My name is Angelina Lazar. For five years, I was happily married to Artem. Or at least, I thought I was. We got married right after we found out I was pregnant. He was reliable, loving, and attentive—the kind of husband every woman dreams of. But as it turns out, it was all an act. A well-rehearsed, five-year-long role.
The whole thing unraveled on a Tuesday.
I was standing at the kitchen counter, slicing tomatoes for an omelet. The morning was just like any other—quiet, measured, calm. The sun was filtering through the curtains, painting the kitchen in warm hues. I had coffee brewing. Music was playing softly. Everything was exactly as it had been for the last five years.
I was mentally running through my day: drop my daughter, Yesenia, at kindergarten, go to my shift at the restaurant, pick Yesenia up, stop at the grocery store, get vitamins…
My phone vibrated on the counter. A message from an unknown number. Usually, I’d delete spam, but something—intuition, maybe—made me open it.
The first photo loaded instantly. It was Artem, my husband. He was sitting in a cozy café, holding hands with another woman. A woman with dark hair and bright red lipstick. They were looking at each other like no one else in the world existed.
My heart stopped. I scrolled.
The second photo: The same two, outside a hotel. Artem was hugging her, his hand possessively on her waist. His face wore an expression of tenderness I knew so well. The same tenderness he gave me.
The third photo: They were in his car. My car, really, the one we shared. He was kissing her. Passionately.
Six photos in total. Different days, different places. This wasn’t a mistake. This was a second life.
I sank onto a kitchen stool, my breath gone. The phone felt heavy, toxic. I wanted to scream, but my throat closed. I wanted to cry, but the tears felt frozen.
“Good morning, darling!”
Artem’s cheerful voice cut through the silence. He walked into the kitchen, ruffled from sleep, wearing his usual t-shirt and jeans, a smile on his face. So familiar. So beloved. Such a stranger.
I slowly lifted my head. The tears finally broke, hot and bitter. I just looked at him, as if seeing him for the first, or perhaps the last, time.
“Good morning,” I said, my voice a broken rasp.
His smile faded. “What’s wrong? You’re crying.”
I just turned the phone screen toward him.
His face changed instantly. The color drained away. His eyes widened. He froze.
“Angelina… this isn’t… this isn’t what you think.”
“It’s not?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.
“It’s a… it’s a joke! It’s Photoshop! Someone is trying to break us up!”
“Shut up,” I whispered. The steel in my own voice surprised me. “Just. Shut. Up.”
“Angelina, listen to me!” He tried to grab my hand. I snatched it away.
“Six photos, Artem! Six! How do you explain the hotel? The car? The kissing?”
He had no answer. He just stood there, his mouth opening and closing.
“Be gone by the time I get home tonight,” I said, my voice trembling but firm. “Get your things, and get out.”
He actually looked offended. “You’re serious? You’re just… giving up? Just like that?”
I laughed. A horrible, hysterical sound. “I’m giving up? You… you thought I’d fight for this? For a lie? For the five years of illusion you built for me?”
“It wasn’t a lie! I love you, Angelina! I love Yesenia! We’re a family!”
“A family?” I pointed at the phone. “Families don’t do this.”
“Please… let’s talk. Like adults.”
“I’ve said everything. Be gone by this evening. Or I’ll have you removed.”
He stood there, clenching his fists. I saw the moment his desperation turned to anger. “Fine,” he spat. He stormed into the bedroom.
Yesenia ran out, woken by the shouting. “Mommy? Where’s Daddy going?”
Artem came out with a duffel bag.
“Daddy?” Yesenia ran to him. “You didn’t kiss me goodbye!”
He just looked at her, then at me, his face a mask of cold fury. He walked out and slammed the door.
Yesenia looked at me, her little face crumpled in confusion. “Why is Daddy so strange?”
“He’s… just late for work, sunny,” I lied, my world crashing down around me as I hugged her.
The Best Friend
I took Yesenia to my mother’s house. Nina, my mom, was furious on my behalf. “That swine!” she yelled. “I’ll help you, baby. We’ll get through this.”
I went to work at the restaurant, my mind in a fog. My best friend, Maria, worked there with me. We’d known each other since high school.
“Angie, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said, grabbing my arm.
I collapsed at one of the back tables and told her everything. The photos. The lies. Artem leaving.
She held my hand, her face a mask of sympathy. “Oh, honey. That’s… awful. Men are trash. But… are you sure? Maybe you overreacted?”
“What do you mean, ‘overreacted’? He was cheating!”
“I know, I know,” she said, patting my hand. “But he’s a good man, Angie. He provides. He’s good to Yesenia. So he made a mistake. Who doesn’t? Are you sure you should throw away five years over a… a stupid fling?”
I was stunned. This was my best friend.
“Maria, he…”
“Just think about it,” she said, her voice kind. “You’re on your own now. With a kid. On a waitress’s salary. It’s… it’s going to be hard. Maybe just… call him. Talk to him.”
I pulled my hand away, a cold, strange feeling creeping into my heart. “I… I have to go prep my tables.”
The New Man and the Vow
The divorce was fast. Artem didn’t fight it. He just… vanished. He signed the papers, agreed to child support (which he paid late, if at all), and moved on.
The next few months were a blur of single-mom-waitress-life. Exhausting. Draining. Lonely. My mom helped with Yesenia, but I felt like I was drowning.
One day, I was at the park with Yesenia, sitting on a bench while she played.
“Angelina?” a man’s voice said.
I looked up. It was Maxim Orlov. Max. A guy from my university. He’d been on the soccer team, always had a crowd around him. He’d been in love with me, I knew, but I was already with someone else, and then I’d met Artem.
“Max?” I said, shocked.
“Wow. It’s… it’s been years,” he smiled, his eyes kind. “You look… well, you look beautiful, as always.”
He sat down. He was a trainer now, owned his own gym. He was single. We talked for an hour. It was… easy. He listened. He made me laugh. For the first time in a month, I wasn’t just “Yesenia’s mom” or “Artem’s ex.” I was just Angelina.
We started meeting for coffee. Then walks. Max was… different. He was calm, steady, and he looked at me like I was the only person in the world. He was incredible with Yesenia, too. He’d kneel to her level, talk to her about her drawings, and make her giggle.
Maria, of course, noticed.
“Who’s this new guy you’re always texting?” she asked one day at work, a little too casually.
“Just an old friend from college. Max.”
“Max, huh? Is he cute? Is he rich?”
“He’s… nice,” I said, not wanting to share.
“Well, just be careful,” she’d said. “You’re vulnerable right now.”
But every time Max and I were together, Maria would “accidentally” show up.
“Oh, hi! Fancy seeing you here!” she’d trill, sliding into our booth at the café.
“Max, this is Maria, my friend from work.”
“A pleasure,” Max would say, polite but clearly annoyed.
And Maria would take over. She’d flirt, laugh too loud, touch his arm. “So, a trainer? You must be so strong. I’ve been dying to get in shape.”
I’d just sit there, feeling myself disappear, feeling that old, familiar ache of being invisible.
One night, after a shift, Maria cornered me in the locker room.
“Angie, I need to talk to you. It’s serious.”
“What’s up?”
“I’m in love with Max,” she blurted out, her face a mask of desperate sincerity.
I froze. “What?”
“I am! I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s funny, he’s sweet… I know he likes you, but you’re not ready. You’re just divorced. You have a kid. You’re a mess. I’m free. I’m ready for someone like him. Please, Angie… please, back off. Give me a chance. You’re my best friend.”
I stared at her. My best friend. The one who told me to forgive my cheating husband. And now… this.
The man who was the first spark of light in my dark, miserable year.
“He… he likes you?” I whispered.
“I think so! We just… we have a connection. Please, Angie. Don’t… don’t take this from me.”
I looked at her desperate, pleading face. And I did what I always do. I gave in.
“Okay,” I said, my voice hollow. “Okay, Maria.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you!” she squealed, hugging me. “You’re the best friend ever!”
That night, I texted Max.
Max, I’m sorry. I can’t see you anymore. I’m not ready.
He called, instantly. I didn’t answer. He called again.
His text came through. Angelina, please. What did I do? Just talk to me.
I turned off my phone, fell into my bed, and cried for the second man I’d lost in six months.
The Wedding
Six months passed. Six months of numbing routine. Work, Yesenia, sleep, repeat. Max stopped calling.
Maria, however, was glowing. She and Max were “official.” And then, she showed up at the restaurant, waving her hand in my face. A huge diamond glittered on her finger.
“We’re getting married!” she shrieked. “And it’s all thanks to you!”
The wedding was to be at our restaurant. The owner, Gennady, gave her a huge discount. And then, she asked me the question.
“Angie, I know this is weird… but… I don’t want to invite you as a guest.”
I felt a strange sense of relief. “Oh. Okay, Maria. I understand.”
“No, silly! I want you to work it! You’re the best waitress we have! I need everything to be perfect. And who better to trust than my best friend? You’ll be there, and you’ll get paid! It’s perfect!”
I stared at her, speechless. She wanted me… to serve champagne and clear plates… at her wedding… to the man I loved, whom she guilted me into giving up.
The cruelty was so breathtaking, I couldn’t even breathe.
“I… I don’t know, Maria…”
“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun! A front-row seat! Please? For me?”
And like the fool I’ve always been… I said yes.
The day of the wedding arrived. I put on my black skirt, white blouse, and black apron. I felt sick.
The restaurant was beautiful, filled with white roses and candles. Maria looked stunning, of course. Max… Max looked handsome in his black tux. But his smile, the one I’d loved, it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked… trapped.
“Angelina, table four needs more champagne!” Maria snapped at me as she glided by. Not “thank you.” Just an order.
I just nodded and went to the bar.
Yesenia was with me. The kindergarten had a sudden quarantine for a flu outbreak. My mom was out of town. I had no one. Gennady, my boss, grumbled but let her sit in the back office with her coloring books.
The ceremony was a blur. They exchanged vows. They kissed. The crowd cheered. I just stacked glasses, my heart a dead, heavy thing.
The reception started. Toasts were made. Dinner was served. I was clearing plates, my back aching, when Yesenia came out of the office.
“Mommy, I’m bored,” she whispered, pulling on my apron. She was in her favorite pink party dress.
“I know, honey. Just… just stand by the wall, okay? Don’t get in anyone’s way. I’ll be done soon.”
She nodded and went to stand by the wall, watching the dancing.
That’s when it happened.
I was at a table when I heard her make a small, gasping sound.
“Yesenia?”
She swayed. Her face, which was rosy seconds before, went a stark, papery white. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
She crumpled to the floor.
“YESENIA!” I screamed. I dropped my tray of glasses. It shattered, but I didn’t hear it.
The music stopped. The guests froze. I fell to my knees beside her, shaking her. “Yesenia! Baby! Wake up! Please!”
She was limp.
The guests just… stared. They were standing, watching, some pulling out their phones. Maria, at the head table, looked annoyed. Furious. “Angelina, what is going on? You’re ruining my—”
“EVERYONE, GET OUT OF THE WAY!”
It was Max. He vaulted over a chair, pushed through the crowd, and knelt beside me. He didn’t hesitate. He checked her pulse, put his ear to her mouth.
“Her breathing is shallow. She’s burning up.”
He ripped off his tux jacket, scooped Yesenia up into his arms, and ran for the front door. “Someone call 911! NOW!”
I ran after him, sobbing, my apron flapping.
He burst out onto the sidewalk, into the cool night air. He laid her gently on a bench, tilting her head back.
“It’s okay, Angelina. It’s okay,” he panted. “The ambulance is coming.”
He was looking at her, his face a mask of terror and concentration. “What… what did she eat?”
“Nothing!” I cried. “She’s just been in the office! She… oh god, Max…”
He was looking at his hands. The hands that had been holding Yesenia. They were bright red, covered in angry welts.
“Angelina,” he said, his voice a strange, tight whisper. “My hands… they’re… they’re on fire.”
He looked from his blistering hands to the pink dress Yesenia was wearing. His eyes went wide with a horrific realization.
“Oh my god,” he whispered. “The dress. It’s the… dress…”
He looked at me, his face pale. “Tell the doctors… tell them to cut the dress off her. Immediately. Tell them it’s… poison…”
And then, his own eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the pavement, unconscious.
The Truth
The next few hours were the longest of my life. Two ambulances. Two hospitals. Yesenia was rushed to pediatrics. Max, to the adult ER.
A doctor came out to see me, his face grim. “Your daughter is very, very lucky. She suffered a severe chemical burn and systemic poisoning. Whatever was on that dress… it was a potent contact poison. Another 20 minutes, and her respiratory system would have shut down completely. Her dress… it was soaked in it.”
“But… how?” I whispered.
“We’re running toxicology,” he said. “The police are here. They’ll want to talk to you.”
The police. It was all a blur. I told them everything. I told them about Yesenia, about the dress, about Max.
“And the man who collapsed?” the officer asked. “Who was he?”
“He… he’s the groom,” I whispered. “From the wedding.”
“And he was holding the girl?”
“Yes… he… he saved her.”
They found it on the dress. A highly concentrated toxin, often found in industrial pesticides, mixed with some kind of oil to make it stick to the fabric. It had been rubbed, thick, on the inside of her pink dress.
I sat in the hospital, numb. Who would do this? Why?
Then, a detective came in. “Mrs. Lazar? We… we need to talk about your friend. Maria.”
“What about her?”
“We were reviewing the security footage from the restaurant’s back office. The room your daughter was in.”
He showed me his tablet. It was grainy, black-and-white. It showed Yesenia, coloring. Then the door opens. It’s Maria. In her wedding gown. She’s smiling. She’s holding a small, dark bottle.
“Hi, Yesenia,” she says in the video. “What a pretty dress! Did you spill something on it? Here, let Mommy’s friend help you clean it.”
The video showed her kneeling, taking a cloth, and… wiping the inside of Yesenia’s dress, her back to the camera.
“There, all better!” she said, patting Yesenia on the back. “Now, go have fun.”
I watched, my stomach turning to acid. “She… she did this.”
“We believe so,” the detective said. “When Mr. Orlov collapsed, his new wife, Maria, became… hysterical. She wasn’t worried. She was furious. She was screaming at the EMTs. One of them, a witness, heard her say, ‘He wasn’t supposed to touch her! That wasn’t for him!’ And then… ‘That stupid brat, she ruined everything!'”
I finally understood. The poison wasn’t for Yesenia. Not really. It was for me.
Maria didn’t want Max to see me at the wedding. She was afraid he’d… what? Change his mind? She knew if Yesenia got “sick,” I would leave. A little rash, a little fever, and I’d be gone.
But she, in her monstrous jealousy, used something she didn’t understand. She used a lethal poison. She almost killed my daughter to get me out of the room.
And she poisoned the man she’d just married.
UPDATE: Six Months Later
Maria:
She was arrested that night. At her own wedding. The evidence was overwhelming. The video. The testimony from the EMTs. The purchase of the pesticide, traced back to her credit card. She tried to plead insanity, to say she “didn’t know” it was poison. But the prosecution, funded in part by a very angry Max Orlov, proved she had researched its effects for weeks.
She wasn’t trying to just make Yesenia sick. She was trying to kill her, to “remove the problem” of my daughter, whom she saw as my tie to Max.
She was found guilty. Attempted murder. She was sentenced to 25 years.
Max:
He survived. It was bad. His hands were scarred from the chemical burns, and he was in the hospital for two weeks. But he recovered.
The day he got out, he came to my apartment. He didn’t call. He just… showed up.
“Angelina,” he said, his hands bandaged.
“Max,” I whispered.
“I… I’m so sorry. I… I knew she was… unstable. I never… I never thought…”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “You saved my daughter’s life.”
“No,” he said, his own eyes wet. “You both saved mine.”
He had the marriage annulled.
Artem (my ex-husband):
This is a strange postscript. The unknown number? The one who sent me the photos of Artem cheating? It was Maria. She had been “following” him for months, digging up dirt, trying to “help” my marriage fail so I’d be single… but not for Max. She wanted me single so I’d be too broken to date anyone. She’d been playing a long, twisted game.
Artem, by the way, sent me a letter. He heard what happened. He said, “I know I was a terrible husband, but I never wished this on you. I’m sending my full child support. Please keep Yesenia safe.” He’s paid on time, every month, ever since.
Us:
Yesenia is fine. She’s happy, she’s healthy. She calls Max “her superhero.”
We started slow. Coffee. Walks in the park. But… we were survivors. We’d been through a fire. And it forged something between us.
I’m writing this from the living room of our new house. Max is in the kitchen, trying to teach Yesenia how to make pancakes. They’re making a huge mess.
It’s not a fairy tale. It’s… real. My ex-best friend tried to destroy my life, to poison my child. But all she did was burn away everything that was fake, leaving only what was real and true. She tried to ruin my life, but instead, she just… handed it to the right person.