Have you ever experienced a moment when your past unexpectedly intersects with your present? One minute, I’m wiping tables at my restaurant—a place I’ve come to cherish—and the next, I’m looking at a face from my high school past that transformed my teenage years into a struggle.

Picture this: our restaurant is a quaint and friendly nook where regulars not only know your name but your usual drink and possibly a bit of your life story. Today, I find myself tidying up tables because Beth, one of our dedicated waitresses, fainted earlier due to her glowing pregnancy, needing a little rest. We’re a tight-knit community here, almost like family, so we jump in to help whenever someone is in need.

As I scrub away at a table, deep in my own world, a familiar sound jolts me back to the realities of high school—laughter, sharp and recognizable. My stomach tightens even before I glance up, knowing who it is.

Yes, it’s Heather.

Heather Parker: the reigning queen bee of the school’s social realm and the catalyst of my high school adversities. She walks into the restaurant as if she owns it, her laugh resonating, with her loyal entourage, Hannah and Melissa, in tow. It feels as though no time has elapsed. Back then, they ridiculed everything about me—my attire, my dreams, even my voice when I talked about leaving town one day.

Frozen under her gaze, they haven’t noticed me yet, but the familiar sting returns—those wordless sneers that once cut through me like a knife.

“Hey, isn’t that…?” Heather’s voice begins to proclaim as she surveys the room.

Praying she won’t notice me. Hoping she looks elsewhere.

But, of course, she does see me.

With a smirk that echoes the torment of yore, she grins, a cruel twist that once was the symbol of my misery. “Well, well, well. Look who we have here—still stuck wiping tables, huh? Is that really what you ended up doing?” Her voice pierces the air, unapologetic in its volume. Her friends are in stitches, savoring every nasty word.

A flush warms my cheeks, but I continue to clean, determined to disregard them. I am no longer that timid girl from school.

Heather derides, “Is this your dream? Cleaning up for folks who’ve actually achieved something with their lives?” She snaps her fingers at me as though I’m some stray cat. “Hey, waitress! Do you think you can bring us some water, or is that too complex for you?”

My heart crawls up my throat, indignation boiling, but before I can speak, familiar footsteps approach from behind.

It’s Jack, our sous-chef, arms tight, gaze fierce. “You don’t talk to her that way,” he declares softly, his tone with a sharp edge like a razor. He stands next to me, a fortress of solidarity.

Maria, our lead chef, wipes her hands on her apron, standing beside us with resolve, ready to tackle them herself. “If there’s a problem, you’re welcome to leave,” she asserts. “Respect is mandatory here.”

Heather flips her hair and scoffs. “Isn’t it pathetic?” she sneers. “Who even cleans tables today? She’s hit her lowest, and you’re all rushing to defend her?”

Jack remains unfazed. “She works harder daily than you could ever fathom,” he counteracts, stepping in closer. “So, do you still want that water or are you done embarrassing yourself?”

One by one, my team stands by me—Sarah, our bartender, advances with her eyes fixed on Heather. “We can’t allow bad attitudes to wreck our day,” she mentions calmly but firmly.

Heather rolls her eyes with a theatrical sigh. “We’ll speak to your manager,” she declares, trying to play an upper hand.

It is then I decide it’s enough.

Stepping forward, I wipe my hands on the towel over my shoulder and meet Heather’s gaze squarely. “You already have,” I state, my voice unwavering.

Heather’s smug expression begins to crumble, puzzlement forming on her brow. “What?”

“I manage this establishment,” I announce, letting the information sink in. “In fact, I own this place.”

Heather’s smile evaporates as comprehension strikes her. Silence ensues for a heartbeat, then my team bursts into celebration. Cheers, applause, and jubilant shouts fill the room as my colleagues rejoice, loud and proud. Jack pats my back, Maria celebrates with a cheer, and Sarah raises her fist in triumph.

Heather’s cheeks glow red as she scans for an escape. Her friends shrink away, their arrogance melting.

Jack beams, slinging an arm around me. “You’re looking at the best boss any of us has had,” he proclaims. “She’s out here cleaning tables because she genuinely cares about us. She could’ve left Beth in a bind, but that’s not who she is.”

Sarah steps in, arms crossed. “Maybe you should leave,” she suggests firmly. “We don’t allow bad attitudes to spoil our day.”

Heather stutters, “I… I didn’t mean anything by it,” her bravado disintegrating as she realizes the facade has fallen.

I edge closer, my demeanor calm and composed. “Heather, it’s alright. But perhaps next time, think before speaking.”

She looks bewildered, tongue-tied. For once, Heather Parker is utterly speechless.

Scrambling to gather their belongings, they leave without another word. The bell above the door chimes as they exit, leaving behind an air of relief, like a burden has been cast off.

Jack gives me a knowing glance. “Now that’s what you’d call instant karma.”

We laugh together, pride swelling within me. Years earlier, I would have given anything to distance myself from people like Heather. Now, I am here, standing in a place that’s become my own, surrounded by genuine comrades who respect me.

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