My mom, the kindest person you’ll ever meet, had to quit her job due to c-an-cer treatment. Now in remission, she works as a waitress to pay her bills.

Enter Karen, a nasty customer who belittled my mom daily. She once dropped a napkin and demanded my mom pick it up, sneering, “Try not to be so slow.” Another time, she complained about the flowers adorning the restaurant and suggested my mom bring fresh ones from her garden.

My mom, ever the angel, never complained. But last week, Karen threw her coffee at my mom, claiming it was too cold.

My mom came home in tears, her uniform stained.

When I pressed her for details, my mom finally admitted that Karen was a former classmate who had a gru-d-ge because my dad chose my mom over her back in the day.

Enough was enough. Karen was going to answer for her actions. So, I dug into her social media, found out she was obsessed with her image. She bragged about her lavish lifestyle and her pristine appearance.

I concocted a brilliant plan.

I set up a fake Instagram account, posing as a high-end beauty influencer, Lila Sanders. With some paid followers and some bought engagement, the account was as good as real.

Then I started interacting with Karen’s posts, complimenting her and gradually getting her to trust the fake account.

After 7 days of friendly exchanges, I sent her a message about an exclusive, invite-only beauty event happening in town, claiming I had an extra VIP ticket.

“Hi, Karen!

I hope you’re doing well. I’ve been loving your recent posts – your style is just impeccable! 🌟

I’m reaching out because I have an extra VIP ticket to an exclusive, invite-only beauty event happening in town next week. It’s going to be a fantastic opportunity to network and enjoy some luxurious pampering. I thought you might be interested since you have such a passion for beauty and fashion.

Let me know if you’d like to join!

Best, Lila Sanders”

“Oh my God, that sounds amazing! I’d love to go!” Karen texted back, her excitement practically jumping off the screen.

“The event’s at the Grand Hotel,” I said to her. “The dress code is really strict, so make sure you look your best.”

She replied right away. “Absolutely! I can’t wait! Thanks so much for the invite!”

Karen showed up dressed to the nines, strutting into the hotel lobby. I watched from a distance when she approached the front desk, her confident demeanor slowly morphing into confusion.

I pretended to be Karen, and canceled her actual reservation for a spa day she had planned, explaining she was very ill and couldn’t make it.

“What do you mean my reservation is canceled?” Karen’s voice rose, “I didn’t cancel anything!”

Mr. Daniels, the hotel manager, shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the reservation was canceled by someone claiming to be you. We’ve already charged the cancellation fee and other costs.”

Karen’s face turned bright red when she tried to explain herself. “This is ridiculous! I demand a refund!”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Mr. Daniels said firmly. “We had everything ready for your visit, and now it’s too late to rebook.”

Karen, flustered and embarrassed, had no choice but to pay up.

But I wasn’t done yet. Remember the fake beauty event? I had arranged for a delivery of cheap, sticky, glittery “beauty products” to be sent to Karen’s address, all packed in what looked like high-end packaging.

When I watched Karen leave the hotel, I imagined the scene unfolding at her home.

Karen finally got home.

Excited, she opened the packages, only to have glitter and sticky goo explode all over her expensive outfit and pristine living room.

“What the—?” she screamed. The mess was nearly impossible to clean up, and I knew it would take days to fully get rid of.

Karen’s posts on the social media took a nosedive when she frantically tried to salvage her image. Her once-perfect photos now showed a frazzled woman desperately trying to maintain her facade. She even had to take a break from her daily café visits, much to my mom’s relief.

I decided to confront Karen directly.

I walked into the café during one of her usual visits and calmly approached her table.

“Karen,” I began, my voice steady. “I know exactly who you are and what you’ve been doing. You think humiliating my mom makes you superior, but it only reveals your insecurities and bitterness. My mom survived cancer and continues to work hard every day, while you cling to petty grudges from high school. It’s time to grow up and move on because your actions are pathetic, and you’re only embarrassing yourself.”

Karen was completely speechless. She quickly gathered her things and left, her head bowed in shame. I haven’t seen her in the café since.

As my mom found out what I had done, she wasn’t exactly thrilled about the deceit. “Audrey, I appreciate you standing up for me, but was all that really necessary?” she asked.

“Mom, you’ve always been there for me, making endless sacrifices to ensure my happiness. This was nothing compared to what you’ve done for me,” I replied, squeezing her hand.

She sighed. “Justice in the most glittery, sticky way possible, huh?”

“Exactly,” I grinned. “Karen needed a taste of her own medicine.”