Chapter 9 - The Tables Turn
Life has a funny way of bringing things full circle.
Eleanor's firm hosted an annual charity gala at the most exclusive country club in the city. As Regional Director, I was co-hosting. I wore a stunning, emerald-green silk dress—a far cry from the "clearance item" I used to be.
As I was checking the guest registry at the front entrance, I heard a familiar, whiny voice arguing with the valet.
"Do you know who I am? I'm on the catering staff, I don't pay for parking!"
I turned. It was Vanessa.
She looked exhausted, wearing a standard black-and-white catering uniform, her hair tied back in a messy bun. The irony was so thick you could cut it with a knife. After the divorce—which had been finalized two months prior—she had been forced to take whatever work she could find to pay off her half of the wedding debt.
She looked up and froze. Our eyes met.
She took in the gala, my dress, the diamond tennis bracelet on my wrist. The realization hit her like a physical blow. The "tragic single mom" was hosting the event she was hired to serve hors d'oeuvres at.
May you like
She opened her mouth, perhaps to say something sharp, but the words died in her throat. She looked down at her scuffed catering shoes, completely defeated, and scurried through the service entrance.
I didn't say a word. I didn't need to.
