I – David Harris, a 42-year-old businessman – stood in the middle of the luxurious hall, tightly holding the hand of my new wife, Emily – a beautiful young girl that everyone praised as “the right type of successful”.

White roses covered the aisle, light jazz music played.
Guests laughed and talked, everyone congratulated me.

I held my head high, proudly thinking that I had reached the pinnacle of happiness and fame.

Until, in the middle of raising my glass to celebrate, my eyes suddenly stopped in the corner of the room.

A familiar figure – a black waiter’s shirt, hair neatly tied up, holding a tray of wine.

My heart stopped for a beat.
But then I burst out laughing.

It was her – Anna Parker, my ex-wife.
The woman who cooked for me every night, who helped me build my career in the early, difficult days.

Now, while I was wearing an expensive tuxedo, standing in the bright lights next to my new wife, she was serving at my own wedding party.

I felt funny. I felt elated.

A few business friends sitting next to me gently nudged me:

“Hey, isn’t that your ex-wife?”

“Life is really fair, isn’t it? One person rises to success, one falls to the bottom.”

I just shrugged, sneered:

“Who said she doesn’t know how to keep her husband.”

And I continued to raise my glass, thinking I had won.

About half an hour later, the party entered its climax.

Guests filled the hall, laughing and talking loudly.

An elderly man – Mr. Robert Anderson, the president of a financial group that I have longed to cooperate with for many years – approached my table

He smiled, shook hands, raised his glass to congratulate me:

“Congratulations, David. You deserve this happiness.”

I replied proudly:

“Thank you, it is an honor to have you here.”

But immediately after, his eyes stopped at the corner of the room.
Where Anna was bending down to clear the table, her hair disheveled, her eyes quiet.

Suddenly, he put down his glass, his voice resounded solemnly:

“Excuse me, everyone, I have a few words to say.”

The music suddenly stopped. The whole hall fell silent.

Mr. Robert turned around, pointed at Anna:

“Perhaps no one here knows, the woman serving over there is…
the one who saved my life three years ago.”

The whole hall burst into cheers.

He continued, his voice choking:

“One rainy night, my car crashed and fell into the lake. While everyone stood there in fear, she jumped into the cold water to pull me out. She was soaked and shivering, but she still called an ambulance and stayed until I woke up. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be standing here today.”

I was stunned.
My hands were stiff, my wine glass shaking in my hand.

But Mr. Robert didn’t stop.

“Not only that,” he said, “Anna was a co-founder of a charity fund that my company was sponsoring. She quietly withdrew after the divorce, leaving all the fame to her ex-husband – the man sitting at the table over there.”

Everyone’s eyes immediately turned to me.
My face was red, sweat was beading on my forehead.

Whispers rang out everywhere:

“Oh my god, she’s the founder of the fund?”

“And yet he laughed at her?”

Anna was still standing there, her eyes red but calm, continuing to clean up the cups as if she had not heard anything.

I felt everything around me collapse.

The title of “successful businessman” that I had been proud of for so many years, suddenly had no meaning.

I – the man who had once abandoned that woman because he thought she was “ordinary”, was now sitting here, exposed in front of hundreds of people.

While she, despite wearing a simple uniform, stood straight, proud, and was a thousand times more respected than me.

I wanted to stand up, go near her to say sorry.
But my feet felt like they were nailed to the ground.

She only glanced at me once – her eyes were calm to the point of heartbreak.

Then she turned away, continuing her work.

When the party ended, I stood alone in the empty hall.
The sound of cleaning echoed, the smell of wine and wilted flowers lingered in the air.

I suddenly understood:
Success is never measured by money or status – but by how we treat the people who once loved us.

I had everything – a job, a young wife, fame – but deep down, I knew I had lost the most precious thing.

A woman with a kind heart, who stood by me through the difficult times, who never left me… until I pushed her out of my life

A year later, I happened to see Anna in a small cafe near the Hudson River.

She was still wearing her waitress uniform, her hair tied up, but her eyes were bright and her smile was gentle.

Beside her was a little girl – probably her daughter, or maybe her niece.

I walked over and said softly,

“Anna… I – David.”

She raised her head, looked at me for a second, then smiled politely:

“I know. But now, I’m just a waitress here. What would you like?”

I choked up and replied softly:

“A cup of tea, if you like.”

When she put the cup down, she whispered:

“Do you know, sometimes, a simple cup of tea can warm up a whole life. But only if one learns to… be grateful for it.”

She turned away.

I watched her, my heart filled with belated regret.

I took a sip of tea – the bitter taste on the tip of my tongue, but then a warm sweetness spread throughout.

I smiled bitterly.
Perhaps, it was the taste of the true love that I had lost – and could never find again.