My sister Erica had everything handed to her on a silver platter.
The youngest, the favorite — our parents adored her. They paid for her college, bought her a new car at 18, and went to every dance recital with front-row seats and flowers in hand.
Me? I had to scrap for everything. Earn a scholarship, juggle two part-time jobs, and graduate with zero family present because Erica had a sore throat that day.
And yet, she envied me.
Maybe it was my career — I built my marketing firm from scratch. Maybe it was the fact I’d learned to live without needing anyone’s approval. But mostly, it was Stan.
Stan, my fiancé.
When I first introduced him, Erica did that fake innocent giggle she saved for moments she could pretend weren’t calculated. She touched his arm too often, laughed too hard, and once even said, “If you ever change your mind, Stan, I’m right here!”
I laughed it off — until the night I came home early.
There they were.
Stan stumbled, grabbing for his shirt. Erica didn’t even blink. She wrapped herself in my blanket, sat on my couch, and smiled.
“I won,” she said. Just like that. Like this was a game.
A month later, the wedding was canceled. My parents didn’t say much. Probably relieved Erica wouldn’t have to find someone on her own.
I left town. Found a new apartment. Started over. Quietly.
But a year later, the invitation arrived — a thick white envelope with gold embossing. Erica & Stan cordially invited me to “celebrate their love.”
They wanted me to see it. To sit in the crowd and witness the moment she got everything — again.
I almost burned the invite. But then… an idea formed.
Because there was something Erica didn’t know.
You see, when I left, I didn’t just disappear. I had something. Something she never thought to take.
Stan’s old laptop.
He’d left it at my place after the split. Said he didn’t need it anymore — he had a newer model.
I never opened it. For months, it sat in a box. But when the wedding invite came, curiosity got the best of me.
And there they were.
Dozens of saved files. Folders. Videos. Emails.
Turns out, Stan had a hobby — documenting every affair, every conquest. Every dirty little secret. And he wasn’t just unfaithful to me.
He’d been cheating on Erica, too. The whole time. There was even a file labeled “Backup Plan — Cassidy (Erica’s bridesmaid).”
I packaged it all into a neat little USB, added a slideshow, and mailed it anonymously to the wedding planner — with a note: “Play this for the happy couple before the vows.”
Then I flew back. Sat in the second row, calm and composed, dressed in navy blue.
Erica looked radiant, smug, victorious.
Until the projector screen lit up.
Gasps echoed through the room. Faces turned.
Erica stared, frozen. Stan turned white. And there, for everyone to see — all the proof. Every betrayal. Every lie.
By the time the slideshow ended, the silence was unbearable.
And then Erica screamed.
The wedding was off. The guests scattered. And I? I stood and walked out, leaving the USB behind.
Sometimes, revenge doesn’t need fire. Just truth.
And as I stepped into the sun, I smiled.
Erica wanted me there to witness her triumph. Instead, she got to witness her undoing.