Inside was only a postcard that read: “With love. Live beautifully!”

He shook the envelope. Turned it upside down. Tore it open.

Empty.

“It must be a mistake,” he said quietly.

“It’s not,” I replied. “She knew exactly what she was doing.”

I carefully sealed the envelope again.

“Let’s wait,” I told him. “Some moments create themselves.”

Two months later, Julia hosted a birthday dinner at an upscale restaurant. She sent out a message beforehand listing preferred gifts—designer brands, gift cards—and added, “Cash is acceptable. Minimum 50 euros per person. The restaurant is expensive.”

Mark didn’t want to go.

“We’re going,” I said. “I’ve already chosen her gift.”

That night, I brought the same burgundy envelope.

Inside was her postcard—and a note from me:

“We’re returning your contribution to our future. May it bring you as much joy as it brought us.”

No money.

When it was our turn to congratulate her, I handed it over and said sweetly:

“Julia, your wedding gift was so symbolic that we decided to give it back. Fair is fair.”

She recognized the envelope instantly. She froze—but curiosity won. She opened it in front of everyone.

She read the note.

Her face drained of color.

She shook the envelope.

“Where’s the money?” she demanded.

“There’s exactly what was inside when you gave it to us,” I replied calmly. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“Are you trying to embarrass me?!” she shouted.

“No,” Mark said firmly. “We simply returned your gift. You didn’t forget—and neither did we.”

We stood up and left.

There were raised voices behind us, accusations and outrage—but for the first time, we didn’t care.

Sometimes the best revenge isn’t loud.

It’s simply returning what someone gave you.