My Ex Ruined My Day at Work, I Brilliantly Took Revenge on Him the Same Day — Story of the Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock

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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

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

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock

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Father Got Mad When Mom Painted Instead of Doing Chores – What I Saw in Her House after the Divorce Made Me Gasp

My Dad always hated my Mom’s painting obsession, believing she was only fit to cook and clean. After their divorce, I stepped into her new home and discovered something that took my breath away.

I never thought I’d be grateful for my parents’ divorce, but life has a way of surprising you. I’m Iva, 25 years old. What I found in my Mom’s new home after the split completely changed my perspective on what true love really looks like and it made me cry…

Grayscale photo of a young woman covering her face | Source: Pexels

Grayscale photo of a young woman covering her face | Source: Pexels

Growing up, our house was filled with the smell of oil paints and the sweet scent of turpentine. My Mom, Florence, would always create something beautiful.

But for my Dad, Benjamin, it was just noise and mess.

“Florence! When are you gonna be done with that damn painting?” Dad’s voice would boom from the kitchen. “This place is a pigsty, and dinner’s not even started!”

Side view of a woman painting a picture | Source: Pexels

Side view of a woman painting a picture | Source: Pexels

Mom’s shoulders would tense, but her brush wouldn’t stop moving. “Just a few more minutes, Ben. I’m almost finished with this section.”

Dad would stomp into her workspace, his face red. “You and your silly hobby! When are you gonna grow up and act like a REAL WIFE?”

I’d watch from the doorway, my heart pounding. Mom’s eyes would meet mine, filled with a sadness I couldn’t comprehend as a ten-year-old.

An angry man pointing his finger | Source: Pexels

An angry man pointing his finger | Source: Pexels

“Iva, honey, why don’t you go set the table?” she’d say softly.

I’d nod and scurry away, the sound of their argument following me down the hall.

Years passed, and the arguments only got worse. When I was fourteen, they finally called it quits. Dad got custody, and I only saw Mom on weekends.

Close-up of divorce papers on a table | Source: Pexels

Close-up of divorce papers on a table | Source: Pexels

The first time I visited her new apartment, my heart sank. It was tiny, with barely enough room for a bed and a small easel in the corner.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t look so sad,” Mom said, pulling me into a hug. “This place may be small, but it’s full of possibilities.”

I tried to smile, but it felt forced. “Do you miss us, Mom?”

Rear view of a woman sketching a picture on a white board | Source: Pexels

Rear view of a woman sketching a picture on a white board | Source: Pexels

Her eyes glistened. “Every day, Iva. But sometimes, we have to make hard choices to find happiness.”

As I left that day, I heard her humming as she unpacked her paints. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in years.

“I’ll see you next weekend, okay?” Mom called out as I reached the door.

I turned back, forcing a smile. “Yeah, Mom. Next weekend.”

Close-up of a woman tearing up | Source: Pexels

Close-up of a woman tearing up | Source: Pexels

Dad wasted no time moving on. His new wife, Karen, was everything he wanted Mom to be — organized, practical, and completely unartistic.

“See, Iva? This is how a real household should run,” Dad said one evening, gesturing around the spotless kitchen.

I nodded absently, my eyes drawn to the near-bare walls where Mom’s paintings used to hang. “It’s… nice, Dad.”

Front angle view of a spotless kitchen | Source: Unsplash

Front angle view of a spotless kitchen | Source: Unsplash

Karen beamed. “I’ve been teaching Iva some great cleaning tips, haven’t I, dear?”

I forced a smile, thinking of the weekends spent with Mom, hands covered in paint, creating worlds on canvas. “Yeah, it’s… really useful. Thanks, Karen.”

Dad clapped his hands together. “That’s my girl. Now, who wants to watch some TV?”

As we settled in the living room, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing for the messy, colorful evenings of my childhood.

Rear view of a woman painting a picture in the garden | Source: Pexels

Rear view of a woman painting a picture in the garden | Source: Pexels

The years rolled by, and I grew used to the new normal. Weekdays with Dad and Karen in their immaculate house and weekends with Mom in her cramped apartment. But something was always missing.

One Friday evening, as I was packing for my weekend visit, Dad knocked on my door.

“Iva, honey, can we talk?”

I looked up, surprised. “Sure, Dad. What’s up?”

A serious-looking man sitting on a chair | Source: Pexels

A serious-looking man sitting on a chair | Source: Pexels

He sat on the edge of my bed, looking uncomfortable. “Your Mom called. She… she’s getting married again.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Married? To who?”

“Some guy named John. They’ve been dating for a while, apparently.”

I sat down hard, my mind reeling. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

Dad shrugged. “You know your mother. Always living in her own little world.”

A shocked young woman covering her face | Source: Pexels

A shocked young woman covering her face | Source: Pexels

I bristled at his tone but said nothing. As he left the room, I stared at my half-packed bag, wondering what this would mean for our weekends together.

Fast forward to last weekend. I hadn’t seen Mom in months, busy with college and work. But now, here I was, pulling up to her new house, my stomach churning with nerves.

What if this John guy was just another version of Dad?

A car parked outside a house | Source: Pexels

A car parked outside a house | Source: Pexels

Mom greeted me at the door, practically glowing. “Iva! Oh, I’ve missed you!” She hugged me tight, smelling of lavender and linseed oil, a scent that instantly brought me back to childhood.

John appeared behind her, a warm smile on his face. “So this is the famous Iva! Your Mom’s told me so much about you.”

We chatted for a while, and I couldn’t help but notice how Mom seemed to stand taller and laugh easier. There was a spark in her eyes I hadn’t seen in years.

A happy senior woman smiling | Source: Pexels

A happy senior woman smiling | Source: Pexels

“How’s college going?” Mom asked, pouring me a cup of tea.

“It’s good. Busy, but good,” I replied, watching her closely. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me about John earlier?”

She looked down, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Oh, honey. I wanted to, but… I guess I was scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

“That you wouldn’t approve. That you’d think I was replacing your father.”

A smiling senior woman wearing eyeglasses | Source: Pexels

A smiling senior woman wearing eyeglasses | Source: Pexels

I reached out and took her hand. “Mom, all I want is for you to be happy.”

She squeezed my hand, her eyes shining. “I am, Iva. I really am.”

“Iva,” John said suddenly, “there’s something I’d like to show you. Follow me.”

Curious, I followed John down a hallway. He stopped at a closed door, his hand on the knob. “Your Mom’s been working on something special,” he said, grinning. “Ready?”

He swung the door open, and as I stepped inside, my jaw dropped.

Grayscale close-up of a man's hand on a doorknob | Source: Pexels

Grayscale close-up of a man’s hand on a doorknob | Source: Pexels

The room was a gallery. Mom’s gallery.

Her paintings covered every wall, beautifully framed and lit. Easels displayed works in progress, and there were even a few sculptures of porcelain dolls scattered around.

“John converted this room for me,” Mom said softly from behind me. “He calls it my ‘creativity hub’.”

I turned to her, speechless. She looked… radiant.

A young woman looking at paintings displayed on the wall | Source: Pexels

A young woman looking at paintings displayed on the wall | Source: Pexels

John wrapped an arm around her waist. “I organize shows here sometimes. Invite friends, family, and local art lovers. Florence’s work deserves to be seen.”

Mom blushed. “John even set up a website to sell my paintings. He handles all the business stuff so I can focus on painting and sculpting.”

I felt tears prick my eyes. “Mom, this is… amazing.”

Grayscale of a teary-eyed young woman looking up | Source: Pexels

Grayscale of a teary-eyed young woman looking up | Source: Pexels

“Your Mom’s talent is extraordinary,” John said, his voice full of pride. “I just wanted to give her a space where she could really shine.”

I walked around the room, taking in each piece. There were landscapes I recognized from our old neighborhood, portraits of people I’d never met, and abstract pieces that seemed to pulse with emotion.

“Do you remember this one?” Mom asked, pointing to a small canvas in the corner.

Close-up display of paintings and assorted artwork | Source: Pexels

Close-up display of paintings and assorted artwork | Source: Pexels

I leaned in, my breath catching. It was a painting of me as a little girl, sitting at our old kitchen table, coloring. The details were perfect — my messy pigtails, the crayon smudges on my cheeks, the look of intense concentration on my face.

“You painted this?” I whispered.

Mom nodded. “It’s one of my favorites. I painted it right after… well, after the divorce. It reminded me of happier times.”

A little girl coloring on a book | Source: Pexels

A little girl coloring on a book | Source: Pexels

I hugged her then and there, overcome with emotion. “I’m so proud of you, Mom.”

As we stood there, surrounded by my Mom’s art, memories flooded back. Dad’s angry voice, Mom’s quiet sighs, the tension that had filled our house for so long.

And now, this. A room filled with light and color… and love.

A young woman embracing a senior woman | Source: Pexels

A young woman embracing a senior woman | Source: Pexels

“You know,” John said, his voice gentle, “when I first met your Mom, she was so hesitant to show me her work. Can you believe that?”

Mom laughed softly. “I was scared you’d think it was silly.”

“Silly?” John looked at her like she’d hung the moon. “Flo, your art is what made me fall in love with you. It’s a part of who you are.”

A man smiling | Source: Pexels

A man smiling | Source: Pexels

I watched them, the way they looked at each other, the easy affection between them. This was what love was supposed to look like.

“I’m so happy for you, Mom,” I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes.

Mom pulled me into a hug, her arms strong and sure. “Oh, sweetie. I’m happy too. Happier than I’ve been in a long, long time.”

Close-up of a happy senior couple holding flowers | Source: Pexels

Close-up of a happy senior couple holding flowers | Source: Pexels

As we stood there, surrounded by canvases bursting with color and life, I realized something profound. Mom’s art, once stifled and undervalued, was now flourishing, and so was she. And I knew, without a doubt, that she had found her true love.

“So,” John said, clapping his hands together. “Who’s hungry? I was thinking we could grill out on the patio.”

Mom’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that sounds wonderful! Iva, will you stay for dinner?”

A cheerful senior woman smiling | Source: Pexels

A cheerful senior woman smiling | Source: Pexels

I looked at them both, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. “I’d love to,” I said, smiling. “I’d really love to.”

As we walked out of the gallery, I took one last look around. The room was more than just a showcase for Mom’s talent. It was a testament to the power of love… real love… to nurture and uplift.

And as I followed Mom and John to the kitchen, laughing at some joke he’d made, I felt truly at home for the first time in years.

A gallery of paintings | Source: Unsplash

A gallery of paintings | Source: Unsplash

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