The biting words of Karl’s secretary, refusing me an audience with my own husband, echoed in my mind for the millionth time. It was Christmas, a time for family, yet he was nowhere to be found. I gazed at my reflection, admiring the new black hair and red lingerie, hoping to surprise him, to reignite the spark that felt so distant.

Then he was there, his presence a heavy weight in the room. His brown eyes, once so warm, were unreadable. "What’s wrong?" I whispered, my heart pounding.

His voice was a harsh blow. "Abby. Let’s get a divorce."

**

Three years later, the scent of garlic and herbs filled my restaurant, a far cry from the opulent, empty halls of Karl’s mansion. "Another busy night, it seems," I told Olivia, my manager, a surge of pride swelling in my chest. This was mine. I built this.

Chloe, my best friend, walked in, her smile widening. "Look at you," she beamed. "If he could see you now." She didn't need to say Karl's name; it hung in the air like a phantom limb.

The door opened again, and Emily, a ghost from my Luna past, swept in, her diamond bracelet glinting. "Abby, the envy of the town, now a waitress," she purred, her pitying smile a well-practiced sneer. I just nodded, refusing to correct her. Let her think what she wanted. I was the owner, the chef, the one who rebuilt from the ashes.

Later, a man in a tailored suit approached the counter. "I want to book this restaurant," he announced.

I smiled, a cold, hard edge to my voice. "Tell Karl that I’m the boss. If he needs anything, he can make an appointment with my restaurant manager."

Maybe it wasn't the most mature thing to do, but it felt damn good. It was time Karl got a taste of his own medicine.