Chapter 2The Uninvited Birthday Guest

Jenna had no idea the damage her words would cause. Suddenly, all the blame was on me. I was the villain.

“What a sham. This party is a joke!”

“Let’s tear this place apart! Teach him a lesson!”

The room descended into chaos. I saw Leo signal to a few of his friends, who started flipping tables. Soon, others joined in, a wave of destruction sweeping through the hall.

My mother, struggling against the pain in her chest, forced herself to stand.

“Stop this! All of you!”

But no one listened. They were on Leo’s side, eager to see me punished. I lunged toward Jenna, but Leo stepped in front of her, his voice booming.

“What do you think you’re doing, Mark?”

“Thinking of hitting her to vent your anger? Not while I’m here!”

“You’ll have to go through me first. You’ll have to kill me and step over my dead body to get to her!”

His dramatic declaration earned him a round of applause. “Now that’s a real man,” someone shouted.

“A real man?” I laughed, the sound bitter and incredulous. I was the victim here, yet I was being treated like the home-wrecker.

“Step over your dead body?” I challenged. “Who the hell do you think you are? Have I laid a hand on anyone? Has anyone seen me raise a fist?”

Silence.

“I’m telling you, Leo, slander is a crime. And you, Jenna—was I the one who forced this marriage, or was it your family who came to me, begging for help?”

Before I could finish, the boy, clearly coached by Leo, ran over to my mother, pretending to help her. Then, he dramatically threw himself to the ground.

“Grandma!” he wailed. “I was just trying to help you because you looked like you were in pain! I’m sorry! It’s all my fault and Daddy’s fault for hurting you!”

Then he turned on her. “But I’m innocent! Why did you pinch me and push me down?”

My mother’s eyes widened in disbelief. This child she had doted on, this boy she had treated as her own grandson, was a practiced liar. Before she could utter a word of defense, the crowd lost control. They screamed insults at us, someone threw a centerpiece at my mother, calling her a shameless old woman.

She had never endured such humiliation. The shock was too much. She collapsed.

Panic seized me. I scooped her into my arms, trying to fight my way through the mob to get her to a hospital. But they blocked my path, accusing her of faking it to escape. I yelled for security, but as they tried to clear a path, guests started recording, twisting the scene to make us look like the aggressors.

Within minutes, the videos were online, and a storm of digital hatred was unleashed upon me.