Chapter 4: Begging, Betrayal, and Revenge

I woke up to hundreds of notifications. My phone blew up with messages—old friends, strangers, even a local news reporter wanting an interview. People started lining up outside, curious to try the ‘noodles that survived the drama.’ It was surreal.

Public opinion was overwhelmingly on my side. Everyone was roasting the old couple next door, saying all sorts of things.

The comments poured in—people calling Hank and Betty out, defending my reputation, and sharing their own horror stories about the deli. It felt like the whole town was rallying behind me. The tide had turned.

Some even commented that Hank and Betty were unsanitary, never washed their hands after using the bathroom before prepping food, used cheap cuts, and often sold spoiled meats. If someone tried to return something, they’d cuss them out, saying they didn’t know what real flavor was, and so on...

Stories I’d never heard before surfaced—customers complaining about finding bones in their sausage, weird smells from the display case, and how Betty once yelled at a mom for asking for a refund. The internet has a long memory. No secret stays buried online.

Soon, my business bounced back.

The line stretched down the block. I was working double shifts just to keep up. People came from neighboring towns to see what all the fuss was about. It was exhausting, but I felt alive again. I remembered why I loved this job.

Next door, though, was a ghost town. Eventually, they went under.

I’d glance over and see Hank and Betty sitting alone behind their counter, staring out the window. The lights were on, but nobody came in. Day after day, the silence grew heavier. The contrast was stark.

Hank and Betty would open up all day and barely get a customer.

Sometimes they’d sit outside, hoping to catch someone’s eye, but most folks just walked on by. Their reputation was shot, and there was no coming back from that. It was sad, in a way.

In the end, Hank got desperate and came to see me again.

One rainy afternoon, he knocked on my back door. I almost didn’t answer, but something in his voice made me pause. He looked tired, beaten down. I could see the defeat in his eyes.

First he apologized, then tried to play the pity card.

He started off with a handshake and a mumbled, “Sorry about before.” Then he launched into his story, hoping I’d feel bad for him. His voice was shaky.

He said it hadn’t been easy for the two of them; after a lifetime of hard work, they’d raised two sons.

He talked about the years they spent building the deli, about raising their boys and trying to keep the family together. There was a sadness in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. I almost felt sorry for him.

But after their sons left town for work, neither cared about their parents. Not only did they not send money, they often asked for handouts. That’s why, at their age, they were still hustling.

He let the words hang in the air, hoping I’d understand. “We’re all we’ve got,” he said, voice cracking. “Kids these days, they just don’t care.”

Hank poured out his grievances, even started crying.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, his shoulders shaking. I felt a pang of sympathy, despite everything that had happened. It was hard to watch.

In the end, he asked if I could keep buying meats from him; otherwise, the two of them really had no way to get by.

He pleaded, voice barely above a whisper. “Just a little, to get us through. Please.” His desperation was plain.

Although I felt sorry for them, after last time, how could I dare?

My gut twisted, but I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Hank. I can’t. Not after everything that’s happened.” My voice was gentle, but firm.

Especially now that everyone online knew their deli was unsanitary—if word got out I was buying from them again, how could I keep my shop open?

It would be business suicide. People trust me now, and I couldn’t risk losing that. No way.

So I politely refused, saying my shop was small and I couldn’t afford any more drama, and that we should just keep to ourselves from now on.

I tried to be gentle. “Let’s just mind our own business from here on out. No hard feelings.” I meant it.

Seriously.

I meant it. I wanted peace, not more conflict. But I knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Some folks just don’t let go.

When Hank realized there was no hope, he immediately got nasty.

His face twisted, and he jabbed a finger at me, voice rising. The mask was off.

He pointed at me and cursed.

“You just wait. If I can’t make it, you won’t either. If I don’t ruin your shop, I’m not your father.”

He spat the words like venom, then stormed off into the rain, slamming the door behind him. The threat hung in the air.

......

Seeing Hank’s true colors, I was secretly glad I made the choice I did.

I watched him go, a strange sense of relief settling over me. At least now I knew where I stood. There was no going back. The line was drawn.

What kind of people are these, bullying the young just because they’re old, with no morals at all?

I shook my head, thinking of all the times they’d played the victim. Some folks never change, no matter how much you try to help. That’s just how it is.

If he hadn’t threatened me, maybe after I calmed down, I might’ve helped them out of sympathy.

I’m not made of stone. If he’d been decent, maybe I would’ve thrown him a bone. But threats? That was the last straw. No more second chances.

But now, it’s clear some people just aren’t worth pitying.

Sometimes you gotta draw the line. Not everyone deserves your kindness. My grandma always said, “Don’t let a sad story cloud your judgment.”

Just like the saying goes—sometimes folks who seem pitiful are actually pretty awful.

My grandma always said, “Don’t mistake a sad story for a good heart.” She was right. I heard her voice in my head, and I knew I had to listen.

This old couple is beyond saving.

I decided then and there to keep my distance. I had my own family to worry about. No more drama.

But I still underestimated how shameless they could be.

I thought the worst was over. I was wrong. Way wrong.