The Perfect Wedding Gift
When my brother announced his engagement, I was over the moon. I imagined the family gathered together, laughter, toasts, maybe even tears of joy. But all that excitement vanished the second he told me who he was marrying.
It was her.
The girl who made my childhood a nightmare.
She probably thought the past was buried and forgotten. But I had the perfect wedding gift to remind her that some scars never fade.
I was only eight when I learned that monsters didn’t always hide under beds. Some of them sat behind you in class—smiling sweetly while whispering poison.
Nancy was that kind of monster.
She never hit or shoved me. That would’ve been too obvious. No, Nancy was smart. Her weapon was words—sharp, quiet, and cruel. She’d whisper things like, “Nice shirt, did you steal it from a clown?” or “Your voice is so annoying, do you even hear yourself?”
And the worst part? No one ever noticed.
Teachers thought she was an angel. My parents just told me to ignore her. But ignoring Nancy was like ignoring a mosquito buzzing in your ear—you could try, but it always came back to bite you.
By high school, I’d become an expert at being invisible. I sat alone at lunch, kept my head down, and counted the days until graduation like a prisoner scratching marks on a cell wall.
Then I left.
I went two states away for college, built a life, a career, and slowly forgot about her. For years, Nancy was nothing more than a dark smudge in the back of my mind.
Until my brother called.
“Guess what?” Matt’s voice crackled through the phone, full of excitement. “I’m engaged!”
I smiled instantly. “That’s amazing! Who’s the lucky girl?”
There was a pause. Just a beat too long.
Then he said, “Nancy.”
I froze. “Wait… Nancy who?”
“From high school,” he said cheerfully. “You know her.”
Oh, I knew her.
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. My heart pounded. My fingers went cold.
“She’s amazing,” Matt continued, completely unaware. “We met a couple years ago through mutual friends. It was like an instant connection. She’s sweet, she’s funny, she—”
“She bullied me,” I cut in sharply.
Silence.
“She made my life miserable,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You never saw it, because she was nice to you. But to me? She was awful.”
Matt hesitated. “I mean… I guess kids can be mean sometimes, but that was forever ago. People change.”
I closed my eyes, gripping the phone tighter. Do they?
“Look,” he said softly, “I really want you to come to the engagement party. It would mean a lot to me.”
I should’ve said no.
But I didn’t.
I told myself I was over it. That I was an adult now. That people do change.
I kept repeating those words like a prayer as I walked into that fancy restaurant a week later.
The place was beautiful—gold lights, crystal glasses, elegant music floating through the air. My brother spotted me right away, grinning wide.
“You made it!” he said, wrapping me in a big hug.
“Of course,” I managed, though my stomach churned.
Then I saw her.
Nancy stood near the bar, champagne in hand, laughing like she owned the room. She looked polished, perfect, expensive. And then she saw me.
“Wow,” she said with a sly smile, tilting her head. “You actually showed up.”
Her tone was light, playful. But I heard the venom underneath.
“I did,” I said calmly.
She looked me up and down, her lips twitching. “You always did surprise me.”
I smiled politely and walked past her. But as I did, I heard the faintest chuckle leave her lips. That soft, mocking sound I’d heard a thousand times before.
And I knew right then—Nancy hadn’t changed one bit.
All night, she attacked me with that same weapon she’d always used: fake kindness.
“I love that you’re still rocking the same haircut from high school! Not everyone can pull off nostalgia,” she said sweetly.
Or, “I heard you’re still single? That’s so freeing, right? No one to answer to, no expectations.”
Each jab was perfectly crafted—innocent on the surface, cruel underneath.
At one point, when no one else was looking, she leaned in close and whispered, “Still the same little loser. It’s almost cute.”
I stiffened but didn’t react. I wasn’t her scared victim anymore.
Not this time.
She hadn’t changed.
But I had.
That night, lying awake, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. About all the times she’d made me feel worthless. All the times she’d smiled while I cried.
And as my mind replayed every cruel memory, one particular day flashed back—freshman year biology class.
Our teacher had brought in live butterflies to show us metamorphosis. Most of us were amazed. But Nancy? She’d screamed so loud the principal came running.
She was shaking, crying, terrified. That’s when we all learned her biggest secret: Nancy had an intense, irrational fear of butterflies.
And that’s when the idea hit me.
By morning, I had a plan—a perfect one.
After a little research, I found out that my state allowed butterfly releases for weddings and special events. There were even companies that delivered live butterflies in gift boxes. When opened, they’d flutter out gracefully—a symbol of love and transformation.
I ordered two hundred butterflies.
Delivery date: the night Nancy and Matt came home from their wedding.
To make sure it all went exactly right, I paid extra to have the delivery person insist the box be opened indoors—to “protect the butterflies from the wind.”
And just for fun, I asked them to film it.
The wedding day came, and it was exactly what I expected—a shrine to Nancy. She glowed under the spotlight, floating through the room in her designer gown, soaking up every compliment.
“You made it!” she said, smiling like we were best friends. “I was so worried you’d back out at the last minute.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I replied, sipping my champagne.
She smirked. “Good. I wanted everyone who mattered to be here.”
All night, she kept up her fake act—sweet words hiding sharp edges.
Until near the end of the night, when she struck.
“So,” she said loudly enough for people nearby to hear, “I noticed there’s no gift from you! I know you wouldn’t forget such an important day.”
I smiled back. “Oh, I didn’t forget,” I said smoothly. “I wanted to give you something special. Something expensive. It’s waiting for you at home.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Really? What is it?”
I leaned in, lowering my voice just a bit.
“Something you’ll never forget.”
She laughed lightly, satisfied, and I raised my glass in a silent toast.
That night, when Nancy and Matt arrived home, there it was: a beautiful, ribbon-wrapped box waiting on their doorstep. A kind older delivery lady stood beside it, smiling warmly.
“This is very delicate,” she explained. “You should open it indoors—it’s safer for the butterflies.”
“Butterflies?” Nancy repeated, intrigued. “How lovely!”
She carried it inside, her husband filming the moment. The delivery lady pressed “record” on her own phone too, pretending to capture the “magical release.”
Nancy lifted the lid.
And chaos exploded.
Hundreds of butterflies burst into the air, fluttering everywhere—the walls, the ceiling, her veil, her hair. For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then—
Nancy screamed.
A raw, blood-curdling scream.
She stumbled backward, waving her arms, tripping over her wedding dress. “Get them away! Get them away from me!” she shrieked, gasping for breath.
The butterflies were harmless, but she was hysterical. She sobbed, screamed, fell to the floor, covering her head as the delicate creatures circled her.
Matt panicked, trying to calm her down, but she was inconsolable. The perfect bride was now a trembling mess, surrounded by wings and fear.
And the whole thing was on video.
The next morning, my phone rang. I didn’t even say hello before Matt’s voice exploded.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled. “You traumatized my wife!”
I yawned, stretching lazily. “Oh, now she’s traumatized? That’s interesting.”
“This isn’t funny!” he barked. “She had a full breakdown! Do you know how long it took me to calm her down? She barely slept!”
I let him rant. Then I said quietly, “And how long do you think I spent crying because of her, Matt? How many nights did I stay up wishing I didn’t have to go to school the next day?”
He went silent.
“That was high school,” he said finally, his voice weak. “You need to let it go.”
I smirked. “Sure. Just like she did, right? Oh wait—she didn’t.”
He didn’t respond.
I leaned back and added one last thing, almost casually.
“Oh, by the way… the whole thing’s on video. Her screaming, crying, losing it over butterflies. Pretty funny, actually. Maybe I’ll send it around. People love wedding fails.”
His voice cracked. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
And I hung up.
That was the last time I ever heard from Nancy.
And for the first time in years, I slept peacefully.
Because some scars don’t fade…
but sometimes, payback can be beautiful.
Just like butterflies. 🦋
