At the wedding, my sister-in-law (30) gave us an empty envelope, yet she shouted “Kiss!” louder than anyone else. On her birthday, I decided to get even…
A wedding is not just a celebration of love. Cynical as it may sound, it is also a test of whether the people around you are decent and financially honest. When my now-husband Anton and I were planning our wedding, we decided right away: no loans. We saved for two years, gave up vacations, all so we could have the celebration of our dreams for ourselves and our closest loved ones.
The guest list was small, only 40 people. Among them, in a place of honor, was Anton’s older sister Zhanna. She was thirty, worked as a manager for a large retail chain, drove a nice foreign car, and adored designer brands. My relationship with her was, let’s say, strained.
Zhanna had always looked down on me, believing that her “golden boy” brother deserved a better match than an ordinary English teacher. But to my face, she smiled, called me “dear,” and eagerly took part in the preparations, handing out unsolicited advice.
“Oh, a beige cake? That’s so outdated,” she would sneer when we were choosing a baker. “You need to order a black one with gold accents, that’s what’s trendy now. And the restaurant you chose… well, it’s so-so. You could have found something more respectable.”
I kept quiet. I did not want to fight with my future husband’s sister before the wedding. Anton tried to smooth things over too. “Len, come on, she’s the older sister. She means well. She has taste.”
Maybe she did have taste. But as it turned out, she had no conscience.
My wedding
The big day arrived. Everything was wonderful: an outdoor ceremony in the park, live music, my tears of happiness. But Zhanna managed to make it all about herself even there. She showed up in a bright red dress with a plunging neckline, more suited to the Oscars than a family celebration.
At the reception, she was the star of the show. She was the first to rush into every contest, interrupted the host, requested songs, and of course shouted “Kiss!” louder than anyone else.
“Kiss, newlyweds!” she cried at the top of her lungs, raising a glass of the most expensive champagne, which we had ordered separately at her insistence, “because regular champagne gives me a headache.” “Antosha, kiss your wife! Lena, why are you being shy? Give us some passion!”
When it was time to present gifts, Zhanna stepped up to the microphone and gave a ten-minute speech. She talked about how she had changed Anton’s diapers, even though there was only a four-year age gap between them, how she had taught him about life, and how happy she was that he was finally “settled.”
“I give this to you with all my heart!” she declared, pulling a thick, expensive envelope out of her purse, made of velvety dark burgundy paper with gold embossing. “Here is my contribution to your future! Deny yourselves nothing, my dears!”
She ceremoniously handed the envelope to Anton, kissed us both, and returned to her table, where she continued devouring delicacies and criticizing the waiters.
That was when I found out everything
We got to the hotel very late, exhausted but happy, and decided to open the gifts. It is a special ritual: reading the cards, counting the money, guessing whether it will be enough for a mortgage down payment, since we were planning to move into a bigger place.
We opened the envelopes. Friends, parents, coworkers, everyone gave reasonable amounts. Some gave $50, others $100, and our parents were especially generous.
Then it was time for that very same burgundy velvet envelope.
It felt thick and heavy.
“Well, Zhanna must have really splurged,” Anton smiled. “She said she got a bonus.”
He took out the card.
Inside, in broad handwriting, it said: “With love, from your sister Zhanna! Live richly!”
Anton looked inside the envelope. Then he shook it. Then he turned it upside down. Nothing fell out. It was empty.
“Maybe it got stuck?” my husband asked in confusion, tearing open the expensive paper. No. There was nothing there. No bill. Not ten dollars, not even one. Nothing.
Anton sat on the bed, holding that velvet lie in his hands, and his face slowly turned the same color as the envelope. He was ashamed.
“Len…” he whispered. “This has to be some kind of mistake. She probably forgot to put the money in. She got distracted, mixed up the envelopes…”
“Mixed them up?” I let out a bitter laugh, though inside I was boiling. “Anton, she signed the card. She sealed the envelope. She was holding it in her hands when she gave that speech about her ‘contribution to your future.’ She did not forget. She just decided that her presence was gift enough.”
“I’ll call her,” Anton said, reaching for his phone.
“No!” I stopped his hand. “Don’t call. You’ll put her in an awkward position, and she’ll start lying, twisting things around, saying it was stolen at the wedding. Don’t. We’ll be smarter than that.”
I took the envelope from him. It was still in perfect shape except for the torn edge, which I carefully glued back together.
“We’ll just wait,” I said. “What goes around comes around.”
Then we went to her celebration
We never said anything to Zhanna. For a couple of weeks Anton stayed gloomy and spoke to his sister through clenched teeth, but she either did not notice or pretended not to. She kept calling, talking about her successes, and asking when we were going to invite her over for dinner to celebrate our “new family life.” We kept saying we were busy.
Then November came. Zhanna’s birthday.
She was turning thirty-one. Not a milestone, but Zhanna decided to celebrate in style. She rented a room in a trendy karaoke restaurant, invited a crowd of friends, us, and their parents.
A week before the party, she sent out a wish list. It included:
A spa certificate for $50.
A handbag from a famous brand, starting at $100.
“Or just cash, but no less than $50 per person. The restaurant is expensive, you know.”
They say shamelessness is the second form of happiness. In Zhanna’s case, it was the first.
“We’re not going,” Anton said. “I can’t watch that circus.”
“We’re going,” I said firmly. “I already have her gift ready. The one she deserves…”
Wedding isn’t just a celebration of love. Cynical as it may sound, it’s also a test of whether the people around you are decent and financially honest. When my now-husband Anton and I were planning the wedding, we decided right away: no loans. We saved for two years, gave up vacations, and denied ourselves little luxuries so we could create our dream celebration for ourselves and our closest loved ones.
The guest list was small, just 40 people. Among them, Anton’s older sister Zhanna held a place of honor. She was thirty, worked as a manager for a large retail chain, drove a nice foreign car, and loved designer things. My relationship with her was, let’s just say, strained.
Zhanna always looked down on me, convinced that her “golden boy” brother deserved a better match than an ordinary English teacher. But to my face, she smiled, called me “dear,” and eagerly took part in the preparations, handing out unsolicited advice.
“Oh please, a beige cake? That’s last century,” she would sneer when we were choosing a baker. “You need a black one with gold accents. That’s what’s trendy now. And the restaurant you picked… well, it’s whatever. You could’ve found somewhere classier.”
I kept quiet. I didn’t want to fight with my future husband’s sister before the wedding. Anton also tried to smooth things over. “Len, come on, she’s older, she means well, she has taste.”
Maybe she did have taste. But as it turned out, she had no conscience.
My wedding
The big day arrived. Everything was beautiful: an outdoor ceremony in the park, live music, my tears of happiness. But Zhanna managed to pull the spotlight onto herself even there. She showed up in a bright red dress with a plunging neckline, more suited to the Oscars than a family wedding.
At the reception, she was the star. She was the first to jump into every contest, she interrupted the MC, requested songs, and of course shouted “Kiss!” louder than anyone else.
“Kiss, newlyweds!” she screeched, raising a glass of the most expensive champagne, which we had ordered separately at her request because “regular champagne gives her a headache.” “Antoshka, kiss your wife! Lenka, why are you so shy? Show some passion!”
When it was time for the gifts, Zhanna stepped up to the microphone and gave a ten-minute speech. She talked about how she had changed Anton’s diapers, even though there was only a four-year age gap between them, how she had taught him about life, and how happy she was that he was finally “settled.”
“I give this to you with all my heart!” she declared, pulling a thick, expensive envelope out of her purse, made of dark burgundy velvety paper with gold embossing. “Here is my contribution to your future! Don’t deny yourselves anything, my dears!”
She ceremoniously handed the envelope to Anton, kissed us both, and went back to the table, where she continued devouring delicacies and criticizing the waiters.
That’s when I found out everything
We got to the hotel close to dawn. Tired but happy, we decided to sort through the gifts. It’s a special ritual: reading the cards, counting the money, figuring out whether there would be enough for the down payment on a bigger place, since we were hoping to move someday.
We opened the envelopes. Friends, parents, coworkers, everyone had given reasonable amounts. Some gave $60, some $120, and our parents had been especially generous.
Then it was finally the turn of that same burgundy velvet envelope. It was thick and sturdy.
“Well, Zhanka must’ve really splurged,” Anton said with a smile. “She did say she got a bonus.”
He pulled out the card.
Inside, in large sweeping handwriting, it said: “With love, your sister Zhanna! Live richly!”
Anton looked inside the envelope. Then he shook it. Then turned it upside down. Nothing fell out. The envelope was empty.
“Maybe it’s stuck?” my husband asked in confusion, tearing open the expensive paper. No. There was nothing inside. Not a single bill. Not sixty dollars. Not even one. Nothing.
Anton sat on the bed holding that velvet fraud in his hands, and his face slowly turned the same shade as the envelope. He was ashamed.
“Len…” he whispered. “There must be some mistake. She probably forgot to put the money in. Got distracted, mixed up the envelopes…”
“Mixed them up?” I smirked, though inside I was boiling. “Anton, she signed the card. She sealed the envelope. She held it in her hands while making that speech about her ‘contribution to our future.’ She didn’t forget. She simply decided that her presence was gift enough.”
“I’ll call her,” Anton said, reaching for his phone.
“No!” I stopped his hand. “Don’t call. You’ll put her in an awkward position, she’ll start lying, twisting things, saying it must’ve been stolen at the wedding. Don’t. We’ll be smarter than that.”
I took the envelope from him. It was in perfect condition except for one torn edge, which I carefully glued back together.
“We’ll just wait,” I said. “What goes around comes around.”
Then we went to her celebration
We didn’t say anything to Zhanna. For a couple of weeks Anton walked around gloomy, speaking to his sister through clenched teeth, but she either didn’t notice or pretended not to. She kept calling, talking about her successes, and asking when we would invite her over for dinner in our “new family life.” We kept saying we were busy.
Then November came. Zhanna’s birthday.
She was turning thirty-one. It wasn’t a milestone birthday, but Zhanna decided to celebrate in style. She rented a private room in a trendy karaoke restaurant, invited a bunch of friends, us, and their parents.
A week before the party, she sent around a wishlist. It included:
A spa certificate for $185.
A handbag from a famous brand starting at $245.
“Or just cash, but no less than $60 per person. The restaurant is expensive, you understand.”
They say arrogance is the second kind of happiness. In Zhanna’s case, it was the first.
“We’re not going,” Anton said. “I can’t stand that circus.”
“We are going,” I said firmly. “I already have the perfect gift for her. The one she deserves.”
The moment of payback
I took that same burgundy envelope out of my jewelry box. It looked as good as new. I carefully slipped the very same card she had given us back inside. Only beneath her signature, “With love, your sister Zhanna!” I added in my own handwriting:
“We’re returning your contribution to our future. May it bring you as much joy as it brought us. The energy of generosity always comes back!”
Of course, I didn’t put any money inside.
We arrived at the restaurant. Zhanna was sitting at the head of the table, covered in glitter, receiving gifts. Guests brought bags, flowers, and envelopes. Without the slightest embarrassment, she peeked into the gift bags right away and judged their contents.
When it was our turn, I took the lead.
“Dear Zhanna,” I began, holding the velvet envelope in my hands. “You’re someone who appreciates style and luxury. At our wedding, you gave us a gift we’ll never forget. It was so… symbolic and memorable that on your birthday, we simply had to return this little piece of kindness to you.”
I handed her the envelope.
Zhanna saw the familiar velvet paper. For a second, something flashed in her eyes: recognition and… fear? Or maybe hope that we were idiots and had actually put money in it?
Greed won. She snatched the envelope.
“Oh, how beautiful! It feels heavy!” she said. It didn’t really, the paper was just thick.
As usual, she opened it right there in front of everyone. She took out the card.
The smile slid off her face. She read the text. Then she turned the envelope upside down and shook it over the table. Nothing.
“W-where is it?” she blurted out. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Why would it be a joke?” I said loudly and cheerfully, looking her straight in the eyes. “It’s your envelope, Zhanna. The very one you gave us at our wedding. We didn’t even replace it. We decided such a valuable gift ought to be returned to its rightful owner. It contains exactly as much money as you gave your brother for his wedding. Not one dollar less!”
Zhanna turned so red she practically blended in with the burgundy envelope.
“You… you wanted to humiliate me? In front of everyone?!” she shrieked. “You couldn’t even spare sixty dollars for your own sister?”
“Zhanna,” Anton cut in calmly. “We didn’t hold anything back. We simply mirrored you. At our wedding, you ate and drank about $120 worth and gave us zero. We came to yours, ordered only water and salad,” which was true, “and gave you your same zero back. Now we’re even. Happy birthday, sis.”
We turned and left. Behind us, we could hear shouts about “petty monsters” and “paupers,” but we were no longer listening. We stepped out into the cool evening air, got into a taxi, and went to eat burgers. Never in my life had a $4 burger tasted better than restaurant food.