Michelle set the tray down with grace, then calmly untied her apron and walked around the counter.

“Actually,” she said, voice cool as glass, “I own this café.”

Arthur blinked. “Wait—what?”

“I’m not a waitress. I run this place. Hired the staff. Designed the menu. Paid for every single chair you’re sitting on.” She gave a gentle smile. “With my grandfather’s inheritance—and a lot of sleepless nights.”

The blonde straightened in her seat, suddenly unsure.

Arthur’s face twisted with disbelief. “But… how?”

“You remember the man you didn’t even bother visiting when he fell ill? He believed in me even when you didn’t.” Michelle leaned in. “I used to mop floors to feed our children while you partied. And now? I own three cafés and work as a certified translator on weekends.”

Arthur was speechless.

Michelle stood tall. “Enjoy your cappuccino. On the house. Consider it a parting gift from the woman you underestimated.”

As she walked away, a round of applause erupted from a nearby table—her regulars, who’d heard every word.

Moral? When you abandon someone thinking they’re weak, don’t be surprised when they rise—without you—and serve your karma with coffee.