Scars That Do Not Heal

During college, she had me wrapped around her finger, and she recognized it—knowing I could never lie to her and would always be honest with her.

Then she dated a “friend” of mine. Oh, the number of times I answered her questions and explained his thought process to her. My mind tried to stay neutral, not telling her to end the relationship with him, while my heart ached to profess my deepest love for her.

Despite my attempts as his friend to defend him, she ended the relationship, which was a relief as I no longer had to experience that inner turmoil.

Yes, she was free, but I knew her well enough to recognize who her eye was on—my close friend and roommate.

He told me many times, “You are still Duck, and I am still Rob, and we will always be friends.”

She came to our apartment often; her pictures sat on his desk.

Yet, I cherished my friendship with both.

At their wedding, I was fortunate to see two of my dearest friends overjoyed.

However, during a weekend visit to their apartment, I said something, did something, did not do something, or looked at her cat wrong.

When I called them later, she spoke in a distinctive tone. I had made her angry. I sent her a letter apologizing for anything and everything that came to my mind.

Nevertheless, she gave him an ultimatum: if he did not end the friendship with me, she would leave him.

Twenty years have passed. I do not blame him for his decision. I would have chosen her over me.

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