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.
Privileged Parents Excused Their Child for Kicking My Seat on the Flight, Claiming “He’s Just a Kid!”, Karma Delivered Them a Teachable Moment
On a long flight, a woman’s patience is tested by a child who kicks her seat and parents who ignore the disruption. What begins as a frustrating ordeal soon takes a surprising turn, revealing that karma has a way of delivering unexpected lessons.
As I settled into my aisle seat for a seven-hour flight, I hoped for some much-needed relaxation. With a book in hand, noise-canceling headphones on, and a good playlist ready, I thought I was prepared for the journey ahead. The cabin was packed and the air felt stuffy, but I was willing to endure it for a peaceful trip.
Then it began. A soft thumping at the back of my seat started to grow louder. Initially, I dismissed it, thinking a child was just adjusting in their seat. But the thumping became a steady rhythm, kick, kick, kick, each hit harder than the last.
I turned around and saw a boy, around six or seven, swinging his legs and grinning as if he were having a great time. His sneakers repeatedly slammed into my seat, creating a mini drum concert. His parents, seated nearby, were glued to their phones, completely unaware of the chaos their child was causing. I hoped the boy would tire out soon, or that his parents would notice, but the kicks only intensified.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally decided I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I turned around, offering a polite smile and asked the parents to ask their son to stop kicking my seat. The mother barely acknowledged me, dismissing my request with a “He’s just a kid!” before returning to her phone. I tried again, but the father was too engrossed in a video to care. Sensing his parents’ indifference, the boy kicked even harder, laughing as if he were winning some game at my expense.
I pressed the call button for the flight attendant, hoping she could help. She arrived, friendly and professional, and I explained the situation. She approached the family, asking them kindly to stop the boy from kicking my seat. For a brief moment, there was silence.
But as soon as she walked away, the kicks resumed, even more forceful this time. Frustrated, I stood up and spoke louder, asking them again to control their child. The mother rolled her eyes, and the father muttered something dismissive. The boy laughed and kicked harder. At this point, I was fed up. I called the attendant again, asking if I could switch to another seat. She returned shortly with good news: there was a seat available in first class.
Without hesitation, I grabbed my belongings and followed her to the front of the plane. The first-class section was a welcome relief, spacious, quiet, and free of children. I settled into my new seat, and the tension melted away. I was finally able to relax, enjoying a drink and diving into my book.
As the flight continued smoothly, I overheard the attendants talking about my old seatmates. The boy had found a new target for his kicks, an elderly woman who had taken my place. When she asked him to stop, the mother snapped at her, escalating the situation to a shouting match that caught the attention of the flight crew. I felt a twinge of sympathy for the elderly woman but couldn’t deny the poetic justice unfolding. As we prepared to land, I noticed security vehicles waiting by the gate.
When we disembarked, I saw the family being escorted off the plane by security officers. The boy, who had been so bold earlier, was now crying, clinging to his mother. The parents looked embarrassed, no longer the dismissive people they had been. I left the airport feeling a sense of satisfaction that surprised me. Karma had intervened, allowing me to enjoy my first-class experience and witness a bit of justice served.
As I walked past the family, I couldn’t help but smile at them. It was a small gesture, but it felt like the closure I needed. Sometimes, the universe has a way of balancing things out, and that day, it certainly did. With my book finished and my flight experience greatly improved, I walked away with a story that would surely entertain friends in the future.
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