I never thought I’d see them again, much less in a gas station parking lot on a dreary Sunday afternoon. But there they were—Ethan, my ex-husband, and Jessica, my former high school friend, the woman he left me for. The woman he replaced me with only months after I miscarried our child.
Three years had passed since that gut-wrenching moment when Ethan came home and admitted he had been seeing Jessica. My body was still weak from the loss, my heart even weaker. And yet, he looked me in the eye and told me he had found happiness with her. As if my grief was a burden he was relieved to be rid of.
For months, I barely functioned. I replayed every moment, every conversation, trying to pinpoint where I had failed. Where I had become unworthy of love, of loyalty. But time is a strange thing—it dulls the pain, hardens the soul, and sometimes, if you’re lucky, grants you a second chance at happiness.
And I had taken that chance.
As I stepped out of my car, I caught sight of Ethan struggling to fill up his aging sedan. He had always been meticulous about keeping his cars pristine, but this one was far from the gleaming machines he used to obsess over. His hair was thinner, his face a little more worn. Jessica stood beside him, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her expression sour. The high school sweetheart glow had long faded.
I, on the other hand, had never felt more radiant. Dressed in a chic blazer and tailored jeans, my heels clicked confidently against the pavement as I approached the gas station entrance. Just then, the passenger door of my car opened, and Daniel stepped out. Tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly charming, he placed a warm hand on my waist as he leaned in close. “Do you want anything, sweetheart?”
I could feel Ethan’s eyes on me. Could feel Jessica’s gaze burning into my back.
“No, I’m good,” I replied, flashing Daniel a smile before he walked inside.
And that’s when I grinned. A genuine, uncontainable grin. Because I no longer cared. Not about Ethan, not about Jessica, not about the past.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t the woman left behind. I was the woman who had moved on, who had flourished. And from the looks on their faces, they knew it too.
I took one last glance at them before slipping into my car, my fingers intertwined with Daniel’s as he handed me a bottle of water. As we drove off, I caught my reflection in the side mirror—strong, confident, and utterly free.
Sometimes, the best revenge isn’t revenge at all. It’s happiness.
