The Wedding Gift She Would Never Forget
When my brother announced his engagement, I was over the moon—until he told me who he was marrying. The name hit me like a punch to the chest. Nancy. The girl who made my childhood miserable.
She probably thought time had erased everything. But I remembered every cruel word, every smirk. And I had the perfect wedding gift to remind her that some scars don’t fade.
I was eight when I first learned that monsters don’t always hide under your bed. Sometimes, they sit behind you in class, whispering things sharp enough to cut your heart in two.
Nancy was one of those monsters.
She never pushed, never hit, never left a mark anyone could see. Her weapon was words—quiet, poisonous words that only I could hear. She was too smart to get caught, too charming to be suspected. Teachers loved her.
At home, my parents brushed it off.
“Just ignore her, honey,” my mom would say.
But ignoring Nancy was like ignoring a mosquito buzzing in your ear—you can’t sleep, can’t breathe, can’t think.
By high school, I had mastered the art of being invisible. I ate alone, avoided eye contact, and counted down the days until graduation like a prisoner scratching lines on a wall.
When I finally left for college two states away, I promised myself I’d never think about her again. And for years, I didn’t. I built a career, made new friends, and created a peaceful life where Nancy didn’t exist.
Until my brother, Matt, called.
“Guess what?” His voice was bursting with excitement. “I’m engaged!”
I grinned. “That’s amazing! Who’s the lucky girl?”
There was a short pause—too short for comfort.
Then he said it.
“Nancy.”
I froze. “Wait. Nancy who?”
He chuckled nervously. “From high school. You know her.”
Oh, I knew her. I could almost hear her mocking laughter echoing from the past.
“She’s amazing,” Matt went on, oblivious. “We met a couple years ago through friends, and it just clicked. She’s sweet, funny—”
“She bullied me,” I interrupted, my voice flat.
He stopped. “What?”
“She made my life miserable, Matt. You never saw it because she was nice to you, but to me? She was awful.”
He sighed. “I mean… kids can be cruel sometimes, but that was a long time ago. People change.”
I closed my eyes. “Do they?”
“Please,” he said softly, “come to the engagement party. It would mean a lot to me.”
I should have said no. But I didn’t.
I told myself I was grown now. That the past was over. That people can change.
The night of the engagement party, I walked into a high-end restaurant glowing with golden lights and soft music. My brother spotted me immediately, grinning wide.
“You made it!” he said, wrapping me in a tight hug.
“Of course,” I managed to say, even though my stomach was churning.
Then I saw her.
Nancy. Standing by the bar in a sleek dress, champagne in hand, looking as perfect as ever. When her eyes met mine, she smiled—a slow, smug smile that sent a chill through me.
“Wow,” she said, tilting her head. “You actually showed up.”
I forced a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
She looked me over, her eyes glinting with amusement. “You always did surprise me.”
The way she said it made me feel like I was eight again, standing small beneath her shadow. But I wasn’t that girl anymore.
Or so I told myself.
Throughout the night, Nancy proved she hadn’t changed one bit. Her words were dipped in sugar but sharp underneath.
“I love that you’re still rocking your high school haircut! Not everyone can pull off nostalgia,” she said sweetly.
“I heard you’re still single? That must be so freeing! No responsibilities!”
Every “compliment” landed like a sting. She smiled too brightly, spoke too kindly—no one else noticed the venom behind her words.
Then, while the crowd laughed and music played, she leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Still the same little loser, huh? It’s almost cute.”
My grip tightened around my drink. My heart pounded—but not from fear this time.
She hadn’t changed.
But I had.
And she was about to find out how much.
That night, lying awake, memories of her cruelty flooded back. Every insult. Every humiliation. Every moment I felt worthless because of her.
And then I remembered something.
Freshman year. Biology class. The day of the butterfly lesson.
Our teacher brought in live butterflies for a demonstration. Everyone was fascinated—except Nancy. She screamed so loud the principal came running. Her face had gone pale as snow, her body shaking uncontrollably.
Turns out, she had a deep, irrational fear of butterflies.
And that fear… never went away.
By morning, I had the perfect plan.
I found a company online that specialized in releasing live butterflies for weddings. It was all very elegant, very magical—except my version would be a little different.
I ordered two hundred live butterflies, packaged in a beautiful gold-and-white box. The company even offered a delivery service that would “ensure the butterflies’ safety by having the box opened indoors.” I happily paid extra for that part.
And just to be sure, I asked the delivery lady to film the moment for me—“for keepsakes,” I said.
The wedding was exactly what I expected—lavish, sparkling, and all about Nancy. She glowed under the spotlight, floating around the room like a queen.
When she spotted me, her smile widened. “You made it!” she gushed. “I was so worried you’d back out.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said with a calm smile.
She spent the night pretending to be sweet, but every so often, she’d drop another jab.
Then, toward the end, she made her big move.
“So,” she said loudly, turning heads, “I noticed there’s no gift from you! Surely you didn’t forget such an important day?”
I smiled back. “Oh, I didn’t forget. 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 close, my voice soft and steady. “Something you’ll never forget.”
She laughed, thinking she’d won again. But I knew better.
Later that night, when she and Matt arrived home, the golden box waited on their doorstep. The delivery lady greeted them cheerfully.
“This is very delicate,” she said, her voice kind but firm. “Please open it indoors—the butterflies are sensitive to wind.”
Nancy, glowing with curiosity, carried it inside while Matt followed behind, still in his tux. The woman discreetly pressed “record” on her phone.
Nancy lifted the lid.
And two hundred butterflies burst into the air.
For a second, the room was silent—until Nancy screamed.
She shrieked and stumbled backward, waving her arms wildly as butterflies filled the air, brushing against her hair, her veil, her dress. Her screams turned to sobs.
Matt tried to calm her, but she was shaking, gasping, crying uncontrollably as the harmless creatures fluttered around her. The beautiful bride was now a trembling mess, surrounded by the very thing she feared most.
And every moment was caught on video.
The next morning, my phone rang. I answered lazily, half-smiling.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Matt’s voice thundered through the line. “You traumatized my wife!”
“Oh?” I said, yawning. “Now she’s traumatized? That’s new.”
“This isn’t funny!” he snapped. “She had a full panic attack! She didn’t sleep all night! She—”
I cut him off. “And how many nights do you think I cried because of her, Matt? How many mornings did I dread going to school because she’d be there waiting to tear me apart?”
He fell silent.
“That was high school!” he finally said. “You need to let it go!”
I smirked. “Just like she did, right? Oh, wait—she didn’t.”
There was a long pause. I could almost hear his breathing through the phone.
Then I said softly, “By the way… the whole thing’s on video. Her screaming, crying, running around over a bunch of butterflies. It’s hilarious, actually. People love wedding fail videos.”
“You wouldn’t,” he said, his voice trembling.
“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 like a baby.