My Ex-husband and His Mistress Mocked Me in Public Two Years After Our Divorce — Seconds Later, I Gave Them a Lesson They’ll Never Forget

I thought having a boring life was safe, and after a childhood of chaos, that felt like paradise. My husband and I both worked decent jobs. I was a junior marketing coordinator at a restaurant, and he was climbing the corporate ladder in tech.

But above all, we wanted to be parents. That was our north star. The first year, we tried casually. The second year, we tried medically. By the third, I finally got pregnant!

But that joy crumbled fast. At eleven weeks, I miscarried. The emotional bottom dropped out. I became a shell, going through the motions, numbed by loss. I joined a grief support group. I took unpaid leave. I cried at the smell of baby powder in drugstores.

Liam, though? He grew distant. I figured it was his way of grieving. I gave him space, maybe too much.

It was during one of those early grief counseling sessions that everything fell apart.

But I should’ve known better.

So I grabbed a decaf at a café, sat, and people-watched a bit before finally deciding to head home. I walked in and noticed the heels first, familiar leopard-print stilettos by the door in the hallway. My heart stopped. Then I heard laughter in the kitchen, a laugh I knew too well.

Daria.

My childhood best friend.

I was shocked and livid, but too drained by my grief to scream. I didn’t throw anything or cry (I was all cried out). I just said, “Out.”

They tried to explain, stuttering nonsense. Daria blurted out something about “accidental feelings.” Liam looked like he’d just been caught stealing office supplies.

I kicked them both out that day. Changed the locks. Canceled the lease and immediately filed for divorce.

The next few months were a blur of tears, therapy, and rage. I kept asking myself how I hadn’t seen it. But the truth was that Liam had been checking out for months. He’d started confiding in Daria while I was hospitalized with anemia during the pregnancy.

See, Daria, Liam, and I had spent time together as a trio, attending dinners, birthday parties, and holidays. So my “friend’s” number was in the shared group chats we had. I had trusted Daria around my husband, and vice versa, but that meant Liam could easily access her details.

Liam confessed all this once during our divorce proceedings.

He claimed she was always “dropping by” when I was away. I was broken by their deceit because I always thought that I meant something to both of them.

My husband chose to stay with Daria. They even dared to post vacation photos on social media a week after I discovered their affair! They posed together, smiling like nothing ever happened. Daria posted selfies from Mexico, captioned, “Healing comes in waves.”

The divorce was ugly. He wanted half of everything, even the dog he never walked. But I managed to get him to admit to his affair, and I got the house and its contents. I let him take everything else.

I sold the house. Too many ghosts. I decided to start over.

I was finally able to get back on my feet, thinking the chapter with Liam and Daria was over, and I’d never hear from them again. But I was wrong.

Fast-forward two years.

“Suzy? Is that you?”

My stomach clenched.

I turned.

Liam and Daria stood there like two soap opera villains who had walked onto the wrong set. My now ex-husband had that smug, too-white smile. Daria’s expression was a mix of amusement and condescension.

“What a surprise!” Daria smirked, her tone syrupy. “So, you work here now?”

Liam chuckled. “Are you a dishwasher now? Wait—no, probably mopping floors!”

“Oh, honey, I told you she’d have to come back down to earth!” Daria added, nudging him as she burst out laughing.

“Of course! Still hopeless!” my ex added.

Their laughter was louder than necessary, meant to draw attention.

Before I could respond, Stuart, one of my baristas, walked by.

“Hey, Suzy, mind if I come in an hour late tomorrow? Gotta take my son to the dentist.”

He smiled. “You’re the best boss ever! I owe you one!”

When he left, I turned back to the hyena duo.

“This is my restaurant,” I said simply.

They blinked.

“I own it,” I continued. “I designed the space, hired the staff, and built the menu. We’re fully booked weeks out.”

Liam’s face twitched. Daria blinked rapidly.

With what I had left and a business plan I’d scribbled in a notebook during a sleepless night, I pitched an idea for a restaurant. I’d always loved food. My grandmother had owned a tiny soul food spot growing up, and cooking was how I coped.

“I still help close because I believe in working alongside my team,” I told the cheaters before me, my tone crisp. “We succeed together.”

Liam scoffed. “Well, we want a table. How bad could the food be if you’re running it?”

I tilted my head. “We were fully booked tonight, but now we’re closing.”

“Oh, come on,” Liam said, waving a hand dismissively. “Squeeze us in. It’s not like this dump has a Michelin star.”

Liam stepped forward, dropping his voice. “So, this is revenge?”

“No,” I said, my voice calm. “This is boundaries.”

“This isn’t the last time you’ll hear from us, mark my words,” Daria threatened.

In that moment, I wondered what I’d seen in her to believe she was a good friend. To be honest, she used to bully me in school, and through therapy, I learned that I allowed people to railroad me. That’s partially how I ended up in this mess.

I took a breath and replied publicly.

“We reserve the right to refuse service to rude and disrespectful customers. I remained professional despite my personal history, but after being mocked for working hard alongside my team, I declined service. We choose dignity over dollars.”

Within hours, my regulars and those who’d eaten at my establishment jumped in! Dozens of five-star reviews came pouring in, people sharing stories of our food, our atmosphere, and my kindness!

That week, we doubled reservations! Two local news stations called. I didn’t take the interviews, but it felt good to be noticed for something real.

And Liam and Daria?

Gone. Like a bad smell whisked away by fresh bread baking in the oven.

Funny enough, the head chef I hired during those early months, Mark? Yeah, we’re getting married next spring! He’s patient, steady, the kind of man who lingers when I cry and laughs with me when I burn the garlic.

We toasted over wine. He kissed my forehead.

“Revenge?” he asked.

Winking, I smiled. “No. Just dessert.”

Here’s another story: When Suzy married her husband, he was perfect. However, after welcoming their children, he changed, demanding an open relationship. He ended up kicking Leslie out of their home for his mistress, but didn’t expect that the mother of his children wouldn’t let things go without a fight!

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.