Five Stars for My Funeral

Ten years after our divorce, I ran into my ex-husband at a nightclub.

He was the domineering CEO buying drinks for the entire venue to celebrate Rose's birthday.

And I was the delivery driver bringing them condoms.

The whole time, he pretended not to see me.

Until I got down on my knees and begged, all for a five-star rating.

Looking at my gaunt, skeletal face, he grabbed my chin and demanded coldly:

"You'd rather deliver food than stay married to me?"

"Mata, you're pathetic!"

I didn't take it to heart. I just pointed at his phone.

"Could you... give me a five-star rating?"