Then one morning, I arrived to find the door already unlocked. My heart sank. Inside was Aunt Linda, helping herself to trays of croissants. She had the spare key — the one I kept in my husband’s nightstand. I didn’t say a word. I just watched. And in that moment, something in me clicked.
That night, I posted a message online:
“Sweet Haven will be closed this weekend for a private family tasting event.”
I asked my husband to spread the word. He thought I was being generous. He had no idea what was coming.
Saturday arrived. They came dressed for a celebration. But instead of a feast, they found tables with place cards, a single crumb on each plate, and one tiny sip of coffee per guest. When I lifted the cloche covers, their smiles vanished.
“Welcome,” I said. “Today’s menu features what you’ve left me to sell after your visits: crumbs. Enjoy the leftovers of your generosity.”
Uncle Ray laughed nervously. Aunt Linda walked out. My husband just stood there, stunned.
That night, I changed every lock. And on Monday morning, a new message greeted customers behind the counter:
“Love is free. Food isn’t.”
And just like that, everything changed. The real customers came back. Word spread. Sweet Haven came back to life — stronger than ever.
Sometimes, the sweetest thing you can do is set boundaries. And when people take your kindness for granted, the best way to make a point… is to serve it cold.