I never expected to see my ex-husband, Liam, or his mistress, Daria—my former best friend—again. After three years of marriage and a heartbreaking

miscarriage, Liam drifted away. I came home early one day to find him feeding whipped cream to Daria in our kitchen. I said one word: “Out.”

I filed for divorce, cut ties, and started over with nothing but grit and a dream. That dream became Gracie’s Table,

the restaurant I built from scratch. Two years later, as I was mopping at closing time, Liam and Daria walked in—smug and laughing.

“So, you’re mopping floors now?” Daria sneered. A barista chimed in: “You’re the best boss, Suzy!” Their faces dropped.

I told them, “This is my place. I own it.” They left stunned—and left behind a one-star review the next morning.

I replied publicly, calmly. My loyal customers flooded the site with glowing five-star reviews. A local blogger wrote:

“This is how you serve justice—hot and seasoned.” Business soared.

Liam and Daria? Gone. Me? I’m engaged to my head chef—a kind, steady man who, during our first toast, said: “Not revenge. Just dessert.”