Serving Karma, One Delivery at a Time

That money was our future, every penny saved since graduation for the home we dreamed of building together.

Riccardo shot to his feet, avoiding my gaze, and bolted for the door. It slammed shut with a deafening bang, his words echoing, "Come find me when you're yourself again!"

I shrugged and went on to scroll through the haters' posts.

KeyboardFury's update had gone viral, sparking a fresh wave of ridicule. They called me a masochist, a reverse saint, and the internet's biggest fool.

My phone rang with a call from Emily Brown, my best friend.

"Patricia, are you out of your mind?" she shouted over the phone. "I gave you #200,000 to hire a lawyer and sue those creeps, not to buy them takeout!"

"It's my choice," I replied calmly. "You don't need to worry."

"Don't worry? You're letting those jerks walk all over you, and you're using my money to feed them! You're degrading yourself! The whole internet's laughing at you! You're breaking my heart!" she snarled, hanging up.

When I called back, a robotic voice answered, "The subscriber you're dialing is busy now."

I logged onto WhatsApp, but my message to her was met with a highlighted exclamation mark: Emily has enabled friend verification. You are not her friend.

She'd blocked me on PayPal, too. Every way to reach her was severed.

On my screen, the haters reveled in a new frenzy. A trending hashtag #MakeAWishToPatricia flooded social media. They listed their dream meals:

[M9-grade wagyu, charcoal-grilled!]

[Black truffle pizza—looks pricey as hell.]

[You guys are basic. I want nyotaimori, with Patricia serving herself!]

Their sneering faces seemed to leer through the screen, but my grin only widened.

...

The next day, as I prepared another round of deliveries, the doorbell rang. It was my cousin, Della Harris, whom I hadn't seen in ages.

"I saw what was happening online," she said, her voice dripping with false concern. "Don't let it get to you. Those people are scum!"

Her eyes darted around, noting Riccardo's absence. "Where is Riccardo? With all this going on, how is he leaving you alone?"

"He's busy," I said flatly.

A flicker of smugness crossed her face before she masked it with pity. She glanced at my phone, where I'd left open a list of the haters' wishes from the night before.

"Are you really buying them food?" she gasped, feigning shock. "You're too soft! If it were me, I'd wish they'd get hit by a car the second they stepped outside."

While speaking out against injustice, she slipped her hand into her pocket and fished out her phone. Peeking at my order screen, she quickly snapped a photo.

I pretended not to notice, continuing to tap away on the app. She added, "This can't go on. You're rewarding their cruelty. Are you trying to guilt them into remorse?"

I said nothing, meeting her gaze with a slow, knowing smile. She faltered, "What's that smile for?"

I leaned in, whispering, "You're right. I want them to eat well and drink well."

She stumbled back, startled. "I-I just remembered something. I've got to go."

Minutes later, a new post rocketed to the top of social media, boosted by bots.