So, picture this: I’m wiping down tables at the restaurant where I work, just minding my own business. It’s a small, cozy spot where the smell of freshly brewed coffee greets you before you even step inside.

The regulars come so often they know your name, your favorite drink, and probably your life story if you let them.

That day, I was pitching in with extra cleaning because Beth, one of our waitresses, wasn’t feeling well. She’s pregnant—glowing and beautiful—but she’d had a faint spell earlier, so the rest of us were covering her shift. We’re a family here. When one of us stumbles, the rest don’t hesitate to step in.

I was scrubbing a back table, lost in the rhythm, when I heard it. A laugh. Not just any laugh—the kind that slaps you straight back to high school. My stomach tightened. Before I even looked up, I knew.

Heather.

Heather Parker, the self-proclaimed queen bee of my high school. My tormentor for four straight years. There she was, strolling in with her loyal sidekicks Hannah and Melissa, her signature laugh echoing like nothing had changed.

I froze, cloth in hand, a deer caught in headlights. They hadn’t noticed me yet, but I could already feel that burn on the back of my neck—the old whispers, sneers, and sideways glances that used to cut me down.

“Hey, isn’t that…?” Heather’s voice carried across the room. Of course, her eyes found me.

And then came that smirk. The same one she wore every time she ruined my day.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here. Still wiping tables, huh? Guess that’s all you ever amounted to.” She said it loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear. Her friends cackled like it was comedy night.

My cheeks burned, but I kept scrubbing. I wasn’t the same kid she bullied back then.

But Heather didn’t let up. “Is this what you dreamed of? Cleaning up after people who actually did something with their lives?” She snapped her fingers at me like I was a dog. “Hey, waitress! Get us some water—if that’s not too advanced for you.”

My heart pounded. I opened my mouth—but before I could say a word, Jack, our sous-chef, stormed out of the kitchen. Arms crossed, voice firm. “You don’t talk to her like that.”

Maria, our head chef, joined him, apron still on, eyes blazing. “If you’ve got a problem, you can take it somewhere else. We don’t tolerate disrespect here.”

Heather rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker—surprise, maybe even doubt. Still, she scoffed. “Oh, please. We’re just being honest. Isn’t it a little sad? She hit rock bottom, and you’re defending her?”

Jack didn’t flinch. “She works harder in one day than you will in your entire life.” His voice was low, steady, lethal. “So, do you want that water, or are you done embarrassing yourself?”

By then, Sarah, our bartender, had stepped out too, arms crossed, glaring at Heather. “We don’t need your kind of attitude in here. Be respectful, or be gone.”

Heather smirked, confident again. “Fine. We’ll just speak to your manager.” She leaned back, smug, certain she’d won.

That’s when I’d had enough.

I stepped forward, wiping my hands on the towel over my shoulder. My voice came out calm, steady. “You already have.”

Heather’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“I’m the manager here,” I said, letting it hang for a beat. Then I added, “Actually—I own the place.”

The words hit like a thunderclap. Her smirk collapsed, her face drained of color. For once, Heather Parker had no comeback.

The silence cracked wide open as my crew erupted. Cheers, claps, hollers. Jack grinned, Maria shouted like we’d won a championship, and Sarah whooped loud enough to rattle the glasses.

Heather’s face went crimson. She stammered, muttering something about not meaning it, but it was too late. The whole restaurant had heard it, and she knew she’d lost.

I stepped closer—not to gloat, but to finish it. “Heather, it’s okay. Really. But next time, think before you speak.”

Her eyes went wide, and for the first time in her life, Heather Parker had nothing to say. She and her friends grabbed their things and scurried out, the bell over the door jingling behind them.

The air felt lighter, the whole room buzzing with energy. Jack clapped me on the back, Sarah smirked, “That was something. Instant karma.”

I laughed, pride swelling inside me. Years ago, I would’ve given anything to escape people like Heather. But now? Now I stood surrounded by a team that respected me, in a place I’d built from the ground up.

“Karma,” I said with a grin, “served with a side of justice.”