Jonathan arrived at the café, eager to impress the woman he loved. He had a new suit and had practiced hard. But things went wrong. Instead of Phoebe, he faced Mark, who publicly humiliated him, hinting at his long-time flaw. Jonathan’s nerves took over, leading to an embarrassing scene.
Jonathan Green, an elderly man, lived alone in a small, neat house on the city’s outskirts. His life was strictly regimented.
Every morning, he woke up precisely at 8:00 a.m., his alarm clock ringing loudly, piercing the quiet dawn. Jonathan would take a deep breath, and then immediately start his daily rituals.
First, he disinfected all surfaces, spraying and wiping until every inch sparkled. Next, he checked the locks and switches multiple times, his fingers trembling slightly as he flipped the light switches on and off, on and off.
The door locks were tested three times each, ensuring they were secure.
Jonathan’s days were like clockwork, each minute planned and each task completed in a specific order.
His routines were his comfort, a way to manage the anxiety that constantly buzzed at the edges of his mind.
He often quarreled with his neighbor Bob because of Bob’s cat, Mr. Whiskers, constantly roamed Jonathan’s garden, digging up his carefully planted flowers.
That bright morning, Jonathan was outside, meticulously tending to his garden, when he spotted Mr. Whiskers pawing at his tulips.
“Bob!” Jonathan called out, his voice tight with frustration. “Your cat is at it again!”
Bob, a quirky man with a wide grin and a perpetually messy appearance, popped his head over the fence.
“Ah, sorry, Jonathan! Mr. Whiskers is just a free spirit, you know? He means no harm.”
Jonathan grumbled, shaking his head. “Keep him out of my garden, Bob. I can’t have him ruining my flowers.”
Jonathan ate his lunch at a local café every day, occupying the same table by the window. The thought of someone else sitting there made his palms sweat.
Phoebe, the kind-hearted waitress at the café, knew about this peculiarity and always tried to reserve the table for Jonathan.
She was a bright spot in his otherwise anxious world, with her warm smile and gentle demeanor.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Green,” Phoebe greeted him as he walked in, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Your usual table is ready for you.”
At the sight of Phoebe, Jonathan got nervous, and his hands started to shake. He quickly sat down and began arranging the sugar packets on the table, lining them up in perfect rows to calm himself.
Phoebe watched him with a soft smile, understanding his need for order.
“Thank you, Phoebe,” Jonathan said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Phoebe nodded and placed his usual lunch in front of him: a plate of vegetables arranged by color, with the potatoes perfectly aligned.
She arranged the vegetables this way just for him, knowing it helped to calm his nerves.
As he ate, Jonathan couldn’t help but glance at Phoebe from time to time. She moved gracefully between the tables. Each time she looked his way and smiled, he felt a flutter of warmth in his chest, a feeling he couldn’t quite name.
Despite the rigid structure of his days, there was a small part of Jonathan that longed for something more, something beyond his routines.
And though he would never admit it, Phoebe’s smile was a tiny spark of light in his meticulously ordered world.
On one of his regular visits to the café, Jonathan brought a single daisy, its white petals slightly wilted but still charming. He hid it in his pocket throughout lunch, occasionally patting it to make sure it was still there.
As he finished his meal and carefully arranged his utensils, he discreetly left the crumpled flower on the table for Phoebe.
As Jonathan made his way to the exit, Phoebe hurried after him. “Mr. Green, wait up!” she called, her voice bright and cheerful.
Jonathan paused, his heart racing. “Yes, Phoebe?”
Phoebe caught up to him, holding the daisy gently. “This is lovely, thank you,” she said warmly.
“You know, the café owner is planning a musical evening soon. We’re looking for someone who can play the piano well. I remember you mentioning you used to play quite well. Would you consider performing?”
Jonathan felt his chest tighten. He looked at his watch, his fingers tapping nervously on its face.
“I… I need to be home. It’s almost time for my afternoon routine,” he stammered.
Phoebe’s smile softened. “I understand, Mr. Green. Just think about it, okay? It would be wonderful to have you play.”
Jonathan nodded quickly, eager to escape the unexpected conversation. “I’ll think about it,” he mumbled before hurrying out the door.
At home, Jonathan tried to follow his usual routine but found himself distracted by Phoebe’s words. Finally, he deviated from his schedule and sat down at the old upright piano in his living room.
His fingers trembled as they hovered over the keys. He began to play, but not all the notes came out right. His anxiety grew with each mistake.
Hearing the hesitant notes, Bob peeked through the window, his curiosity piqued. He knocked gently on the glass.
“Hey, Jonathan, need some help?” he called out.
Jonathan frowned but opened the window a crack. “I’m fine, Bob. Just… just trying something.”
Bob grinned, undeterred. “That’s awesome! Need an audience to practice on?”
Jonathan sighed. “It’s a foolish idea. I haven’t played in years.”
Bob stepped back and smiled. “Nonsense. Let’s work on it together. I can listen, and we can get you ready.”
Jonathan often struggled to play because of his obsessive thoughts, but Bob found a way to calm him.
He created little funny rhyming phrases.
“Tickle the ivories, just like pies,” and “Play the keys, no fleas, just ease.”
They first repeated them aloud, then to themselves. This helped Jonathan gather himself and play more steadily.
For the first time in a long while, Jonathan felt a flicker of happiness, a sense of accomplishment warming his heart. He smiled, thinking that perhaps this could be his moment to shine.
However, deep down, he couldn’t shake off the nagging worry that his joy might be premature.
The next day, Jonathan walked into the café with a slight spring in his step. However, instead of Phoebe, he saw Mark behind the counter.
Mark was a young waiter, known for his sharp tongue and competitive nature. He always seemed to be trying too hard to impress, especially when Phoebe was around.
Jonathan’s heart sank a little, but he approached Mark.
“Hello, Mark,” Jonathan said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Could you tell Phoebe that I agreed to perform at the musical evening?”
Mark raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Sure, I’ll let her know,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Good luck with that, old man.”
Ignoring the snide remark, Jonathan turned and left the café. He met up with Bob, who was waiting for him outside.
“How’d it go?” Bob asked, noticing Jonathan’s slightly flustered appearance.
“Phoebe wasn’t there, but I left the message with Mark,” Jonathan replied, trying to shake off the unease. “Let’s go get that suit.”
Bob nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely! Let’s get you looking sharp.”
They went to the local department store, where Bob helped Jonathan pick out a suit. Bob was like a whirlwind of energy, holding up jackets and ties, and offering opinions on colors and styles.
“Try this one,” Bob said, handing Jonathan a navy blue suit. “It’ll bring out your eyes.”
Jonathan hesitated but took the suit into the dressing room. When he emerged, he felt a bit self-conscious but also a little proud.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked, turning around slowly.
Bob gave a thumbs up. “You look fantastic! Phoebe will be impressed for sure.”
After purchasing the suit, Jonathan had one more request.
“Bob, can we stop by the jewelry shop? There’s something I need to get.”
Bob’s eyes widened in surprise but nodded. “Of course, let’s go.”
At the jewelry shop, Jonathan carefully examined the pieces on display. His hands were a bit shaky as he finally selected a delicate silver bracelet with a small charm.
“This one,” Jonathan said, his voice soft. “For a special woman.”
Bob smiled broadly. “That’s a beautiful choice, Jonathan. She’ll love it.”
Bob patted him on the back as they walked out of the shop.
“Everything’s going to be great, Jonathan,” Bob said confidently. “I’ll be there to support you at the performance. You’ve got this.”
Jonathan nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Thanks, Bob. I appreciate your help.”
As they headed home, Jonathan felt a flicker of hope. Yet, the biggest test for poor Jonathan was to come, and he had no inkling of what lay in wait.
On the day of the performance, Jonathan arrived at the café, feeling a bit nervous. As he entered, he looked around for Phoebe but saw Mark behind the counter instead.
“Good afternoon, Mark. Is Phoebe here?” Jonathan asked, his voice slightly trembling.
Mark smirked. “Oh, she’s in the back. Why do you need her?”
Jonathan took a deep breath.
“I’m here for the performance. I told you to let her know.”
Mark’s smirk widened. “Oh, right. I must have forgotten. Besides, we decided against live music tonight. It’s not really your scene, old man.”
Jonathan’s heart sank. Just then, Phoebe came out from the back and saw Jonathan. She greeted him with a warm smile.
“Mr. Green! What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know you came tonight! You look sharp today,” she said, noticing his new suit.
“You didn’t respond to my message, but I went ahead and tuned the piano just in case.”
Jonathan managed a small smile, feeling a bit more at ease. “Thank you, Phoebe. I’m ready to play.”
Jonathan looked at Mark, who shrugged nonchalantly. Phoebe frowned but turned to Jonathan with a reassuring smile.
“It’s not a big deal. The piano is tuned, and you can play. Let me just inform the café owner.”
As Phoebe walked away, Mark seized the moment to mock Jonathan.
“Look at you with your useless rituals. Your obsessive thoughts have no place here. You’re just going to embarrass Phoebe and yourself.”
Jonathan’s hands began to shake uncontrollably. In his panic, he knocked over a stack of dishes on a nearby table. The crash echoed through the café, and juice spilled onto the patrons at the neighboring table.
Faces turned towards him, some with shock, others with annoyance.
Feeling utterly humiliated, Jonathan ran out of the café, his vision blurred with tears.
Bob was just entering the café, having arrived a bit late. As he stepped through the door, he and Jonathan collided, nearly knocking each other over.
“Whoa, Jonathan! What happened?” Bob asked, seeing the distress on Jonathan’s face.
Jonathan, struggling to catch his breath, tried to explain.
“Mark… he didn’t tell Phoebe. They weren’t expecting me to play, and he… he mocked me. I knocked everything over.”
“Jonathan, calm down,” Bob said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Remember our rhymes from the rehearsals. Repeat them with me.”
Together, they closed their eyes and chanted the calming phrases:
“Tickle the ivories, just like pies,” and “Play the keys, no fleas, just ease.”
Gradually, Jonathan’s breathing steadied, and the panic ebbed away.
Despite the anger and confusion inside the café, he felt a new resolve forming within him.
Bob gave him an OK sign. “You’ve got this, Jonathan. Don’t let Mark or anyone else stop you.”
Jonathan, still murmuring the calming rhymes, walked back into the café, ignoring the stares and whispers.
He made his way to the piano, his focus entirely on the keys in front of him. The café owner moved to intervene, but Phoebe quickly stepped in.
“Please, let him play. I’ll take responsibility for whatever happens next,” she pleading the owner.
Summoning all his strength, Jonathan began to play. The first notes were shaky, but as he continued, his confidence grew.
The music flowed beautifully, filling the café with a serene melody. The chatter died down, and everyone listened, captivated by his performance.
As the last note faded, Jonathan faced the audience.
“I have OCD,” he began, his voice steady. “But today, I overcame my fears and my need for daily rituals to take a step forward. I want to thank Bob for helping me find a new way to calm myself, and I even thank Mark for the obstacles he put in my path because they made me stronger.”
He turned to the café owner and the patrons. “I apologize for the chaos earlier and promise to cover the costs.”
The café erupted in applause, and Jonathan felt a wave of relief wash over him. Mark slipped out quietly, his head down, while Jonathan approached Phoebe, who was beaming with pride.
He took out the small box and handed it to her.
“Phoebe, this is for you. And… would you go out with me on a real date?”
Phoebe’s eyes sparkled as she opened the box to reveal the bracelet.
“Yes, Jonathan. I’d love to.”
From a distance, Bob watched with a satisfied smile. Jonathan had not only faced his fears but had also found the courage to pursue his happiness.
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My Late Wife’s Presumptuous Sister Took Her Dress Without Asking and Damaged It – Karma Swiftly Dealt With Her
Jack is furious when his sister-in-law shows up to a family event in his late wife, Della’s cherished dress. But the final blow comes when she “accidentally” ruins it right in front of him. Jack holds back his anger, but karma has its way of delivering justice in ways no one expects.
It’s been six months since I lost my wife, Della, and some days it feels like I’m drowning in memories. Today was one of those days until karma decided to show up fashionably late to the party.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me rewind a bit to last week.
It was supposed to be a happy day, the 45th wedding anniversary of Della and her sister Lina’s parents. Instead, it turned into a nightmare that had me wishing I’d stayed home nursing my grief with a bottle of whiskey.
I stood in the corner of the living room, nursing a drink and trying to blend into the wallpaper.
The chatter of family and friends washed over me, a dull roar that did nothing to drown out the ache in my chest. Every laugh, every clink of glasses was a reminder that Della should’ve been here, lighting up the room with her smile.
That’s when it happened. The moment that made my blood run cold and then boil in the span of a heartbeat.
Lina appeared at the top of the stairs, and my world tilted on its axis.
She was wearing Della’s engagement dress. The one I’d given her on the night I proposed, the one she’d treasured for years. It was a soft, flowing thing in a shade of blue that matched Della’s eyes perfectly.
Seeing it on Lina felt like a violation.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. My fingers tightened around my glass as Lina descended the stairs, a smug smile playing on her lips. She knew exactly what she was doing.
“Jack!” she called out, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Don’t you think this dress is just perfect for the occasion?”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. What could I say that wouldn’t cause a scene? That wouldn’t play right into her hands?
Lina sauntered over, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight. “What’s wrong, Jack? Cat got your tongue?”
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “That’s Della’s dress,” I managed to growl.
She laughed, a sound like nails on a chalkboard. “Oh, come on. It’s not like she needs it anymore. And now,” she leaned in close, her breath hot on my ear, “she can’t say no to me.”
Something snapped inside me. I was about to unleash years of pent-up fury when Lina gasped dramatically.
“Oh no!” she cried out. “I’m so clumsy!”
Time seemed to slow as I watched a wave of red wine spread across the front of Della’s dress. Lina’s eyes met mine, filled with mock innocence and very real triumph.
“Oops,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I guess I ruined it. Such a shame.”
I don’t remember much of what happened next. Somehow, I made it through the rest of the party without committing murder. But as I drove home that evening, my knuckles white on the steering wheel, I knew something had changed.
Back in our — my — empty house, I paced the floor like a caged animal. Memories of Della flooded my mind, sharp and painful. Her laughter, her strength, the way she always stood up to Lina’s bullshit.
“God, I miss you, Del,” I whispered to the empty room. “You always knew how to handle her.”
I could almost hear Della’s voice in my head, calm and steady. “Don’t let her get to you, Jack. She’s not worth it.”
But it wasn’t just about me anymore.
It was about honoring Della’s memory, about not letting Lina trample all over the life we’d built together.
As I collapsed onto the couch, exhausted and heartsick, a strange calm settled over me. I wouldn’t seek revenge; that’s not what Della would’ve wanted. But I wouldn’t stand in karma’s way either.
Something told me the universe had taken notice of Lina’s behavior, and it was only a matter of time before the scales balanced out.
Little did I know how right I was.
A few days later, I was mindlessly scrolling through social media, trying to distract myself from the gnawing emptiness in my chest, when a post caught my eye. It was from Lina, and it was… dramatic, to say the least.
“My dear friends,” it read, accompanied by a selfie of Lina with tears streaking her mascara, “I was robbed yesterday! They took all my cocktail outfits and branded clothes. I’m devastated!”
I blinked and read it again.
A laugh bubbled up in my throat, unexpected and a little rusty from disuse. Before I could fully process what I was reading, my phone rang. Lina’s name flashed on the screen.
I answered, curiosity getting the better of me. “Hello?”
“You colossal jerk!” Lina’s shrill voice assaulted my ear. “I know it was you! How dare you?”
I held the phone away from my ear, her tirade continuing unabated. When she paused for breath, I jumped in. “Lina, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Jack! My clothes, all my designer outfits, they’re gone! And I know you’re behind it!”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. It was a real laugh, the kind I hadn’t experienced since Della died. “Lina, I hate to burst your bubble, but I had nothing to do with your clothes going missing.”
“Liar! Who else would do this? It’s payback for the dress, isn’t it?”
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Lina, I’ve been home wallowing in my grief. I haven’t left the house in days. How exactly do you think I managed to orchestrate a theft of your wardrobe?”
She sputtered, clearly not expecting logic to enter the conversation. “But… but…”
“Look,” I said, a hint of amusement creeping into my voice, “I’m sorry you were robbed. That sucks. But it wasn’t me.”
“Then explain this!” she shrieked.
My phone pinged with an incoming message.
I pulled it away from my ear to look, and what I saw nearly made me drop it.
There, in living color, were photos of Lina’s missing clothes. But they weren’t in some thief’s lair or a pawn shop. No, they were being worn by homeless women on the street.
I saw a Gucci blazer draped over the shoulders of an elderly woman pushing a shopping cart. A Prada dress adorned a young mother cradling a baby.
I couldn’t contain myself. Laughter erupted from me, deep and genuine.
It felt foreign, almost painful, but God, it felt good.
“What’s so funny?” Lina demanded. “This isn’t a joke, Jack!”
“Oh, Lina,” I managed between chuckles, “trust me, karma works in mysterious ways.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I swear, Jack, if I find out you had anything to do with this—”
“You’ll what?” I cut her off, suddenly tired of her threats. “Look, Lina, I didn’t take your clothes. Maybe the universe decided it was time for you to learn a lesson about taking things that don’t belong to you.”
She gasped, indignant. “How dare you! I’m calling the police!”
“Go ahead,” I said, surprising myself with how calm I felt. “I’m sure they’ll be very interested in your theory about your grieving brother-in-law masterminding a charitable redistribution of your wardrobe.”
I hung up before she could respond, feeling lighter than I had in months. As I set my phone down, a memory surfaced: Della, rolling her eyes after yet another confrontation with her sister.
“One of these days,” she’d said, “Lina’s going to push too far, and it’s going to bite her in the rear.”
I smiled, raising an imaginary glass to the ceiling. “You called it, babe,” I murmured. “You always did.”
I thought that was the end of it. A bit of karmic justice, a much-needed laugh, and maybe a lesson learned for Lina. But the universe, it seemed, wasn’t quite done.
The next morning, I opened my front door to grab the newspaper and nearly tripped over a plain white envelope on the welcome mat. No address, no stamp. Just my name scrawled across the front in unfamiliar handwriting.
Curious, I tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper with three words:
“Don’t thank me.”
I stared at the note, my mind racing. Someone in the family, someone I didn’t know, or at least didn’t suspect, had taken matters into their own hands. They’d done what I’d only dreamed of doing, exacting a revenge that was as poetic as it was just.
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