“The Wedding Gift She’ll Never Forget”
There was a girl in my class named Nancy — and I use “girl” generously, because she was a full-time monster in heels. She made my life hell. Called me names. Mocked my clothes. Laughed at my acne in front of the whole cafeteria. High school was a daily war, and I was always losing.
So when I graduated, I left town and never looked back. I healed. Found peace. Built a life away from the darkness she cast like a cloud.
Then, out of the blue, my brother called.
“I’m engaged!”
I squealed, thrilled for him… until he said the name:
“To Nancy. Nancy Carter.”
It felt like the ground dropped beneath me.
My Nancy? High school Nancy?! The same one who used to chant “Dumpster Donna” every time I walked by?
He claimed she’d changed. That high school was “a long time ago.” That she was “sweet now.”
I wanted to believe him. I really did.
But when I showed up at the engagement party, she proved she was exactly the same venomous snake, just in more expensive shoes. The entire night she took jabs at me:
“Oh wow, you still wear your hair like that?”
“You’re not dating anyone? Huh… well, some girls bloom late.”
“I hope you don’t take offense, but your laugh is so loud. Kind of shrill.”
And my brother? He laughed. Laughed.
I kept my cool, sipped my wine, and smiled.
Fine. She wanted to play?
Let’s play.
Flash forward to their wedding day. She strutted around in her designer gown like she was royalty. When I approached to congratulate them, she looked me up and down and smirked.
“Where’s your gift?” she asked, loud enough for nearby guests to hear.
I smiled warmly. “Oh, I didn’t forget. It’s special. Expensive. Delivered to your home this morning.”
Her eyes lit up like diamonds. “What is it?” she asked, giddy.
I leaned in close, my voice sweet and low.
“Something you’ll never forget.”
And it was.
Because earlier that week, I’d found my old high school yearbook in storage. Inside were dozens of pages Nancy had personally graffitied. Vulgar drawings. Horrific slurs. Notes like “Donna’s a fat troll” and “She should just disappear.” I scanned every single page, printed copies, and had them bound into a glossy coffee table book titled:
“Nancy: The High School Years – A Tribute to Personal Growth.”
Inside the front cover, I wrote:
“For your future children — so they can see what kind of woman their mother used to be.”
It was wrapped beautifully, with a gold ribbon and a handwritten tag that read:
“From your loving sister-in-law. “
My brother called me a week later. Furious. Said Nancy had cried for hours. Said it was “cruel.”
I told him I agreed — it was exactly as cruel as pretending someone’s trauma never happened.
Nancy wanted me to feel small.
Instead, I reminded her just how big a memory really is.
And that some “gifts”…
last forever.