Everyone In Town Thinks My Friend’s Dad Is A Monster. I Just Found Out The Real Monster Is His Mother, And Now She’s Coming For Me. How Do I Stop Her?

The Villain in the Story

I stared at my ceiling thinking everyone believed the story because it was easier than questioning it. Because a mother’s tears in court were more compelling than a father’s quiet denials. Because once the narrative was set, changing it meant admitting you’d been wrong. And nobody wanted to admit they’d helped destroy an innocent family.

But I had time. I had determination. And most importantly, I had the truth. They could take my phone, restrict my computer, separate me from Brian at school. They could whisper about me, isolate me, even send me to therapy. But they couldn’t change what I knew.

Brian’s dad was innocent. Brian was suffering. And somehow I was going to prove it to everyone, even if it meant becoming a pariah myself. Even if it meant fighting my own mother. Even if the whole town turned against me. Because sometimes the truth is worth becoming the villain in everyone else’s story.

The next morning, I woke up with a plan. It was risky, probably stupid, and would definitely get me in more trouble. But Brian’s latest note had said they had 2 weeks before eviction. Two weeks to change everything. Two weeks to expose Catherine’s lies. Two weeks to save my friend’s family.

Gathering the Evidence

I got dressed for school, kissed Mom goodbye like nothing was wrong, and mentally prepared for war. They thought they’d broken me with isolation and therapy threats. They had no idea what I was capable of when I knew I was right.

The therapy appointment was scheduled for Thursday. Three days to work with. I walked into school that morning with my notebook tucked under my shirt, knowing Mrs. Patterson’s daughter would be watching my every move. During first period, I asked to use the bathroom and instead slipped into the computer lab.

The room was empty except for a seventh grader working on a project. I logged into a terminal in the corner and pulled up Catherine’s social media profiles using a fake account I’d created weeks ago. Her posts from 3 years ago painted a different picture than the grieving mother everyone saw now. Photos at bars, angry rants about deadbeat men, and one particularly telling post:

“Some people just need to learn their lesson the hard way. I always get what I want in the end.”

I screenshotted everything and emailed it to a new account before the bell rang. As I headed back to class, I noticed Brian wasn’t in his usual spot. His desk sat empty.

At lunch, I found his note in our usual book.

“Dad collapsed yesterday. Not eating enough. Hospital won’t admit him. No insurance. We’re sleeping in the car now.”

My hands shook as I read it. They were living in their car while Catherine probably sat comfortable in the house Brian’s dad had paid for. I had to move faster.