Two years after my divorce, I ran into my ex-husband, Caleb, and his mistress, Mia, who mocked my new life in public. Their words hurt, but my response left them speechless. Caleb and I were married three years, a reliable couple dreaming of a family. I was a marketing assistant, he worked in tech, and after struggling, I got pregnant. His tears of joy when I showed him a tiny shoe were precious, but at eleven weeks, I lost the baby. Grief overwhelmed me, and I turned to counseling, stepping back from work.
Caleb grew distant, and I gave him room, assuming he was coping. One day, I came home early from therapy and found Mia’s familiar heels in the hall. My lifelong friend and Caleb were in the kitchen, laughing, half-dressed, sharing frosting. Devastated, I ended it, divorced, and sold our home. Their affair began during my pregnancy, sparked through our group texts. I started over, opening Lily’s Eatery, named after my aunt, a warm restaurant I built from scratch.
One evening, Caleb and Mia appeared, taunting me. “Cleaning tables, Sarah?” Caleb jeered. Mia giggled, “Back to basics!” My cook, Dan, called me “the best boss,” revealing my success. “I own this place,” I said firmly. “No tables tonight.” They were stunned. They left, posting a cruel review, but I responded online, standing up for my dignity. Loyal customers showered us with support, doubling reservations. A blogger praised my poise, and Caleb and Mia disappeared. I’m engaged to my chef, Ben, who cherishes me. My strength turned their scorn into my victory.
