Not Dying for Her Lie Again

My coworker, Tyra Robb, stood beside my desk with one hand on her belly, her voice low. "Stella, there are some boxes in storage. Come help me move them." Last time, I gave in and went with her. Half an hour later, she collapsed in the fire stairwell, blood all over the floor. When she woke up, she pointed at me through tears. "Stella made me move those boxes. She even pushed me." I got fired, sued, and lost everything. My dad died. My mom lost her mind. And I ended up on the roof of the office building. Only after I died did I learn she'd been stringing along eight guys at once. Given Tyra's history of multiple miscarriages, the baby never stood a chance anyway. This time, I didn't move. "You're pregnant. You shouldn't be lifting anything heavy." I pulled out my phone and opened our department group chat. "I'll get someone to help." I typed: [Tyra's pregnant and needs documents from storage. A male coworker should go with her, and they should take the elevator both ways.] I hit send. The office went dead quiet. Tyra's face froze. Our admin supervisor replied: [Got it.] HR followed: [I'll confirm the workplace safety procedures for pregnant employees.] Tyra opened her mouth. "You don't need to involve this many people..." I looked at her. "You're pregnant. It's not safe to go alone." Last time, she'd lured me into that camera-free stairwell. This time, she'd be surrounded by witnesses.