Her Man, Her Best Friend

“I sat at the city' s most expensive restaurant, waiting for Donovan, my fiancé, to celebrate his company' s massive success. We had built it together for five years. He never showed up. Instead, I found an Instagram story from my best friend, Karmen, showing Donovan passed out on her sofa, shirtless, with her playfully covering her mouth. The caption read: "He works so hard! Had to make sure my favorite CEO got home safe ." The man I was supposed to marry was with my best friend, again. When he finally stumbled home, he gave me a cheap smart home hub – the basic model Karmen had just thrown away. The next morning, Karmen was in his car, flaunting the expensive version. When I told her to get out, she smirked, "Make me." Rage flared. I grabbed her arm, and she shrieked, throwing herself out of the car. Donovan rushed over, shoving me aside, and cradled her, glaring at me. "You've got some serious issues, attacking your own friend." He sped off, his back tire catching my leg, fracturing my fibula. At the apartment, Karmen was lounging, eating peaches Donovan had peeled for her – peaches he' d always been too busy to get for me. Then I found my grandmother' s locket, her last gift, on Karmen' s dog' s collar, covered in teeth marks. Donovan just stood there, disapproving of me. "Is that how you see it, too?" I asked. He said nothing. I clutched the ruined locket, wheeled myself out, and left without looking back.”