I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
My Ех Ruinеd My Dаy аt Wоrk, I Вrilliаntly Тооk Rеvеngе оn Нim thе Sаmе Dаy — Stоry оf thе Dаy
So, my boyfriend kicked me out after I caught him with another woman right on our kitchen table. The very next day, he showed up at my job with her! (I’m a waitress)
Me: “Colin, haven’t you hurt me enough already? Why are you here?”
Him: “Well, you can’t serve me at home anymore, so you’ll serve me here.”
His girl: “Hurry up and get me a menu, or you’re gonna lose more than just your house — you’ll lose this job too!”
I couldn’t afford to lose my job, so I had to serve them… it was a TOTAL DISASTER! They were purposely making a mess… He dropped his fork so I would kneel in front of him. At one point, his new girl even “accidentally” spilled her soup on me! They were laughing their heads off while I was crying under the bar counter.
But then, our chef saw me, wiped my tears, and told me he had this brilliant plan to get back at them. It was pretty simple but so genius! I immediately began to put it into action.
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