Emotional Intelligence Daniel Goleman

While I'm waiting for my vasectomy to start, I see a popular question trending on a forum. "What's the best revenge for a man?" An anonymous answer is upvoted all the way to the top of the comment section. "By stealing everything he's proud of while playing the role of his best friend, of course! To be honest with you, this is how I treat my childhood friend, too. "Before he realizes it, his parents already view me as their biological son. The company has bestowed upon me a position that's superior to his. His wife even gave her virginity to me at the new home he had personally decorated and refurnished. His children are actually mine, and they are super clingy to me! "Because of something I said, his wife made him get a permanent vasectomy. He actually agreed to it. At this rate, that bastard will never be able to have his own children!" Some people are shocked, while others don't hesitate to berate the anonymous poster. But the majority of the commenters are more confused than anything. "What sort of deep-rooted grudge do you have against your childhood friend, though? Why is your revenge going this far?" That poster is surprisingly honest. "Actually, it's nothing much. This friend of mine is superior to me in any way since we were kids. But he's also a smug and arrogant one who doesn't really seem to care about anything at all. "I don't like that attitude of his, so I've come up with this scheme and stolen everything from him. Take now, for example. He's waiting for his vasectomy procedure at the hospital, while I'm hugging his wife right now. In fact, I plan on depleting this entire box of contraceptives!" The latest photo the online poster has uploaded shows a box containing 13 condoms. As for the background, it happens to be my home.

We’re preparing to move into a new house, and when my husband’s best female friend found out, she decided to move in with us. I was about to object, but my husband immediately agreed. To make things worse, he even gave my daughter’s master bedroom, which was meant to be her children’s room, to her son and made our daughter move to the basement. When I voiced my disagreement, he dismissed it, saying, “Grace is my close friend; don’t overthink it. Her son is like my son; of course, I want him to have a better room.” When I still stood my ground, my husband and his family began criticizing me, calling me selfish. Unable to stand their unfairness, I moved out with my daughter. It was then they realized my absence and became anxious.

After Mom passed, it was just me and Dad, depending on each other. I’ve always had poor health, and people used to taunt me, calling me a “sickly, doomed child.” He kneeled by my bedside, making a promise. “I swear, I’ll get you the best treatment, no matter what. You’ll never suffer again!” Eventually, he became a powerful CEO, going so far as to buy an entire private villa just so I could recover in peace. However, his assistant assumed I was his mistress.  She came in with a group of security guards and surrounded me. “So, you’re the cripple who’s been seducing Mr. Johnson?” “Let’s see if you can still act high and mighty after I’m done with you!” She kicked over my wheelchair, yanked me by the hair, scratched up my face, and finally cut off my hand. Barely clinging to life, I lay there until Dad came back. She held up my severed hand, presenting it to him. “Mr. Johnson, this was a spy sent by a rival company. I took care of her for you.”

First day of school, and my roommate Sharon hits me with a $50k guilt trip over some "limited-edition" suitcase. "You're blind or just too dumb to walk straight?" My boyfriend? Useless. Classmates? Total sheep. The dean? Clown. Then I really looked at Sharon. Wait a sec—wasn't she the same scholarship case my family covered?

On the day my boyfriend and I moved into our new home, his ex-girlfriend gave us a mysterious gift. The moment I opened the front door, a swarm of hornets came flying out. I screamed in fright as I felt seven or eight stings from them. His ex, Erica Loft, jumped out from behind the door with a giggle. She shouted, "Surprise! "I went up the mountains to visit a master craftsman. I wanted to get you this specially brewed hornet wine, and I even brought back a hornet's nest for you to decorate your new house with! "Isn't this a great gift?" Erica made a face at us. She was gleeful at the messy predicament I was in. My boyfriend, Joe Fulham, clenched his teeth. He rushed forward to grab Erica by the wrist as he shouted angrily at her. "Are you crazy? Don't you know that hornets are venomous?! Is this really a surprise, or are you trying to hurt us?" I listened to another one of their huge arguments from behind the door, feeling like an outsider in my own relationship. As I felt the stinging pain in my arm, I knew this wedding was about to fall through.

After I came back to life, the first thing I did was hand that five-carat diamond ring—yes, the one my husband gave me—to his mother. The very woman who spent years picking me apart like it was her favorite pastime. In my last life, that ring was a custom New Year's gift. He paid a ridiculous amount for it. I actually thought it meant something. One afternoon, I was out shopping when I walked right into a bridal party taking pictures. The bride glanced at my hand, saw the ring, and her entire expression changed. She stormed over and slapped me, accusing me of being a shameless mistress trying to steal her man. I stood there, completely stunned. She was wearing the exact same ring. Before I could explain, her friends grabbed me. They dragged me aside, tore my clothes, hit me, and stomped on my hand until I couldn't move my fingers. They carved the word "mistress" into my face and paraded me through the street like some kind of public disgrace. I died there on the pavement. When my husband finally appeared, he didn't fight for me. He just signed off on a settlement, as if my life were nothing more than a piece of paperwork. Widowed that morning, married to the bride by nightfall. His mother instantly welcomed the new woman, all because she was pregnant. And then I opened my eyes again… back on the very day he first placed that diamond ring in my hand.

My parents’ adoptive daughter took three kids hiking with her, and they ended up dead. They wanted me to take the blame for her. My father forced me to kneel before the families of the victims and crushed my calf with his hiking pole. “These were the legs she used to take your kids hiking. I’ll make sure she never gets to hike again.” My mother legally disowned me. “Jenny will be breaking hiking records one day. I won’t let anyone bring up her shameful sister when that happens! She’s sacrificed so much for you all these years, and it’s time you paid her back.” My boyfriend promised me, “Jenny has nothing. She would not survive if she had to endure all this, but at least you have me. I’ll be here for you no matter what happens. They’re just angry, but they won’t send you to jail. You can come home once everything settles down.” To defend the reputation of my adoptive sister, he and my parents worked together to falsify evidence and send me to jail. “It’s to protect you,” they promised, “so the families don’t take revenge on you.” They did not know I had already given up on them.

After my mother shot down my pleas to cover my medical bills the 100th time, I clutched my bone cancer diagnosis papers and trudged to the crematorium. "Hi, I'd like to reserve a cremation slot ahead of time," I muttered to the clerk. Half an hour ticked by before my parents and adopted brother arrived in their car. My dad, a forensic pathologist, cracked me across the face. "You're pulling a fake-death stunt now, just to steal the spotlight from your brother?" My mom, a hospital director, snatched the papers from my hands and shredded them into confetti. "Faking records using my credentials and tying up hospital resources? You've crossed the line!" My brother cried, tugging at their sleeves. "It's all my fault. I'll skip the amusement park forever. I don't need a thing. Just quit riling up Mom and Dad." I spun around, my hand pressed against my throbbing chest, and begged the crematorium staff. "Please, when it's time, cremate me and scatter the ashes in the river. I've got no family left in this world."

On the day of my daughter Eleanor Baldwin's second birthday party, my entire family stood nervously by the banquet hall entrance. They were not there to greet guests, but rather to keep me from showing up and causing a scene. Mom's face was written all over with anxiety. "Lucas wouldn't actually crash the party, would he?" Dad's brow stayed tightly furrowed. "Who knows? That disgrace of a son is capable of anything." My younger brother, Cody Baldwin, had his arm wrapped gently around my wife, Kendra Clarkson, trying to reassure her. "Don't worry. If Lucas dares to show up, I'll keep you and Ellie safe." Kendra nodded slowly. "If it really comes to that... maybe we should just let Ellie be his goddaughter. At least then, we're still family..." However, the party came and went, and I never appeared. I had already made up my mind to join a classified national defense research program. Only this time, it was for good.

On Halloween night, an accident struck the haunted house attraction. The children and I were trapped in a pitch-black room, while the staff outside spoke without the slightest urgency. “At this hour, the repair workers have already gone home. If you want them to come back, you’ll have to pay an extra thirty thousand in overtime. “If you’re unwilling, then stay inside for the night.” I begged them to call the repair worker first. We had been in the sealed space for too long, and one boy with heart issues was struggling to breathe. But the staff member only scoffed. “That’s got nothing to do with me. He’s not my kid. Either pay, or sit quietly.” Yet later, outside the emergency room, that same woman knelt on the floor in tears, begging the doctors to save her own child…