I made a reservation at the same restaurant for the following week — and specifically requested Jessica as our server. I invited my friend Jules, a professional photographer, to join me.
We dressed as if we were attending a formal dinner. I wanted Jessica to believe she was serving customers who might leave a generous tip — the kind of night that could make a server’s week.
The Envelope
When dessert arrived, I pulled an envelope from my bag and handed it to Jessica. She looked pleasantly surprised — perhaps imagining a thick stack of bills inside.
Instead, she found several neatly folded napkins. On each, in clear black ink, were the words my grandmother could not bring herself to say that night:
“You should be ashamed.”
“She is not a wallet; she is a widow.”
“Karma is on its way.”
She stared at them for a long moment, her smile fading as the meaning sank in.
The Truth She Needed to Hear
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