**A Meeting with a Bitter Aftertaste**
The other day, on my way back from the shops, I bumped into an old acquaintance. We hadn’t seen each other in years—back then, we’d chat over the garden fence, sharing bits of news, but life had pulled us apart. She grinned, hugged me like no time had passed, and suggested we sit on a bench near the park—*Let’s catch up,* she said. I agreed. I didn’t realise then how much that conversation would sting.
We got talking. I told her I’d been married three years, that my husband and I had two wonderful children—our youngest just turned one. I’m on maternity leave now, enjoying motherhood. I spoke warmly, openly—after all, this was someone I’d once trusted. But as I spoke, her face changed. Her smile slipped, her eyes darkened, and her gaze turned sharp with something between weariness and irritation.
At first, I thought she was just in a mood. Then she said—with a bite that made my skin prickle—*Well, look at you, two kids and still slim as a lass. Wouldn’t even know.*
Her tone was light, but the envy beneath it was raw. I forced a laugh, tried to steer the conversation, but the air between us had turned thick with tension. Everything I said seemed to needle her.
When I glanced at my watch—*Sorry, have to fetch my eldest from school*—she gave a dry laugh and said, *Lucky you. Husband, kids… can’t complain, eh?* Then she stood abruptly and walked off. I stayed on that bench, feeling like I’d been doused in cold water.
I knew about her son—a man in his thirties now. Last I’d heard, he refused to work, still lived at home, tangled with the wrong crowd. Drugs, maybe. No wife, no prospects, just a bitter temper. But to her, he’d always been her world.
That’s why my happiness cut her. Not because I flaunted it—I was just answering questions—but because her own life had crumbled. Envy. Plain and poisonous.
It’s been days, and that conversation still sits heavy in my chest. Like biting into a sweet only to find it’s filled with gall.
Maybe I was too open. Sometimes, you forget—not every smile is sincere. Not everyone who greets you warmly is truly glad for your joy.
Here’s the lesson: happiness is like a quiet river. Don’t parade it. Not everyone deserves to hear your good news—some will only see their own pain mirrored in your smile.
