When I was eight, I learned that some monsters don’t live under the bed. They sit behind you in class, whispering just loud enough to hear.<\/p>\n
Nancy wasn\u2019t the typical bully. She used words like a weapon\u2014sharp, subtle, and devastating. Teachers adored her, but my parents just told me to ignore her. That was impossible.<\/p>\n
By high school, I had learned to blend in. I ate alone, kept my head down, and counted the days to graduation. After college, I moved away and built a life, forgetting about Nancy\u2014until my brother called.<\/p>\n
“I’m engaged!” he said, excited. “Guess who? Nancy.”<\/p>\n
I froze. “Nancy who?”<\/p>\n
“From high school. You know her.”<\/p>\n
I hadn\u2019t forgotten her. “She bullied me,” I said sharply. He dismissed it, claiming people change, and asked me to attend the engagement party. I hesitated but agreed.<\/p>\n
At the party, Nancy greeted me with cold, mocking kindness, making backhanded comments, but I was no longer the girl who shrank under her words. She hadn\u2019t changed, but I had.<\/p>\n
That night, I hatched a plan. I remembered how terrified Nancy was of butterflies in high school. I arranged for two hundred butterflies to be delivered to her home after the wedding, with strict instructions to open the box indoors.<\/p>\n
The wedding was all about Nancy, but my “gift” was the highlight. When she opened the box, the butterflies swarmed the room, and Nancy panicked, screaming in terror. My brother rushed to comfort her, but it was too late.<\/p>\n
The next day, my brother called, furious. “You traumatized her!” he yelled. I calmly reminded him of the years of torment I endured because of her.<\/p>\n
The conversation ended with a threat: I had video evidence of her breakdown, and I wasn\u2019t afraid to share it. That was the last time I heard from Nancy. And for the first time in years, I slept peacefully.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"