The day after the breakup was one of the hardest I’d ever faced. To think, just 24 hours earlier, I had caught my boyfriend, Colin, in the most shocking manner possible. And now, as if to twist the knife further, he decided to bring his new girlfriend to the diner where I worked. Seeing them walk in together, smug smiles in place, felt like a direct assault on my dignity.
“Colin, haven’t you hurt me enough already? Why are you here?” I asked, my voice a mix of disbelief and pain.
“Well, you can’t serve me at home anymore, so you’ll serve me here,” he quipped cruelly. His girlfriend chimed in with a snide, “Hurry up and get me a menu, or you’re gonna lose more than just your house — you’ll lose this job too!”
Their words stung, but I knew I couldn’t afford to lose my job over personal grievances. I served them, trying to hold back tears as they continued their petty torments. Colin dropped his fork repeatedly, forcing me to kneel to pick it up, while his girlfriend ‘accidentally’ spilled her soup on me, both of them barely containing their laughter.
Humiliated, I retreated to the bar counter, hiding my face as tears streamed down. It was then that our chef, who had noticed the ordeal from the kitchen, came over. He was a burly man with a kind heart and had always treated me like a younger sister. Seeing my distress, he gently wiped my tears and whispered, “I’ve got a plan. Simple but genius. Are you in?”
Nodding through my tears, I listened as he laid out his plan. It was brilliantly simple: a special dessert for the awful duo. With a small nod, I agreed, eager for some form of light-hearted yet impactful revenge.
The chef prepared two of our famous molten chocolate cakes. But for Colin and his girlfriend, he added a twist — an excessive amount of laxative chocolate. Assured it was harmless but guaranteed to cause discomfort, I served the desserts with a forced smile.
Colin and his girlfriend devoured the desserts, smirking at me. But within minutes, their smirks faded, replaced by looks of discomfort. They squirmed in their seats, their earlier arrogance turning into distress. Soon, they rushed out of the diner, barely making it to their car.
The remaining customers and some of my colleagues had witnessed the entire spectacle, and a few even applauded when the troublesome duo left in such a hurry. The chef gave me a supportive nod, and I felt a weight lift off my shoulders.
Though it wasn’t my proudest moment, that day I learned the value of standing up for myself, albeit in a mischievously cunning way. I never saw Colin or his girlfriend at the diner again, and slowly but surely, I began to heal from the betrayal, stronger and more resilient.
