When Jen matches with her high school bully on a dating site, she relives the trauma of her childhood. But still, she goes on the date—as a way of getting revenge for how she was treated. The date ends up being a bust, and Jen doesn’t get what she intended, so she plans a second meeting…
I sat at the bar, pretending to be absorbed in my phone as the door swung open and my date walked in. After meeting on a dating app, Justin and I had decided that it was finally time to meet.
Except that Justin and I had met before—just that he didn’t remember it.
A person using her phone | Source: Unsplash
As he walked in, the familiar jolt of recognition shot through me, but on his face, there was only the casual scan of a man on the lookout for someone who could have been anyone but the girl he once tormented. As he approached, his smile was confident, practiced.
I steeled myself, reminding my racing heart of its role tonight—a new woman, who just wanted revenge.
A smiling man | Source: Unsplash
“Hey, Jen,” he said, sliding into the seat beside me, unaware of the storm he was walking into. “I hope I’m not too late?”
“Not at all,” I replied, my voice steady and sweet. “I was just enjoying the vibe here. This place has changed since the last time I was around.”
People sitting at a bar | Source: Pexels
When we had matched on the app, I was convinced that Justin wouldn’t be able to recognize me. Since high school, I had drastically changed—everything from my hair, my weight, and my sense of style.
I was a new person.
“Yeah, it’s got a good crowd tonight,” Justin nodded, waving over a bartender. “Can I get you a drink now?”
People sitting at a bar | Source: Pexels
I watched him closely—he had barely changed since the last time I saw him. It had been our high school graduation, followed by a party in an open field. Justin had barely glanced at me. He didn’t register that I was someone who had been attracted to him.
Then, not now.
A group of graduates | Source: Pexels
When we matched, I wasn’t interested in Justin—but after I spoke to my sister, we both thought that messing with Justin would be healing in some way.
“Sure, a gin and tonic, thank you,” I said, watching his face for any sign of recognition. There was none. It was clear as he saw me—I was just another date. Just another woman that he had picked up.
A cocktail with strawberries | Source: Pexels
As he chatted about his job and recent travels, I nodded along, my mind racing ahead to the plan unfolding around us. The bar was filling up quickly.
Justin continued to speak, and I began to space out—remembering moments from high school.
Students hanging out together | Source: Pexels
Like the one time when the dull echo of my footsteps in the empty high school corridor seemed louder than usual, reverberating off the lockers with a metallic chill.
I clutched my books tightly to my chest, my eyes downcast, trying to make myself invisible. The memory of Justin’s harsh laughter from earlier that day still stung, a cruel reminder of my daily ordeal.
A close-up of lockers | Source: Pexels
As I turned the corner, I could hear the muffled sounds of other students, their voices light and carefree. I approached the bathroom, a temporary refuge where I could gather myself away from prying eyes and sharp tongues.
I could never eat in the cafeteria. They would all look at me and laugh.
Meals on trays | Source: Unsplash
I remember pushing the bathroom door open, the familiar scent of industrial cleaner mixed with a hint of floral air freshener greeted me. I checked the stalls quickly—empty—and allowed myself a moment to lean against the cool tile wall, exhaling slowly.
The tears came then, quietly at first, then with a shuddering force I couldn’t contain. It wasn’t just the words that Justin had hurled at me—it was the relentless, grinding down of my spirit, day after day.
A bathroom stall | Source: Unsplash
Bringing me back to the present, Justin asked if I wanted to leave the bar after our drink and get something to eat at the many food stalls outside. Younger me would never, but I was different now.
As he asked for the bill, Justin began to hound the waitress.
A couple drinking at the bar | Source: Pexels
“I need you to hurry up,” he told her. “We’ve got places to be and you’re just taking up my time. Could you do your job any slower?”
She blinked back tears and went to get the bill.
“My ex-girlfriend was just like that,” he said, turning to me. “Her eyes would well up whenever I said anything.”
A smiling waitress | Source: Unsplash
The evening ended with me leaving Justin outside the bar, claiming that I had a headache and needed to sleep it off.
I was disappointed that I didn’t get my revenge.
At home, I sat with my laptop in bed and decided to take another shot at having my revenge against Justin. I logged onto Facebook and created an event—adding everyone who had gone to high school with us.
A person using their laptop in bed | Source: Pexels
I planned the reunion, making the bar that I had just left the location for our meeting. When the event was created, many of my ex-classmates indicated that they would be there—there were many shares and by the next morning, the number of people attending had grown.
A laptop opened to Facebook | Source: Pexels
On the day of the reunion, I spent a while getting dressed. This was a big moment. This was for everyone to see that I was the best version of myself—and that I was confident in my own skin.
At the bar, I went straight to the bartender and made sure that the bill would be sent to Justin at the end of the evening, giving his name and number.
A woman doing her make up | Source: Pexels
After a while, Justin came up to me with a big grin on his face.
“You seem different, have we met before?” he asked, slurping his drink.
He didn’t even have the decency to remember me from drinks the previous week.
The irony of his words almost made me laugh, but I kept my composure.
A person holding a glass | Source: Pexels
“I get that a lot,” I deflected. “Maybe I just have one of those faces.”
Justin laughed, shrugging as he turned to signal the bartender for another round.
“But you do know me,” I said. “You really haven’t changed, have you, Justin?”
“What do you mean?”
A couple talking | Source: Pexels
“Just that you’ve always had this way of making people feel less,” I pressed on, my resolve hardening with each word. “Like how you talk to the waitress, or how you joked about your ex the other night.”
Justin’s face hardened when he realized who I was—but still, I was merely the girl from the dating app, not the one who had been bullied by him before.
A person holding her phone | Source: Pexels
“What? Oh! Jen!” he said, his face contorting.
“Do you remember Jennifer from high school?” I asked loudly, hoping that people would be listening. “The girl that you tormented. The girl that you made sure knew how different she was from everyone else. That she didn’t fit your cruel standards.”
His face went pale, his eyes widening as realization dawned, connecting the past with the present.
A shocked man | Source: Pexels
“I’m that Jennifer,” I said. “And tonight, I wanted you to see exactly who I have become, despite your best efforts to break me down.”
Justin stood up, his mouth opening and closing, searching for something to say but finding nothing. Around us, the expressions from our classmates ranged from shock to support, their eyes fixed on us.
A surprised woman | Source: Unsplash
“I hope one day you’ll understand the weight of your words, how deeply they can cut,” I said.
Turning on my heel, I left him standing there stupidly, the bill for the drinks being the least of his worries.
Finally, I had done it.
A person holding a receipt | Source: Pexels
What would you have done?
I Planned to Reclaim My Father’s Inheritance That Was Left to a Stranger Until a Family Secret Changed Everything — Story of the Day
I thought my father’s will would secure my future. Then the lawyer read a name I didn’t recognize. My grandmother’s fury was immediate. Who was Brenna, and why did my father leave her everything? And what secret was behind it?
My life used to always be governed by rules. Every morning, a strict voice echoed through the house.
“Sit up straight, Mona. Don’t slouch. A lady always keeps her composure.”
That was Loretta—my grandmother, my guardian, my shadow. After my mother died, she took over, raising me in her grand image.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Everything had to be perfect. My grades, my posture, and even the way I folded napkins. It was exhausting, but I tried. I always tried.
When my father passed away, Loretta quickly turned her focus to what mattered most to her. Control. But I remember the day my life changed. We were sitting in the lawyer’s office.
“You’ll invest the money wisely, Mona,” she had said that morning, already outlining how we would rebuild the family’s legacy. “Your father worked hard for this.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
I believed her. For years, Loretta’s confidence had been unshakable, her plans infallible. So, as we sat in that cold office with its stale coffee, I felt sure of my future.
“As per your father’s wishes,” he lawyer, glancing at the will, “his estate and money will go to Brenna.”
“Who!?” The word escaped my lips before I could stop it.
The lawyer paused. “Brenna is your father’s other daughter.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Sister? I… I have a sister?”
“Impossible!” Loretta’s sharp voice ricocheted off the walls. “This must be a mistake! My son couldn’t leave everything to some stranger!”
“It’s no mistake, ma’am,” the lawyer said. “Your son provided clear instructions. Brenna inherits the house, accounts, and stocks.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“What?” Loretta’s voice rose to a shrill pitch. “You’re telling me that child, someone we don’t even know, takes it all?”
I barely heard them. A sister. A sister I never knew existed. Loretta’s hand gripped mine, pulling me back.
“We’ll fix this, Mona. We’ll find this Brenna and make sure she does what’s right.”
Her words felt suffocating, but I nodded. Defying Loretta had never been an option.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
***
In a few days, I arrived at Brenna’s house due to Grandma’s instructions. The small house leaned slightly to one side, its peeling paint flaking like sunburned skin.
The front door creaked open before I even knocked, and Brenna stood there, smiling wide. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, her fingers twisting together in a rhythm that seemed more instinct than thought.
“Hi!” she said, her voice bright, almost musical. “I saw you coming. Did you park by the mailbox? It’s wobbly. I keep meaning to fix it, but…”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
She trailed off, her eyes darting to the corner of the doorframe. She tapped it three times with her knuckles.
“Uh, yeah,” I replied awkwardly. “I’m Mona. Your sister.”
“Come in!” she interrupted, stepping aside but not making eye contact. “Watch the floorboard near the kitchen. It squeaks.”
Inside, the house smelled faintly of clay and earth. The narrow hallway opened into a kitchen dominated by a long workbench covered in half-finished pottery pieces, jars of paint, and tools I didn’t recognize.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Brenna rearranged a set of mismatched vases on the windowsill three times, muttering under her breath before nodding in satisfaction.
Then she turned back to me, her smile returning as if nothing had happened. “You’re my sister.”
“Yes,” I said slowly, unsure how to navigate her openness. “Our father… He passed away recently.”
Her smile didn’t falter. “What’s it like? Having a dad?”
“It’s… hard to say. He was kind. He cared. We were friends.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
She nodded, her fingers twitching against her thighs. “I never met him. But I have his hands.” She held up her palms, showing faint traces of clay. “Mom always said so. Big hands, like him.”
Her sincerity was disarming. I’d expected resentment or at least suspicion, but instead, she radiated a quiet acceptance.
“Dad left me a gift,” Brenna said.
“A gift?” I repeated. “That’s… nice.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Yes. He called it that. In the letter from the lawyer. Did he leave you a gift too?”
I hesitated, Loretta’s biting words ringing in my ears. “Not really. He didn’t…”
“That’s strange. Everyone should get a gift.”
I smiled. “Maybe.”
“You should stay for a week,” Brenna said smiling. “You can tell me about him. What he was like. What he liked to eat. What his voice sounded like.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“A week?” I asked, startled. “I don’t know if…”
“In return,” she interrupted, “I’ll share the gift. It’s only fair.” Her hands were twisting together as she waited for my response.
“I don’t know if I have much to say about him,” I said, though even as the words left my mouth, I felt the pang of their untruth. “But… okay. A week.”
Her face lit up. “Good. We can have pancakes. Only if you like them, though.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
She turned back to her workbench, humming softly. I knew what her so-called “gift” was. At that moment, Loretta’s plan seemed simple. Too simple. But Brenna’s kindness was already complicating everything.
***
That week at Brenna’s house, I felt like stepping into a parallel universe, one where the world spun slower and expectations melted away. Everything about her life was so unlike mine.
Breakfast was no longer a croissant from the corner bakery paired with a sleek latte. Instead, it was simple—bacon, eggs, and a mug of tea served on paper plates.
“Easier this way,” Brenna said one morning. “No big cleanup. Time saved is time for pottery.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
She had a way of saying things so directly, without the filters most people wore. It was disarming.
But her habit of setting and resetting the plates on the porch rail, always ensuring they were aligned right, made me watch her closely. Each ritual told a story.
“Let’s walk to the lake,” she suggested after breakfast on my second morning.
She slipped out of her sandals, leaving them neatly by the porch steps, and stepped into the grass barefoot.
“It’s better like this.”
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Dew clung to the grass, cold and sharp against my feet, as I followed her. She led the way, occasionally pausing to touch the leaves or to rearrange a small pile of stones along the path.
Those small, deliberate actions seemed to calm her like they were as necessary as breathing.
At the lake, she crouched by the edge, dipping her fingers into the water. “You ever just sit and listen?”
“To what?” I asked, standing stiffly behind her.
“Everything.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Brenna’s studio became the heart of our days. The air inside smelled earthy and damp, the scent of clay and creativity.
She handed me a lump of clay on the third day. “Here. Try making something.”
My first attempt was a disaster. The clay slid through my fingers, collapsing into a shapeless blob.
“It’s terrible,” I groaned, ready to throw it aside.
“It’s not terrible,” Brenna’s hands moved gently as she began reshaping the clay, showing me the motions. “It’s just new. New things take time.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Her patience amazed me. Even when I spilled water on her workbench, smearing one of her finished pieces, she didn’t scold me. Instead, she carefully cleaned the mess.
Just as I started to relax, finally free from Loretta’s constant control, her calls became more frequent. It was as if she could sense the shift in me, the way I was beginning to breathe a little easier and live a little differently.
That night, her voice came through the line sharp. “Mona, what are you waiting for? This isn’t a vacation! You need to take action. She doesn’t know what to do with that kind of money.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
I stayed silent, but my grip on the phone tightened. I could feel her impatience boiling over.
“She’s naïve, Mona. You need to convince her to sign it over. If persuasion doesn’t work, then… Well, figure something out. Use her trust if you have to.”
Her words stung because they felt so wrong in Brenna’s world.
“I don’t know, Grandma. It’s not as simple as you think.”
“It’s exactly that simple,” she barked back. “Don’t get distracted by her little quirks. Focus, Mona.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
I wanted to argue, to tell her that maybe Brenna deserved more than she realized, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I mumbled something vague and ended the call. For the first time in my life, I started questioning my own motives.
***
The following day, Loretta arrived unannounced, her sharp presence tearing through the peace like a storm. Her heels clicked on the uneven floor as she stepped into the house.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“This is where you’ve been hiding?” she snapped, her eyes darting over Brenna’s neatly cluttered pottery studio. “How can you stand this mess, Mona? And you,” she turned to Brenna, “you have no right to what’s been given to you.”
Brenna froze, her hands trembling as she rearranged vases on the workbench, muttering, “Gift, gift,” under her breath.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Loretta ignored her, turning to me. “Mona, end this nonsense. She doesn’t deserve your father’s legacy. She’s…” Loretta’s voice grew venomous, “not like us.”
“Gift,” Brenna said louder, pointing toward a small cabinet in the corner. Her rocking grew more pronounced, her fingers twisting at her apron.
I hesitated but opened the cabinet. Inside was a stack of old letters, their edges worn and faded. Each one was addressed to my father. My breath caught.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“What are those?” Loretta demanded.
“These are from Brenna’s mother,” I said, flipping through them. “Did you know?”
Loretta paled, but then her face hardened. “I did what I had to! Do you think I’d let some woman trap my son with a broken child? When she came looking for him, I told her to stay away. I refused to let her and her daughter become part of this family.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Her words were cruel, and Brenna clung to the table, her wide eyes fixed on Loretta.
“You destroyed this family,” I said, my voice trembling. “You never even told him he had another daughter.”
Loretta’s bitter laugh filled the room. “He found out! That’s why he changed his will. And now you’re letting her take everything!”
“Dad left a gift,” Brenna said softly. “He wanted me to have it.”
“This isn’t about money, Grandma. And I won’t let you take anything else from her.”
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Loretta stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
I turned to Brenna. “I’m so sorry. I love you, sis.”
“Do you want pancakes?” she suddenly asked as if nothing happened.
“Oh, I really do!”
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We ate on the porch as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in soft hues. From that day, we started building a life together.
I helped Brenna grow her pottery studio. We repaired the house, filled it with flowers, and I rediscovered my love for painting by decorating her creations.
Word spread, and soon people came from other towns to buy our work. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was ours. For the first time, I wasn’t living to meet someone else’s expectations. I was living for us—Brenna and me.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
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