I never thought I’d see my ex-husband Liam or his mistress again especially not at my restaurant. But there they were, laughing at me like old times… except this time, I held all the power. Liam and I had a “stable” marriage. We both had good jobs and a dream of becoming parents. When I finally got pregnant, we were overjoyed. But at eleven weeks, I miscarried and everything unraveled.

Grief consumed me, but Liam grew distant. While I was in counseling, he found comfort in the arms of my childhood best friend, Daria. I caught them in the kitchen, feeding each other whipped cream. I didn’t scream I just kicked them both out. I filed for divorce, sold the house, and started over. Fast-forward two years. I now own Gracie’s Table, a thriving restaurant named after my grandmother. One night, just as we were closing, Liam and Daria walked in.

They mocked me, assuming I was just staff. When they asked for a table, I said no we were booked. They laughed. Until a barista called me boss. “I own this place,” I told them. Their faces dropped. The next day, they left a nasty one-star review. I replied publicly, calmly calling them out.

The internet rallied behind me five-star reviews poured in, and even a food blogger shared my story. And karma? Oh, it didn’t stop there. My head chef, Mark who I hired when I opened the restaurant is now my fiancé. As he said when I told him everything:“That wasn’t revenge. That was just dessert.”