“MOM, YOU WON’T BELIEVE THIS!” I whispered into the phone, half laughing, half stunned. “I just ran into Stan and Miranda… working at the new budget furniture store by the highway.”
There they were—Stan in a faded polo shirt, stacking boxes, looking exhausted and ten years older. Miranda stood at the customer service desk, arguing with a woman over a broken lamp, her once-glamorous face tight with frustration. No designer heels. No smug smile. Just two people stuck in a life that clearly hadn’t turned out as picture-perfect as they’d imagined.
They didn’t see me at first. But when Miranda finally did, our eyes locked—and for a second, I saw something that looked an awful lot like regret.
I gave her a calm smile. A real one. The kind that comes from peace. Then I shifted the bags in my arms and walked past them, head high, kids waiting for me at home, dinner to make, laughter to return to.
I didn’t need revenge.
Life had already taken care of that.
And I had everything I needed.
