When Lisa earns her much-deserved promotion, she wants to go out and celebrate with her boyfriend, Troy. At the restaurant, Lisa learns that Troy just wants to put on a façade and be the ‘man’—disrespecting her and her hard-earned role. But when he gives his number to a waitress, things take a turn, causing Lisa to embarrass Troy and walk out of their relationship.
It was meant to be a night of pure celebration. After six months at my new job, I had finally earned a significant promotion and was eager to share the joy with Troy, my boyfriend.
He suggested the new upscale restaurant in town, famous for its ambiance and gourmet menu.
“Let’s just get dressed and go out, Lisa,” he said. “We don’t do this very often, so let’s make the most of it.”
I had to agree; we rarely did this—we rarely decided to go out and indulge in anything.
“Fine,” I agreed. “A night out is exactly what we need.”
And I believed that we needed it. Mainly because, as much as I wanted to believe that Troy and I were supposed to last forever, I had begun to see some cracks in our relationship. Something just felt different.
I was happy in my job, but Troy wasn’t happy in his.
“I do so much, but nobody bothers to recognize me,” he said grimly one evening when he came over for salsa night.
Troy sat on the couch and dug his chips into the salsa and guacamole, complaining about work the entire evening.
It was because of his moods regarding work that I didn’t tell him anything good about my job.
“Maybe you just need to give it more time,” I said, handing him a frozen margarita. “You just started there a few months ago.”
“Lisa, please,” he said. “You wouldn’t understand. Let me be.”
But when I had gotten news of this new promotion, there was no way that I was going to keep it to myself. I wanted to celebrate and be celebrated, and I hoped that Troy would want to do just that.
To my surprise, he seemed really excited about it, and he told me that he was proud of me.
“Really, babe,” he said when he came over to my apartment to pick me up. “This is a big deal, and I’m proud of you.”
The evening started beautifully. Troy showed up with a bouquet of flowers, and he sat down and waited while I got ready. Usually, he wasn’t pleased if I was still getting ready when he arrived, but this evening was different.
“Come on,” I said. “I’m ready!”
Troy put his phone away and stood up, leading the way out of my apartment to where his car was waiting for us.
We drove in silence, but for once, the silence wasn’t tense—it was peaceful, and I felt that maybe Troy was changing. That he was becoming someone who wanted to be here and be present with me.
The soft lighting and the stunning view of the city skyline from our table set a romantic backdrop for our evening. We toasted to my success, with Troy raising his glass of champagne high.
“To the most amazing woman I know,” Troy cheered, clinking his glass against mine. “And to many more successes to come.”
“To us and to the future!” I echoed, suddenly caught up in the moment.
We went through the menu and ordered our meals while Troy spoke about the shared dreams that we had—from the Bali holiday that we had been speaking about for a long time, to wanting to move in together soon.
“I just think it’s time,” Troy said. “And now that you have your promotion, it will be much easier for us.”
Everything went along well, until the waitress brought our food over. Troy kept glancing at her, hoping to catch her eye—he winked at her twice.
I didn’t want to make a scene about it—Troy did this whenever he had something to drink. He behaved as though being a flirt was second nature.
But then, as we neared the end of our meal, I noticed a change in Troy. His usual easy smile tightened when the check was brought to our table. He smiled at the waitress as she stepped aside.
“You should let me pay with your card,” he said, a strain of insistence in his voice.
I was surprised. On the one hand, I didn’t mind paying for the dinner because it was my promotion and I was making a lot more money than I had before. But at the same time, I had also hoped that Troy would want to spoil me for the night.
“Why can’t you use your own card?” I asked, surprised by the frown on his face.
Troy’s irritation was barely concealed.
“Clearly because you’re the one who got promoted, and I don’t have enough money for these fancy dinners, Lisa! You know that, and yet you act like you don’t.”
I was confused by his logic.
“I’ll just pay with my card,” I said, putting my handbag on the table. “It’s not a big deal.”
My boyfriend’s face hardened as he took a sip of his whiskey—he had switched from champagne halfway through the meal.
“It’s embarrassing, Lisa,” he said. “It’s like you’re actually trying to humiliate me by not letting me be the man who pays.”
I didn’t know how to react to Troy’s words. It didn’t make sense to me. And I couldn’t understand what the waitress had to do with who was paying for our meal.
I would have retaliated and stood up for myself, but I could feel my energy being drained by Troy.
I felt cornered. And because I wanted to avoid making a scene, I reluctantly handed over my card.
Troy smirked and picked up my card, signaling for the waitress with an exaggerated flourish, presenting my card as if he were performing a grand gesture.
“I’ll be right back with the card machine,” the waitress said.
Feeling uneasy, I excused myself to the restroom. I just needed a moment to be myself. Troy did this all the time. But I thought that the evening was going well and that he was changing.
Of course, I was wrong.
Before thinking it through, I pulled my phone out and logged onto my banking app. With a few swipes and clicks, I had blocked my card.
Let’s see him pay now, I thought to myself.
On my way back, I paused near the bar, my attention caught by Troy’s laughter from across the room.
He was flirting openly with the waitress, scribbling something onto a napkin—presumably his phone number.
He handed it to her with a wink. I was stunned. I was hurt. A rush of indignation surged through me.
I returned to the table as the waitress spoke.
“I’m sorry, but there seems to be a problem,” she said. “Your card was declined.”
Troy’s confident façade crumbled as he stammered, turning away.
“What?” he asked. “Surely that can’t be right.”
Feigning concern, I suggested that Troy call the bank.
He sat back in his chair and pulled out his phone, dialing the bank and putting the call on speaker.
The representative asked for the card number, which Troy read off my card, followed by a request for the account password.
Finally, Troy hesitated. He was at a loss.
“Okay, Sir,” the person said through the phone. “If you can verify the last three transactions, it would help.”
The waitress hopped from one foot to the other.
“I can answer that,” I said. “A lavender-scented candle, some skincare products, and a new book. And Sir, the name on the card is Lisa Simmons.”
The waitress’s expression cleared with understanding, and Troy was left floundering for a response.
I then pulled out another card and paid the bill myself.
“Lucky I have two cards,” I told Troy and the waitress. “But babe, since you enjoyed the service, I think you can get the tip.”
Troy, red-faced, scrambled through his wallet, pulling out only expired coupons and a few small bills.
I stood up, waiting for Troy to say something—anything, but he sat there tight-lipped.
“Hey, I didn’t take his number,” the waitress said, a smirk playing on her lips. “I just threw the napkin away.”
“I’ll find my own way home,” I told Troy as I walked out into the night.
As I walked outside, I didn’t know if I had made a mistake. But at the end of the day, no relationship should make a person second guess themselves or make them feel like celebrating themselves is wrong.
Which is something that Troy did all the time.
I think I’m finally done with him.
What would you do?
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When Kyra discovers, by accident, that her boyfriend, Henry, has been cheating on her, she goes completely numb. Until he sends her an invoice for everything that he had ever spent on her. Fueled by her anger, Kyra fights back, exposing Henry for who he is and asking for her monetary rewards in return.
No One from Her Family Showed up for Our Café Older Regular’s Birthday—But I Tried to Fix It
Our regular sat alone at a table covered in birthday decorations, waiting for a family that never came. What started as a heartbreaking moment turned into something none of us at the café would ever forget.
I walked into the café like I did every morning—keys in one hand, apron in the other. The air smelled like fresh cinnamon buns and dark roast coffee. It was early. Only two tables were taken. Quiet.
A sunlit cafe | Source: Pexels
Then I saw her.
Miss Helen sat at the big round table by the window. The one we usually saved for birthdays or group meetings. Pink streamers hung from the edges. A box of cake sat unopened beside her purse. A little vase held fake daisies. The decorations looked like they’d been there a while.
And she was alone.
An elderly woman typing on her phone in a cafe | Source: Pexels
Miss Helen had been coming to this café almost every day since I started here. Eight years. I was fresh out of high school back then, still learning how to steam milk right. She always sat at the same booth.
Most days, Miss Helen came in with her two grandkids—Aiden and Bella. They were sweet enough. Loud, messy, always fighting over muffins. Miss Helen never seemed to mind. She always had tissues in her purse, little toys in her bag, extra napkins on hand.
A woman kissing her granddaughter | Source: Pexels
They didn’t mean to be cold. They were just… kids. But her daughter? I never liked the way she rushed in and out. Didn’t even sit down. Just dropped the kids off with a quick “Thanks, Mom” and vanished.
We saw it all the time. Every week. Sometimes more.
“Morning, Miss Helen,” I said, walking over slowly. “Happy birthday.”
She turned toward me. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
A smiling woman in a cafe | Source: Pexels
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”
“Are you waiting for your family?” I asked gently.
She paused. Then said, soft and careful, “I invited them. But I guess they’re busy.”
Something in my chest dropped. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak right away.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
A serious barista in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
She shook her head like she was trying to wave the sadness away.
“It’s all right. They’ve got lives. The kids have school. Their parents work. You know how it is.”
Yeah. I knew. She deserved better.
I walked into the back room, sat down for a second, and stared at the floor. This wasn’t right.
A woman deep in thought | Source: Pexels
Not after all the time she gave. Not on her birthday.
I stood back up and headed to the manager’s office. Sam was behind the desk, typing something on his laptop. His shirt was too tight, and he always smelled like energy drinks.
“Hey, Sam,” I said.
He didn’t look up. “You’re late.”
“By two minutes.”
A man in his office | Source: Pexels
He shrugged. “Still late.”
I pushed past it. “Can I ask you something?”
Now he looked at me. “What?”
“It’s Miss Helen’s birthday. Her family didn’t come. She’s sitting out there alone. Could we maybe do something? Just sit with her a bit? It’s slow this morning. We’d get up if customers came in.”
He narrowed his eyes. “No.”
A serious woman talking | Source: Pexels
“No?”
“We’re not a daycare. If you’ve got time to sit and chat, you’ve got time to mop.”
I stared at him. “It’s just—she’s been coming here forever. It’s her birthday. No one came.”
“And that’s not our problem,” he said. “You do it, you’re fired.”
I stood there for a second. Didn’t say anything.
Then I turned and walked back out.
A man pointing a finger | Source: Pexels
And that’s when I saw Tyler coming in from the back, his apron already on.
He looked at me. “What’s wrong?”
I said, “It’s Miss Helen. She’s alone. Her family didn’t show.”
He looked over at her table. Then back at me.
“She’s here every day,” he said. “That lady probably paid for half this espresso machine by now.”
A barista making coffee | Source: Pexels
“Sam said we can’t sit with her.”
Tyler raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Said we’d be fired.”
He laughed once. “Then I guess he better fire me.”
And just like that, we had a plan. Tyler walked straight to the pastry case and grabbed two chocolate croissants.
Chocolate croissants on a tray | Source: Pexels
“Her favorites,” he said, already heading toward Miss Helen’s table.
“Wait—Tyler!” I hissed.
He placed the pastries on a plate and slid them in front of Miss Helen like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Happy birthday, Miss Helen,” he said. “These are on us.”
Her eyes got wide. “Oh, sweet boy, you didn’t have to.”
A surprised woman in a cafe | Source: Pexels
“I wanted to,” he said, pulling out a chair.
Behind the counter, Emily watched it all happen. She was drying cups, but now she set the towel down.
“What’s going on?” she whispered to me.
I told her. Quietly, quickly.
Emily shook her head. “That’s awful.”
A barista looking into the camera | Source: Pexels
Then she stepped out from behind the counter, grabbed a small vase of fresh flowers, and walked over.
“Miss Helen, I found these in the back. I think they’d look perfect on your table.”
“Oh, they’re beautiful!” Miss Helen said, beaming now.
Two more staff joined us—Carlos and Jenna. Someone brought coffee. Someone else grabbed extra napkins. We didn’t talk about it. We just did it.
A happy woman holding birthday cupcakes | Source: Pexels
Miss Helen looked around like she couldn’t believe it.
“This is… this is too much,” she said, her voice cracking.
“It’s not enough,” I said. “But we’re glad you’re here with us.”
She blinked a few times and smiled.
We sat down. We didn’t care if Sam was glaring at us from behind the espresso machine. He could fume all he wanted. We were busy making someone feel seen.
An angry man holding his glasses | Source: Pexels
Tyler asked, “Got any wild birthday stories from when you were a kid?”
Miss Helen chuckled. “Well, there was one year when my brothers filled my cake with marbles.”
We all laughed.
“Why marbles?” Emily asked.
“Because they were boys,” she said. “And mean. I cried, of course. But then my mama made them eat the whole thing anyway.”
A smiling elderly woman talking to her friend in a cafe | Source: Pexels
“That’s hardcore,” said Carlos, shaking his head.
She told us about her first job at a diner in Georgia. How she once served coffee to Elvis—or someone who looked a lot like him. How she met her husband during a pie-eating contest.
We laughed. We listened.
Then she got quiet for a moment.
A woman rubbing her forehead | Source: Pexels
“My husband would’ve loved this,” she said softly. “He passed ten years ago. But he had a big heart. Bigger than mine, even. He would’ve sat with every stranger in this room just to hear their story.”
Nobody said anything for a second. Then Jenna reached over and touched her hand.
“You’ve got his heart,” she said. “We see it every day.”
Miss Helen’s eyes filled with tears.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
A thoughtful elderly woman | Source: Pexels
That’s when the bell over the door rang. We all turned. A man in a crisp gray coat stood in the entryway. Clean-shaven. Expensive watch. Kind face.
“Good morning,” he said, confused.
It was Mr. Lawson—the café’s owner. Sam’s boss. His eyes scanned the room. The birthday table. The staff all sitting around it. Sam jumped from behind the counter like he’d been waiting.
A businessman looking into the camera | Source: Pexels
“Sir, I can explain. Miss Helen—” he started. “They’re off-task. Sitting with customers. I told them not to—”
Mr. Lawson raised one hand. “Hold on.”
He looked at all of us again, sitting among the decorations. Then he looked at Miss Helen.
“Are you Miss Helen?” he asked.
She nodded, a little startled. “Yes, I am.”
A smiling elderly woman holding her coffee | Source: Pexels
He smiled kindly. “Happy birthday.”
She lit up. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
He turned back to us. “Can someone tell me what’s going on?”
I stood. My heart was racing.
“She’s one of our oldest regulars,” I said. “Her family didn’t show today. So… we did.”
A serious barista | Source: Midjourney
He didn’t say anything. Just nodded. Once. Slow.
Sam was shifting his weight, clearly waiting for the lecture. But Mr. Lawson didn’t give one. Instead, he stepped forward, picked up a spare chair, and sat down at the table.
That night, Mr. Lawson called a staff meeting. We all showed up, a little nervous. Even Tyler had combed his hair.
A smiling businessman in his office | Source: Pexels
Mr. Lawson stood in front of us with his arms crossed and a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“I’ve run cafés for twenty years,” he said. “And today was the first time I saw what real hospitality looks like.”
We all looked at each other. Unsure.
Then he said, “You sat with a woman who was forgotten by her own family. You reminded her she’s loved. That’s more important than perfect coffee.”
A smiling businessman talking to a barista | Source: Midjourney
He paused. “I’m opening a new location next month. And I want you—” he pointed at me, “—to manage it.”
I blinked. “Me?”
“You,” he nodded. “You led with heart. That’s what I need.”
He gave everyone else a bonus. Not huge, but enough to matter. Tyler whooped. Emily cried. Carlos hugged Jenna.
A happy smiling barista | Source: Pexels
Sam didn’t show up the next day. Or the next.
But Miss Helen did. She brought daffodils in a jar and said, “You all gave me a birthday I’ll never forget.”
Now she comes in every morning—same seat, same smile, always with a flower for the counter. And we never let her sit alone again.
A woman drinking coffee | Source: Pexels
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