Her Best Friend Broke Our Marriage

As soon as I finished speaking, a sharp slap struck me across the face.

It came from the tall, thin guy who’d been standing silently in the corner. He snapped hysterically:

“This is all your fault! If you hadn’t written that report listing 24 anal ins-and-outs, my girlfriend wouldn’t have dumped me! I wouldn’t be humiliated, with classmates and friends asking me what it felt like!”

I was still reeling from the slap when the other two slammed my head twice more.

“You call yourself the best doctor? My first relationship—you told my girlfriend I had moderate rectal prolapse and an overly wild sex life! She posted it all over the campus network. Give me back my dignity and my future!”

“What did I ever do to you? You told my wife I’d cheated multiple times. Now she’s never home, always demanding a divorce. I hate you for ruining my life!”

Four of them tackled me to the ground, punching and kicking relentlessly. I curled up, shielding my head, yelling:

“I’m not Maxwell! You’ve got the wrong guy! He’s the one who treated you—how can you not recognize his face?”

They finally paused, but just as I caught my breath, their next words chilled me again:

“You wore a mask the whole time, all we saw were your eyes. You really thought this was a dinner invitation? I’m telling you, until we’ve let out all this anger, you’re not leaving this room.”

Bruised and frantic, I pounded on the door, calling Michelle’s name, begging for help.

No one came.

When the four had finished venting, I was a mess—nails had torn my skin, leaving bleeding scratches. My shirt and pants were ripped, barely covering me. I was covered in welts and bruises.

I grabbed the tablecloth, wrapped it around me, and opened the door. The hallway was empty.

My whole body throbbed with pain.

Turning the corner, I spotted Maxwell, sobbing with his head bowed, while Michelle gently comforted him in the restroom.

“Michelle, are you sure they won’t report me to the hospital? I didn’t mean to write those reports... It just... got mixed up…”

“I know it’s not your fault, that’s why I asked Zachary to help. Later, treat your Zachary to a meal—I’ll handle the rest. I’ll pay off whoever mixed up the reports and send them away.”

My head buzzed. My chest heaved. My hands trembled with the urge to hit something.

And in that moment, I understood.

Forget a peaceful divorce. Forget a dignified settlement with her father. Forget the damn dinner.

I stepped forward, caught them off guard, and slapped them both—twice, leaving clear red marks on their faces.

Michelle stood frozen, staring into my bloodshot eyes. She couldn’t even respond, too stunned to move. She didn’t even glance at Maxwell, who was screaming, sobbing, and splashing water on his face at the sink.

“Michelle.”

“Take your golden boy and get ready to start over from scratch.”

“This is the last day you’ll enjoy the title Mrs. Carter!”