so my best friend, who we will call Liz, married a guy who makes mayonnaise seem spicy. no opinions, no passions, no ambition. just vibes and khaki shorts. Liz kept complaining that they had no emotional connection anymore, but she would not leave because “divorce feels so extreme.”

one night we were drinking boxed wine and watching a documentary about Victorian séances, and i had a thought. not a good thought. but a thought.

i bought a spirit board on Etsy and set up a “communication session” under the guise of “just for fun.” during the session, i pretended to channel the spirit of a Victorian social worker named Agnes Butterworth who specialized in “matters of the domestic soul.”

as Agnes, i gently pointed out that Liz was “craving stimulation and growth” and “deserved a partnership that fed her spirit.” i also heavily implied that if she stayed in a loveless marriage, she might become a sad Victorian ghost herself, doomed to wander Costco forever searching for samples.

Liz started crying. she hugged me. she said it was the most clarity she had ever felt.

two weeks later, she filed for divorce. she moved into a cute little bungalow. she enrolled in pottery classes. she adopted a cat named Waffles. she looks radiant.

the problem is, she still thinks Agnes Butterworth is real. she talks about her like a patron saint. she prays to her sometimes. she even stitched “WWABD” (what would Agnes Butterworth do) onto a pillow.

i feel like i did a good thing… but i also committed emotional fraud via fake ghost.

AITAH?