I gave her an envelope when dessert arrived. There were multiple napkins with the words “You should be ashamed” written on them, which my grandmother was unable to pronounce that evening. “She is not a wallet; she is a widow.” “Karma is on its way.”
I let her take them all in, watching her face shift as the meaning sank in. Every word was planned, meant to echo the sting she had given my grandmother.
Once she finished reading, I told her, cooly and clearly, exactly what had occured: the anniversary, the outfit, the tip, the walk home in tears.
My voice never rose. I wanted her to feel the truth, not my fury. Jessica didn’t walk away smiling this time. Whether she alters or not, she can never again pretend she didn’t know the harm she caused.
