One minute, I’m cleaning tables at my favorite restaurant, and the next, I lock eyes with the girl who made my high school years miserable.

I’m just doing my usual duties when I hear a laugh that instantly brings me back to those painful days. I freeze, knowing exactly who it is. Heather Parker, the queen of high school, walks in with her usual entourage, acting like nothing has changed. They used to mock me for everything—my clothes, my hair, my dreams of escaping that small town.

I try to ignore them, but Heather spots me. “Still cleaning tables, huh? Guess that’s all you could amount to,” she sneers, her laughter cutting through the air.

Her friends giggle, enjoying my humiliation. But I stand firm, wiping the table as if her words don’t hurt. Heather doesn’t let up. “Is this what you wanted? Picking up after people who made something of themselves?” she mocks, snapping her fingers at me like I’m a servant.

Just as I’m about to respond, Jack, the sous-chef, steps in, followed by our head chef, Maria. They back me up, and Heather’s attitude crumbles.

Then, I reveal the truth: “I’m the manager here. In fact, I own this place.”

The silence is deafening. Heather’s confidence shatters as the team cheers.