After the Best Friend and Daughter-in-law Divorced, The Sons Regretted It

My family had married two daughters-in-law, both the beloved daughters of my best friends, into our home at the same time. For three years, the marriages seemed stable, until one tragic night changed everything.

It was past midnight when the first calls came—frantic, desperate calls for help from Monica and Riley, my two daughters-in-law. They were being attacked, ambushed by knife-wielding gangsters. Thirty calls were made to my sons. Thirty times, the calls were ignored or hung up.

When I finally arrived at the scene, it was too late. The alley was stained with blood. Monica and Riley lay motionless on the cold ground, their clothes soaked in bright red, their breaths shallow, fading. The attacker had vanished, leaving behind only the horrific evidence of his violence.

Monica's phone still glowed in the dark, displaying dozens of unanswered calls. In Riley’s hand, her phone clutched tightly, a conversation left open with my youngest son. His impatient, cold voice echoed from the speaker:

"Stop calling me to get attention. This is the first time Rachel’s invited us to her birthday and if you ruin this for me, I’ll divorce you!"

I stood frozen, my breath catching in my throat, anger boiling inside me as I took in the scene. My hands trembled with rage. The sheer cruelty in his voice was unbearable.

And then, silence. My youngest son, sensing her quiet, assumed she was finally intimidated. His voice dripped with disdain as he added, “Why aren’t you saying anything? Afraid now, huh? You’re nothing compared to Rachel. You can’t even match one of her fingers.”

Two bastards.

Just as I was trying to process the horror in front of me, a girl’s sweet, seductive voice floated from the phone, still in Riley's hand.

"Mike, who are you talking to?" she asked, her tone playful and charming.

Mike’s voice immediately shifted. His once impatient tone softened into something almost sickeningly sweet. "No one," he lied, "just some advertising sales."

I could feel the fury building in my chest, but I forced myself to stay calm. With trembling hands, I dialed for an ambulance. The calmness in my voice was only skin-deep; inside, I was screaming.

Soon, Monica and Riley were rushed to the hospital, both barely clinging to life.

The doctors worked through the night, issuing multiple critical condition notices as they fought to save them. Blood transfusions were hurriedly arranged as Monica’s condition worsened.

At the same time, the internet was buzzing with updates about Rachel’s birthday party—thanks to my sons.

While Monica was bleeding out, Rick was lighting up the night sky with fireworks in Rachel’s honor, a spectacle that quickly became the city’s top trending topic. "What a grand celebration," the headlines read.

At midnight, Riley’s condition took a turn for the worse—her chest was infected and the doctors feared she wouldn’t make it. Meanwhile, Mike had rented out massive billboards all over the city for Rachel, with messages of love flashing across the screens.

Netizens swooned over his display of affection.

“Oh my God, this Rachel is so lucky! She’s being treated like a queen!”

“I want a man like him!”

“I wish I could marry him!”

Marry him? If only they knew. Would they still want him if they saw what I was seeing? His wife fighting for her life while he was busy fawning over another woman.

I stood outside the operating room, my heart in my throat. Monica, unconscious and barely alive, kept whispering Rick’s name. I could feel her anguish; when they had first married, Rick had loved her deeply. No wonder she couldn’t let him go.

A doctor rushed out, his expression urgent.

"Madam, is there any way you can contact Rick? Monica’s will to live is fading and if we can bring him here, it might give her the strength to fight.”

The doctor’s words cut me like a knife. Monica, the vibrant young woman who once lit up every room she entered, now lay on a hospital bed, broken and frail, like a discarded rag doll. My heart shattered at the sight of her, so small and helpless.

I pulled out my phone, hands trembling and dialed my eldest son, Rick. The phone rang twice before he picked up, his voice annoyingly casual.

"You need to come back right now," I demanded. "Do you even know what's happened to Monica—"

He cut me off with an impatient snort. "Mom, Monica’s just using you to guilt-trip me. I told her I’m here with Rachel for her birthday, so don’t make a fuss."

I could feel the anger bubbling up, but I forced myself to stay calm. "Monica is in the hospital," I said, my voice low and urgent. "She needs you, Rick. Right now."

A mocking sneer sounded from the other end of the line. "Hospital? Please, mom. Monica’s not the fragile type. She’s probably faking it because she knows Rachel needs me tonight. You really need to stop giving Rachel such a hard time."

The beeping on Monica’s heart monitor was growing slower, the lines flattening. My patience snapped. I couldn’t hold back the rage any longer.

"Monica is bleeding out!" I roared into the phone. "She’s dying, Rick. Are you coming or not?"

For a moment, there was silence. I thought—hoped—I had gotten through to him. But then his voice came back, colder than before.

"Bleeding out?" he scoffed. "Why don’t you just say she’s been stabbed to death? You’re being dramatic, mom. Rachel’s calling me now, so I’m gonna go."

Before I could say another word, he hung up.

My chest tightened as I struggled to breathe, trembling with fury and disbelief. How had I raised such heartless sons? I hated myself for ever bringing them into this world.

Monica’s condition was deteriorating quickly. Her heart monitor was a sharp reminder of how little time was left. I hurried to put on sterile clothes, desperate to do anything to awaken her will to survive. But just as I was about to enter the room, Riley, who had just come out of her own surgery, staggered from her bed like a woman possessed.

She collapsed at Monica’s side, clutching her hand tightly.

"Monica… Monica, wake up, please," Riley sobbed. "We promised each other we'd see the snow in the north, remember? You can't leave me here, not alone…"

Her voice cracked and she buried her face in Monica’s limp hand, tears streaming down her cheeks. The pain in her voice was heartbreaking. I watched helplessly as Riley’s strength gave out. With one final cry for her friend, she fainted, her body crumpling beside Monica’s.

It was almost unbearable, seeing these two young women fighting for their lives while my sons—those selfish, blind fools—were too wrapped up in their own worlds to care.