Miranda, a hardworking young Mexican woman, faces a challenge when her ex tries to humiliate her at her job. Miranda is scared to act because her job is at stake, but the pain her ex caused pushes her. Despite the risk of losing her employment, she finds a way to make him pay for his actions.
Miranda’s breakup with her ex had been a public affair, which had plunged her into depression. As an immigrant trying to build a life in a new country, she knew she had to keep working to keep herself afloat. But it seemed like her problems never ended. One day, she was late to her job at the restaurant again and had to explain the situation to her boss, Michael, in the restaurant kitchen.
“I’m really sorry for being late again, Michael. A lot has been happening… my boyfriend and I broke up, and everyone knows about it,” Miranda said quietly.
“Miranda, what happens in your life is your thing, but it’s a problem for me if it messes with your work. I need you here on time, ready to work. This is your final warning,” Michael said seriously.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
Miranda said she’d do better, but things got harder when she saw her ex, Colin, and his girlfriend Leslie, at a table in the restaurant. She asked Michael if she could avoid serving them, but he said no, pointing out the need to stay professional.
“We all have tough stuff to deal with, Miranda. We’re short on people, and I need you to do your job, not run away,” Michael said, not even looking at her.
Miranda had no choice but to serve Colin and Leslie, who were rude and made mean jokes about where she was from.
“Look who we have here, Miranda, serving tables. I guess people from your background really do find their calling in the service industry, huh?” Colin said in a nasty way.
Miranda managed a strained smile and asked if they were ready to order, hiding her turmoil.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
Right then, Colin dropped his fork deliberately, forcing Miranda to retrieve it.
And as Miranda did that, Leslie laughed loudly and clapped. “Look at Miranda! She’s good at picking things up!”
Now, everyone was looking at her, making Miranda feel even worse. She gave the fork back to Colin with a barely steady hand. “Thanks,” Colin said, but he clearly didn’t mean it. “You’re such a team player.”
Miranda tried to stay calm and quickly brought their order, Mexican stew, hoping they would stop being mean. But Colin said the stew wasn’t spicy enough and made a mess by flipping his plate. The mess got all over Miranda’s clothes.
“It’s okay,” she said, trying not to sound upset while she cleaned up. But Leslie kept laughing, and people watched her. So many eyes on her completely shattered the confidence and strength Miranda had tried to muster until now.
She could no longer hold those tears that were welling up in her eyes. She had to go to the kitchen and hide in a corner, and she was so upset she started crying.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
As she broke down into sobs, a voice distracted her. “Here, take this,” it said.
Miranda looked up to see Chef Robert holding a kitchen towel. She knew he was a kind man who helped all his colleagues. Something about his presence made her cry harder as she accepted the towel.
“Look, I don’t want to interfere in your personal life, but you’re stronger than you think, Miranda. You’ve got a spirit that’s much bigger than the problems you’re facing.”
Miranda sniffled, knowing she really needed someone to talk to, so she opened up to Chef Robert. And like a gentleman, he listened as she spoke about her early days with Colin and recalled the time that ruined everything for her. That one time, Colin really wanted to go to a party with her, but she was worried about her schoolwork.
Miranda, Colin, and Leslie were college mates.
“I really should study, Colin,” she had told him. “My grades aren’t looking too good.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
But Colin shook his head, refusing to accept her no as an answer. “Come on, Miranda. You’re smart, and you work so hard. One night off won’t hurt. Please come with me.”
Miranda was stuck. She liked the idea of spending time with Colin but knew she should study. “Let me think about it. I’ll tell you tonight,” she told him finally.
After they kissed and Colin promised her a fun night, Miranda went back to her room feeling excited but also a bit stressed. As soon as she walked in, her roommate — none other than Leslie — interrupted her.
“What’s going on, Miranda? You look so happy. And where did those flowers come from?” she asked. If only Miranda knew the girl was a wolf in sheep’s clothing…
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
“It’s Colin. He’s been so sweet, and I really like him. He invited me to a party, but I’m worried about my exams.”
“Miranda, you’ve got to enjoy life too. Don’t miss out because of exams!” Leslie said. “Come on, this is the time to have fun!”
“Les, I really need to study.”
“You’re a smart cookie, Miranda. Taking one night off won’t mess up your future. Have fun at the party with Colin. Trust me, and GO!”
Feeling a bit more confident that one night wouldn’t hurt her studies, Miranda decided to accept Colin’s invite and called him. “I’ll be there, Colin. This night is important to you, so it’s important to me too,” she said.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
But that night, when Miranda walked into the loud club where the party was, she felt a bit out of place. Colin noticed and handed her a drink, “Here, drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”
Miranda couldn’t say no. As the alcohol kicked in, she forgot about all her worries, enjoying the music and dancing, feeling really free.
The next morning, Miranda woke up in a strange place, her clothes all over the floor. She was scared to find herself undressed, around other girls and boys, also barely dressed, just sleeping around.
As she remembered bits and pieces of the night with Colin, a chill ran down her spine. She quickly called a taxi to go back to her college dorm, worried about what others would think if they found her like that.
Back at college, everyone was whispering and looking at her. Miranda had no idea why.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
She was feeling upset and lonely and really wanted to talk to Leslie, but Leslie wasn’t there. Neither Leslie nor Colin answered her calls. Then, the college dean called her, upset about some embarrassing videos and photos, and mentioned that she would be expelled.
Miranda was devastated and went to find Colin for help. But when she found him, he was with Leslie, and they were both laughing meanly.
“Look who’s here,” Colin sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. “Came running back to me, Miranda? Thought I could fix your little problem?”
Leslie’s grin was just as mocking. “Oh, Miranda, did you really think Colin was interested in you? It was all a bet,” she revealed. “Two weeks. That’s all it took for him to get you to play the fool. And now, look at you, practically begging for his help.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
Miranda felt so hurt and alone as she listened to them laugh at her. She knew they had tricked her and she had lost so much, but she also felt a spark of determination to overcome this.
After sharing the details of her past that brought her to this restaurant as a waitress, Miranda decided she wanted revenge on Colin and Leslie. “Robert, can you help me? Make their food super spicy, just once?” she asked.
Robert was unsure, worrying about the restaurant’s image, but Miranda was firm. “I really need this,” she said. “Please, do this for once?”
Robert didn’t want to do that, but somewhere, he, too, felt people like Leslie and Colin deserved a taste of their medicine. “Alright, Miranda. But let’s keep it low-key,” he suggested.
Miranda mixed up a spicy sauce, not thinking about what might happen to her if her plan was exposed. She was just focused on getting even. “Use this,” she said, giving Robert a sauce-soaked napkin.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
When Colin and Leslie got their food, Leslie mocked her again. “This is spicy? This is what you called a SPICY Mexican stew?” she sneered.
Right then, Colin wiped his mouth with the napkin and was hit by the strong spice. His skin flared a deep red as if he’d been slapped by the very essence of the spice, and his breaths became shallow, desperate gasps.
“Colin, breathe, just try to breathe,” Leslie urged, patting his back. However, when people at the restaurant began to stare and laugh, Leslie’s cheeks flushed red with shame. She realized she had been mean to Leslie, and now, others found amusement in her and Colin’s predicament.
Unable to handle the embarrassment, she blurted out, “This is unbearable! We’re finished!” and quickly left.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
Read alsoMy Ex Ruined My Day at Work, I Brilliantly Took Revenge on Him the Same Day — Story of the DayJanuary 21, 2025Three Surprising Stories From People Who Were Caught off Guard at WorkMarch 04, 2025StoriesMother of the Groom Hires an Unknown Actress to Sabotage the Wedding, but Plans Spiral Out of Control – Story of the DayDecember 04, 2024
Miranda observed the scene quietly, a hint of a smile on her face. She remembered how they had deceived her, thinking they would be happy together. It seemed fate had other ideas.
Though in pain, Colin loudly yelled that Miranda should lose her job, claiming Miranda ‘messed with his dish,’ and it was then that Michael stepped in with a cool head. He tried the stew and didn’t see any problems. “This dish is perfectly fine, sir. There’s nothing wrong with it,” he declared, spotting the spicy-saturated napkin but discreetly concealing it.
“Also, Miranda’s been with us for a long time. She wouldn’t mess up a meal on purpose,” he said, taking Miranda’s side. At that point, Miranda exchanged a silent look of understanding with her boss, grateful for his help.
Colin looked around for someone to agree with him but found no one. Leslie was gone, and the other customers just watched.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
Then, Michael gave Colin some friendly advice. “You know, Colin, sometimes the heat comes not from the food but from how we act towards others. Maybe think about that, okay?”
Colin was speechless, and Miranda felt a wave of satisfaction. She had found a smart and strong way to stand up for herself and witnessed how empathy and understanding united people.
Michael’s choice to stand up for her and teach Colin about being humble and respectful showed her that even in tough times, there are friends all around.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
Tell us what you think about this story, and share it with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
My wife had been marking tally counts on her hands — when I discovered what she was tracking, I turned pale
When I noticed my wife drawing strange tally marks on her hand, I shrugged it off as a quirky habit. But as those marks multiplied and her answers remained cryptic, I realized something much darker was lurking beneath the surface of our seemingly happy marriage.
“Married life is great, right?” I would say to my friends when they asked. And for the most part, it was. We’d only been married for a few months, and I was still getting used to being a husband. My wife, Sarah, was always so organized, so thoughtful. She had a way of making everything seem effortless.
But then, something changed. I started noticing a strange habit of hers. One day, she pulled a pen out of her purse and made a small tally mark on the back of her hand. I didn’t think much of it at first.
“Did you just mark your hand?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She smiled and shrugged. “Just a reminder.”
“A reminder for what?” I laughed, thinking it was a joke. But she didn’t answer. She just changed the subject.
Over the next few weeks, she did it more and more. Some days, there’d be only one or two marks. Other days, five or more. Then there’d be days with nothing at all. It seemed random, but it bothered me. What was she keeping track of?
The more I noticed, the more I started to worry. It was like she was keeping a secret from me, and that secret was slowly eating away at our happiness.
One night, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Sarah, what’s with the tally marks?” I asked as we were getting ready for bed. “You do it all the time now.”
She glanced at the marks on her hand, then looked at me with that same mysterious smile. “It helps me remember things, that’s all.”
“Remember what?” I pressed.
“It’s just… things,” she said, brushing me off like it was nothing. “Don’t worry about it.”
But I did worry. A lot. I started paying closer attention. She’d mark her hand after dinner. After we argued. After we watched a movie. There was no pattern I could see.
One evening, I counted the marks on her hand: seven. That night, I watched as she transferred them into a small notebook by her bedside table. She didn’t know I was watching.
I decided to check her notebook the next morning. I waited until she was in the shower, then flipped through the pages. Each page had rows and rows of tally marks. I counted them—68 in total.
I sat on the bed, staring at the notebook in my hands. What did this number mean? What was she counting?
I tried asking her again a few days later.
“Sarah, please tell me what those marks are for. It’s driving me crazy.”
She sighed, clearly annoyed. “I told you. It’s just something I do. It helps me remember.”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” I snapped. “What are you remembering? Are you keeping track of something? Someone?”
“Just drop it, okay?” she said, her voice sharp. She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Please, just let it go.”
But I couldn’t let it go. The marks started to feel like a wall between us. Every time I saw her make a new one, it was like she was putting up another brick, shutting me out.
I became obsessed with the number 68. What was so important about it? I noticed I was being more careful around her, almost like I was afraid to give her a reason to add another mark. But then the marks would still appear, no matter what I did.
One night, after another tense conversation, I watched her add four new marks to her hand. I needed to know what was happening. I needed to figure this out before it drove me mad. But I had no idea how to get the truth out of her. And that scared me more than anything.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that our entire marriage was on the line, and I was helpless to stop whatever was happening between us. I left for several days to see if it changed anything. Well, the tally count has increased to 78 by the time I returned.
The obsession with Sarah’s tally marks was eating me alive. I needed a break from it, but everywhere I looked, I saw her hand with those little black lines, like they were taunting me. So, when Sarah suggested we visit her mother, I thought it would be a good distraction.
Her mother, Diane, and her fifth husband, Jake, lived in a cozy house in the suburbs. It was a typical Saturday afternoon visit: tea, cookies, and small talk. Sarah and her mom were in the kitchen, chatting and laughing. I excused myself to use the bathroom.
As I passed by the guest bedroom, something caught my eye. There, on the nightstand, was a notebook. It looked just like the one Sarah kept by her bed. I hesitated, but curiosity got the better of me. I stepped inside, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching.
I opened the notebook, my hands trembling. Inside, there were pages filled with tally marks, just like Sarah’s. But there was more. Next to the marks were labels: “interrupting,” “raising voice,” “forgetting to call.” Each tally had a label, like it was keeping track of mistakes.
“What the hell is this?” I muttered under my breath.
I felt a chill run down my spine. Was this some kind of family tradition? Was Sarah’s mom counting her own mistakes? Were they both holding themselves to these impossible standards?
I closed the notebook and returned to the living room, trying to act normal, but my mind was spinning. Sarah noticed my unease.
“You okay?” she asked, concern in her eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. “Just thinking about work.”
We stayed for another hour, but I was barely present. My thoughts kept drifting back to that.
On the drive home, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Sarah, I need to ask you something,” I said, gripping the steering wheel.
She looked at me, puzzled. “What’s up?”
“I saw your mom’s notebook today. It looked a lot like yours. Is this something you both do? Are you counting your mistakes? You don’t have to be perfect, you know. You don’t need to keep track of every little thing.”
There was a moment of silence, then she let out a bitter laugh.
“You think I’m counting my mistakes?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, relieved she was finally opening up. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. It’s okay to mess up sometimes.”
She shook her head, staring out the window. “I’m not counting my mistakes, Jack. I’m counting yours.”
The words hit me like a punch in the gut. “What?”
“Every time you break one of your vows, I make a mark,” she said quietly. “When you interrupt me, when you don’t listen, when you say you’ll do something and don’t. I’ve been keeping track since our wedding.”
On our wedding day, I promised Sarah the world in my vows. I vowed never to lie, to always listen without interrupting, and to be there every time she needed me, no matter what. It was a long list of grand, heartfelt promises that sounded perfect in the moment, but looking back, they were almost impossible to keep.
I felt the blood drain from my face. “You’re counting my mistakes? Why?”
“Because I want to know when I’ve had enough,” she said, her voice breaking. “When you reach 1,000 marks, I’m leaving.”
I pulled the car over, my heart pounding. “You’re going to leave me? For breaking some stupid promises?”
“They’re not stupid promises,” she snapped. “They’re our wedding vows, Jack. You made them to me, and you’ve broken every single one.”
I stared at her, stunned. How had we gotten here? How had I missed this? I’d thought she was being hard on herself, but I was the one who’d been careless, dismissive. I wanted to be angry, but I couldn’t. I was too shocked, too hurt.
When we got home, I couldn’t sleep. I called Diane, desperate for answers.
“Sarah told me what she’s doing,” I said. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
Diane sighed. “I did the same thing with my past husbands. I thought it would help, but it just drove us apart. It ruined my marriages.”
“Then why let her—”
“I tried to tell her,” she interrupted gently. “But she needs to see it for herself. I count good days now, Jack. Good things my husband does. It changed everything.”
I hung up, feeling more lost than ever. I could only hope that my mother-in-law’s words fell on fertile ground.
That evening, Sarah came home with tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around me. “I didn’t realize how much this was hurting us.”
I held her close, feeling a mix of relief and hope. “Let’s forget the tally marks,” I said softly. “Let’s start fresh.”
The next day, I bought a new notebook—one for us to fill with good memories and happy moments. We made our first entry that night, writing about a quiet dinner we shared, laughing and talking like we hadn’t in months.
As we moved forward, the notebook became a symbol of our promise to focus on the positives and grow together. The tally marks were gone, replaced by stories of joy, love, and gratitude. We were finally on the same page, and it felt like the beginning of something beautiful.
Leave a Reply