At two in the morning, my buddy A-Qiang sent a voice message, his voice trembling: "I almost destroyed the house just now."

He came back early from a business trip, the house was dark, and his wife was not there. He sat on the sofa, smoked five cigarettes, then called his wife's four best friends one by one.
The first said: "She's at my place, just finished her shower and went to bed."
The second said: "She worked overtime today and is still at the company."
The third said: "Isn't she with you? She even said she wanted to surprise you this afternoon."
The fourth said: "You dialed the wrong number, I don't know her."
He hung up, smiled. Then he opened the bedroom door—his wife was sleeping soundly wrapped in a quilt, her phone dropped on the floor, the screen still lit, the chat window paused on the fourth best friend's message, the last message was: "If he calls, just say you don't know me."
His wife was awakened, groggily looked at him, and mumbled: "Aren't you coming back tomorrow?"
Some lies are not meant to deceive you, but to test how stupid you are.
He didn't argue or make a fuss, went to the living room, took a photo of the ashtray, posted it on Moments with the caption: "Let's get a divorce."
Three minutes later, all four best friends' missed calls exploded simultaneously.