As I walked to my car, the weight of the past year bore down on me. The sleepless nights, the constant worry, the feeling of never being good enough for the family. I drove home, my heart heavy with disappointment.
“Come on, Emily,” I muttered to myself as I got into the shower. I was determined to wash off the day and all my feelings before Mark got home.
“You’re home?” my husband asked as he walked into our bedroom. “I didn’t expect you to be in.”
I sat up and told him everything, watching the display of emotions race across his face.
“I’ll call her in the morning,” he promised. “She will not speak to you like this again.”
But karma played her game first.
The next morning, as I was making pancakes for Mark and me, my phone buzzed.
“Em,” Sarah said the moment I answered, giggling. “You won’t believe what happened last night!”
“What is it?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Jessica’s potluck was a complete disaster. Apparently, her helper didn’t plug the fridge in properly after cleaning it and everything that she had prepared was spoiled. The smell was something else!”
“Oh, my goodness,” I gasped.
“Everyone left early, saying it was the worst dinner ever. Serves her right. Her dad was quite upset, though. And her mom said the only thing that would have saved the evening would have been something you made.”
I couldn’t help but laugh with Sarah. This was karma, pure and simple. Jessica’s insistence on perfection and her dismissal of my food had backfired spectacularly.
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