Childhood bullies expect you to forget. They count on it. So when my brother brought home Nancy—the girl who turned my adolescence into a minefield of anxiety—as his fiancée, I knew conventional wedding etiquette didn’t apply.
Nancy’s specialty was psychological warfare. She’d “accidentally” spill water on my assignments, then play concerned: “Oh no! Maybe next time you shouldn’t leave your work where people can bump into it.” Teachers adored her; I dreaded every class we shared.
When they announced their engagement, my brother brushed off my concerns. “That was kids’ stuff,” he insisted. But at the wedding rehearsal dinner, Nancy proved otherwise. “Some people peak in high school,” she sighed, eyeing my single status. “Others just… never peak at all.”
That’s when I remembered Nancy’s secret from freshman biology—her screaming meltdown when our teacher brought in butterflies for a lesson. A quick internet search later, I’d arranged for 200 live monarchs to be delivered as a “wedding gift” to their honeymoon suite.
The company assured me the butterflies would be perfectly safe—just startling when released indoors. The included video package captured every glorious moment: Nancy’s bloodcurdling scream, her frantic swatting at imaginary threats, my brother’s bewildered attempts to calm her while dodging fluttering wings.
When he called demanding an apology, I simply said: “Now she knows how it feels to be powerless.” Some childhood wounds never fully heal—but revenge sure helps with the scar tissue.
