When I first met Peggy, I knew she’d be trouble. She hid insults in “compliments” and turned every game night into a contest, once even shoving my head into a bookshelf. Her worst digs came when my friend Mark was around, as if proving she could outshine me.
The final straw was my tattoo. I’d been designing a dragon wrapped in my mum’s roses—a tribute after she passed. Peggy overheard, and to throw her off, I lied that I wanted Haku from Spirited Away. Weeks later, she showed up flaunting the exact design, smug as ever. Only later did I learn she’d done it on purpose, just to hurt me.
Years passed, and I finally booked my real tattoo: a soft blue dragon and roses for my mum. It felt like healing carved into my skin. When Peggy saw it, she tried to twist the story in front of others, but the truth came out. She admitted she’d been petty and jealous, even confessing she hated her own tattoo because of the reason behind it.
Strangely, that became a turning point. With time, she covered hers with morning glories and moths, we set our grudges down, and even grew into a kind of friendship. I learned that envy only makes the hollow louder, and that real meaning is quiet, patient, and yours alone.
