A Meeting with a Bitter Aftertaste
Just the other day, on my way home from the shops, I bumped into an old acquaintance. We hadn’t seen each other in years—once, we’d chatted like neighbours, sharing news, but life had pulled us apart. She smiled brightly, hugged me as if no time had passed, and suggested we sit on a bench near the park—for a proper catch-up. I agreed, not yet realising how much that conversation would sting.
We started talking. I told her I’d been married for three years, that my husband and I had two wonderful children—our youngest just a year old. I was on maternity leave, enjoying motherhood. I spoke openly, warmly—after all, this was someone I’d once trusted. But as I shared, her expression shifted: her smile twisted, her eyes darkened, and something bitter flickered behind her gaze.
At first, I thought she might just be having a bad day. Then, with a forced laugh, she said:
“Well, look at you—two kids and still as slim as a girl… wouldn’t even know.”
The words were light, but her tone dripped with envy, almost malice. I laughed awkwardly, tried to change the subject, but tension hung between us. Everything I said seemed to needle her.
When I mentioned needing to leave—my eldest finished school soon—she smirked and muttered:
“Lucky you… husband, kids… must be nice.”
Then she stood abruptly and walked off. I stayed on that bench, feeling as if I’d been doused in cold water. I knew about her son—he was in his thirties, still living with her. From what I’d heard, he’d been trouble for years: jobless, unwilling to move out, even dabbling in drugs at one point. To her, though, he was everything—her pride, her purpose.
No wonder my happiness grated on her. Envy. That’s what it was. Sharp, ugly envy. I hadn’t bragged—just answered questions—but for her, my life was a mirror reflecting her own disappointments.
Days later, that meeting still weighs on me. Like a sweet that turns sour, leaving an aftertaste of regret.
Perhaps my mistake was trusting too easily. Not every smile is kind. Not everyone who greets you warmly truly wishes you well.
Now I know: happiness is like a quiet river—best kept flowing softly, not shown off. Because sometimes, behind another’s smile, all they see is the shadow of their own pain.
