It was a cold winter night where we walked, and walked, and you cried. I remember your face, the piece of tissue I handed you.
You didn’t want to tell me what was wrong, what Heather had shared with you. She was your friend. You needed to help her. You were upset that I was upset about this.
“I know how this ends,” I said. “I know how this story ends.”
You said, “It will all work out in the end. Trust me. It will be okay.”
I didn’t understand these secrets you were keeping, these tears you were shedding. I didn’t think we kept secrets from each other.
Finally you told me that Heather was suicidal, that she needed you. You needed to help her.
I saw manipulation, you saw a damsel in distress.
It was the start of your love affair. I always think I was blindsided a year later when you admitted to the affair. But on that cold winter night, I already knew how the story was going to end.