everything shifted in that moment.
We were survival partners in a city that often tried to swallow us whole. We shared a single room in Osu, mattresses pressed together to make space for communal dreams.
Source: Getty Images
"We’ll be the ones running this city one day, Lina," Mara used to say, her eyes bright with a fire I mistook for ambition.
I worked three contract jobs at once, my fingers permanently stained with ink. When Mara's father fell ill, and she dropped out of university, her despair broke my heart. "I've lost everything, Lina, my future is just gone," she sobbed into my shoulder one rainy Tuesday night.
I didn't hesitate to step up, covering her rent while she spent two years navigating her family crisis. "Don't worry about the money, just focus on getting back on your feet," I told her, pressing my last few hundred cedis into her palm. I spent weekends reviewing her old notes to ensure her mind stayed sharp.
When a short-term opening appeared at my firm, I practically begged my manager to hire her. "She's brilliant and hardworking; she just needs a break," I promised, staking my reputation on her potential. Mara was ecstatic, hugging me so tightly I could feel her frantic heartbeat.
"I won't let you down, I promise I'll make you proud," she whispered, her voice thick with apparent gratitude. But the transition to colleagues revealed a jagged edge I had been too blinded by loyalty to notice. She missed deadlines and ignored protocols, choosing instead to network with senior partners.
Source: Getty Images
When a major project collapsed because she failed to submit the necessary documentation, the fallout was swift and severe. In the emergency meeting, I watched in silent horror as she turned toward me with an accusatory glare. "Lina told me she would handle the final submission; she told me to focus on research," she lied.
The betrayal felt like a cold blade sliding between my ribs while I sat frozen.
"Lina, is this true? Did you claim responsibility?" my manager asked, his disappointment weighing more than a formal reprimand. I looked at Mara, but her eyes were cold, distant, and entirely devoid of remorse.
"You've always tried to control me, you think you're better than me," she spat later in the car park. That was our final conversation before I blocked her number and moved out the next morning. I left behind the shared memories, choosing instead to build a fortress around my heart.
The invitation arrived via email, a glossy digital flyer for a lavish graduation party in East Legon. "It would mean the world to have my oldest friend there," the caption read, dripping with artificial sweetness. I stared at the screen, my fingers tracing the rim of my coffee cup, feeling the heat seep into my skin.
Source: UGC
Against my better judgment, I replied, driven by a lingering curiosity and a foolish hope that four years had brought her the maturity she lacked.
We met for lunch at a quiet café, the scent of roasted beans and vanilla bean cakes providing a neutral backdrop for our strained reunion. Mara looked polished, her hair styled in expensive braids and her clothes shouting of an affluence I knew she hadn't yet earned.
"Oh, Lina, look at you! Senior Consultant!" she chirped, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. Her touch felt electric in the wrong way, a static pop of discomfort that made my skin crawl.
"I've worked hard, Mara. It wasn't easy rebuilding after... well, after everything," I said, keeping my voice level and my eyes fixed on hers. She didn't flinch, didn't offer a whispered apology or even a sheepish look of regret for the professional sabotage she had orchestrated.
"The past is the past, darling," she waved a manicured hand as if brushing away a fly. She immediately pivoted toward my firm, her questions becoming invasive regarding our hiring processes. "Do you still have a direct line to the Board, or just Regional Managers?"
Source: Getty Images
I felt a slight tightening in my chest, the first warning sign of a storm brewing beneath the surface of our pleasant, superficial chatter. "I have my connections, but they are based on years of built trust," I replied, watching her eyes narrow slightly as she processed the information.
A week later, requests transitioned from professional inquiries to blatant financial expectations. "Since you're doing so well, I was hoping you could get me that designer handbag for my graduation gift," she texted. The audacity felt like a splash of ice water, reminding me of the years I spent subsidising her life.
"It would mean more coming from someone successful like you; it's like a symbol of where I'm headed," she added, the manipulation as transparent as glass.
I didn't reply, but the pressure continued to mount as she sent me links to her résumé and lists of people she wanted me to "introduce" her to.
"Lina, I really need that recommendation for the Osei-Mensah Group by Friday." Her messages became more frequent.
Source: UGC
I felt the familiar weight of her expectations, a suffocating blanket of obligation I hadn't missed for a second. Every phone chime felt like a spike of cortisol, the friendship being reconstructed as a transaction.
By the night of the party, the tension in my shoulders had evolved into a dull, throbbing ache that radiated up into my temples. I arrived at the venue, the air filled with the upbeat pulse of Highlife music and the expensive perfume of Accra’s rising middle class.
The light from the crystal chandeliers bounced off the champagne flutes, creating a shimmering, dizzying atmosphere that made me feel like an outsider at a play I hadn't rehearsed for.
Mara spotted me from across the room and glided over, her smile wide and predatory, her hand firmly gripping the arm of a man I recognised as a prominent tech investor.
"Mr Boateng, I'd like you to meet my very best friend, Lina, she's the one I told you about who can get anyone through the door at her firm," she announced.
The sound of my own name being used as a currency made my blood run cold, the bass of the music suddenly feeling like a heartbeat in my ears. I looked at Mara, searching for a glimmer of the girl who used to share her jollof rice with me when I was broke, but all I saw was a strategist.
Source: UGC
"I was just telling him how you're going to help me land that executive role," she whispered loudly, her breath smelling of strawberry gin and unearned confidence.
I felt the room tilt as Mr Boateng extended a hand, his eyes scanning me with a mix of curiosity and expectation. "So, Lina, Mara says you're the gatekeeper over at the consultancy? We've been trying to get a meeting with your directors for months."
The music seemed to swell, a cacophony of drums and laughter that muffled my ability to think clearly.
"I'm a Senior Consultant, Mr Boateng, but my firm has very strict protocols for new partnerships," I managed to say, my voice sounding thin even to my own ears. Mara's grip on my elbow tightened, her long nails digging slightly into my skin through the silk of my sleeve.
"Oh, don't be so modest! She’s basically the right hand of the CEO," Mara laughed, a sharp, brittle sound. She turned to me, her expression dropping into something demanding. "I told him you’d bring his proposal to the board on Monday with my recommendation letter."
Source: Getty Images
The audacity of her claim felt like a physical weight, pressing the air out of my lungs in that crowded, shimmering hall.
I looked at her—really looked at her—and realised she wasn't seeing a friend; she was seeing a ladder. "Mara, can we have a private word?" I asked, pulling my arm back and stepping toward a quieter alcove near the balcony.
The air outside was cooler, scented with the salty breeze from the Gulf of Guinea and the faint aroma of grilled tilapia from the hotel’s kitchen. "What are you doing?" I hissed, my pulse thrumming in my fingertips. "You’re making promises I never agreed to, to people I don’t even know."
She rolled her eyes, leaning against the stone railing with a nonchalance that made my skin crawl. "Lina, relax! It’s called networking. You have the power now, so why not use it to help us both get ahead?"
"There is no 'us' in my career, Mara, not after what happened four years ago," I replied, the words feeling like stones in my mouth. "You still haven't even apologised for lying to the partners and nearly getting me fired."
Source: Getty Images
She scoffed, the moonlight catching the hard line of her jaw. "Are you seriously still on that? I thought you invited me back into your life because you'd grown up. I need this, Lina. I’ve been through enough, and you owe it to me to make things right."
The realisation hit me not as a sudden bolt, but as a slow, sickening drenching of cold water. I looked past her into the ballroom, where a small stack of envelopes and gifts sat on a table, including several from people I knew she had only met tonight.
"You didn't reach out because you missed me, did you?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper against the distant crash of the waves. "You reached out because you checked my LinkedIn and saw that I reached the level of influence you need for your next move."
Mara didn't even flinch; instead, she straightened her dress and looked at me with a terrifyingly blank expression. "Does it matter why? We were friends once. That should be enough for you to do me this one favour."
"One favour?" I countered, my heart sinking. "The gift, the introductions, the recommendation... you’ve been planning this since the moment you sent that first text."
Source: UGC
Suddenly, a woman I didn't recognise walked up to us, holding a glass of wine and looking at me with wide, expectant eyes. "Are you the one? Mara said her 'best friend' would be handing out her CV to the partners at the gala next week."
I looked at the woman, then back at Mara, who was nodding encouragingly as if she were coaching a child. I realised then that I wasn't the only one she was playing; she had spent the entire evening selling me as a product to everyone in that room.
She hadn't just used my name; she had auctioned off my professional integrity to build a foundation for her own.
"I'm not doing it, Mara," I said, the clarity of the statement feeling like a shield. "I’m not giving you the gift, and I’m certainly not putting my name on your résumé."
Her face transformed, the mask of the bubbly graduate slipping to reveal a snarling, bitter resentment. "You always selfish, Lina. You have everything, and you can't even share a little bit of your luck with the person who was there when you had nothing."
Source: UGC
"I wasn't lucky, Mara. I worked while you slept, and I stayed honest while you lied," I replied, my voice gaining a strength that surprised us both. I turned and walked toward the exit, the sound of my heels clicking on the marble floor sounding like a countdown to the end of an era.
The next morning, the sun rose over Accra in a haze of orange and gold, but I felt none of the usual warmth. My phone was a war zone of notifications—angry texts from Mara and confused messages from some of the people she had introduced me to.
"How could you leave like that? You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" one message read. I sat on my balcony, the cold metal of my laptop beneath my hands, and began the process of untangling my life from hers for the second, and final, time.
I typed out a final email to her, my fingers steady despite the hollowness in my chest:
“Mara, our friendship ended four years ago when you chose your ego over my career. I mistakenly thought you wanted closure, but you only wanted a shortcut. I am not a tool for your ambition. Do not contact me again.”
Source: UGC
I didn't wait for a reply before clicking the block button on every platform she used to haunt me. I also took the time to send a brief, professional note to Mr Boateng and a few others, clarifying that I was not representing Mara in any professional capacity.
It was a difficult conversation, but the weight lifted from my shoulders was worth the awkwardness.
A few weeks later, I heard through the grapevine that Mara had tried to use a forged recommendation letter with my name on it at a rival firm.
Because I had already alerted my network, the HR manager called me immediately to verify. The bridge she tried to build with my bricks had collapsed before she could even step onto it.
I spent that evening in my quiet apartment, the scent of fresh lilies filling the air, a stark contrast to the stagnant lavender of our past.
I felt a profound sense of peace, the kind that only comes from finally setting a boundary that should have been built years ago. I wasn't being mean; I was being fair to the person I had become.
Source: Getty Images
The expensive handbag she had demanded sat in its box at the boutique, never purchased, a symbol of the price I refused to pay for a hollow connection. I had lost a "friend," but I had regained my self-respect, and in the end, that was the only connection that truly mattered.
The experience taught me that nostalgia is a dangerous lens through which to view a broken relationship.
We often want to believe that people change, that time heals all wounds, and that those who hurt us will eventually see the light of their own mistakes. But sometimes, the reach-out isn't an olive branch; it's a scouting mission to see if you still have anything left to steal.
I realised that loyalty without boundaries is just a slow form of self-destruction. I had spent years feeling guilty for moving on, while Mara had spent those same years perfecting the art of the ask.
Being a "good friend" does not mean allowing yourself to be a stepping stone for someone who wouldn't even hold the ladder for you.
True reconciliation requires two things that Mara was never capable of: accountability and empathy. Without them, an apology is just a script and a reunion is just a transaction.
Source: Getty Images
I no longer feel the need to set myself on fire to keep someone else warm, especially someone who would watch me burn if it gave them a better view.
I look at my life now—the career I built, the peace I’ve curated, and the genuine friends who celebrate my wins without asking for a cut. I am proud of the girl who shared her rent money in that tiny Osu room, but I am even prouder of the woman who knew when to walk away from the table.
We are taught that forgiveness is a virtue, but we aren't always told that you can forgive someone and still choose to never speak to them again. Forgiveness is for your peace; blocking them is for your protection.
As I watch the sun set, I wonder: how many of us are holding onto ghosts because we’re afraid of the silence their departure leaves behind? And more importantly, is the cost of that "friendship" worth the price of your own soul?
This story is inspired by the real experiences of our readers. We believe that every story carries a lesson that can bring light to others. To protect everyone’s privacy, our editors may change names, locations, and certain details while keeping the heart of the story true. Images are for illustration only. If you’d like to share your own experience, please contact us via email.
Source: YEN.com.gh
