It’s funny how the past can just walk right back into your life, uninvited. One minute, I’m wiping down tables at the restaurant I work at, and the next, I’m staring at Heather Parker—the girl who made my high school years a living nightmare.

There she is, strolling in with her usual entourage, laughing that obnoxious laugh that used to haunt me. I freeze, my heart pounding. I know exactly what’s coming. Heather, queen bee of high school, never missed a chance to mock me.

“Still wiping down tables, huh?” she sneers, her voice cutting through the restaurant. “Guess that’s all you ever amounted to.”

I keep scrubbing, trying to ignore her, but she doesn’t stop. “Is this what you dreamed of?” she taunts. “Cleaning up after people who actually did something with their lives?”

Just as I’m about to snap, Jack, our sous-chef, steps up. “You don’t talk to her like that,” he says, calm but firm. Maria, our head chef, joins him, and soon, the whole team gathers around me in silent support.

Heather scoffs, but Jack doesn’t back down. “She works harder in a day than you ever will.”

Then, I step forward, wipe my hands, and say, “I’m the manager here. Actually, I own the place.”

The room goes silent, and Heather’s smirk fades. My team erupts in cheers. Heather’s bravado crumbles, and with a final look of defeat, she leaves, her friends trailing behind.

“Karma,” I say, smiling. “Served with a side of justice.”