Life has a funny way of bringing full circle moments when you least expect them. Mine arrived when my brother introduced his fiancée—none other than Nancy Whitmore, the architect of my middle school misery.
Nancy’s bullying was the subtle, deniable kind. She’d “forget” to save me a seat at lunch, then sigh, “Oh, were you waiting for an invitation?” My parents called it “teenage drama.” I called it torture.
At their engagement brunch, Nancy’s mask slipped within minutes. “You look… rested,” she told me, her gaze lingering on my dark circles. “I guess some women don’t stress about aging like the rest of us.” My brother laughed like it was a joke. I saw it for what it was—the same old game.
That’s when I decided Nancy deserved a wedding gift as memorable as her cruelty. Remembering her legendary butterfly phobia (she once vaulted over three desks to escape a moth), I hired a company to release two hundred live butterflies in the couple’s hotel suite post-wedding.
The security footage was everything. Nancy’s scream echoed through the hallway as she dove into the bathroom, wedding veil askew. My brother’s confused “They’re just bugs!” only made her hysteria worse.
When he called me the next morning, livid, I simply said: “Funny how childhood trauma lingers, isn’t it?” The best revenge isn’t just getting even—it’s watching your bully finally understand the damage they caused.
