Confessions of a Late Bloomer Part 5
People talk about divorce like it’s the ultimate heartbreak.
And yes, losing a marriage is brutal.
The unraveling of a life you thought you’d grow old in… it shakes your foundation.
But what no one tells you is that sometimes, the deeper wound isn’t the partner who left.
It’s the friend who did.
My longest friendship started in middle school.
She knew all the early versions of me; awkward, hopeful, insecure, trying way too hard. We bloomed side by side, growing from kids into something resembling adults. The kind of friendship where memories are baked into your bones. Where even silence feels safe.
When my marriage ended, it wasn’t just the loss of the life I’d built with him… it was the silence of her. The way she didn’t show up. The way she disappeared when the world I knew imploded.
I didn’t know for sure what had happened between them for years.
But I felt it.
In his accusations. In the sudden turn.
In her absence.
For a long time, I didn’t just grieve the friendship, I grieved the part of myself that believed I was safe there.
There was a moment, sharp and terrifying, where the shame of it all nearly swallowed me whole.
Not just the pain, but the telling of it.
The unbearable task of having to speak those words out loud:
That the person I’d trusted with my life was now part of its undoing.
Years later, she sat me down at lunch and confirmed what I’d already mourned.
There were no dramatic revelations.
Just quiet heartbreak.
And by then, the friendship had already been buried.
I’ve lost other friends, too. Ones I let go of when I realized their teasing wasn’t love, it was just the cost of staying small in their company.
But this one?
This one still aches.
Because under the betrayal, there’s still so much love. So many memories.
So much before.
There are moments I still catch myself wanting to call her. To share a laugh. A photo. A story only she would understand.
But then I remember: I’m no longer the girl who begs to be chosen.
I’m the woman who knows what it costs when you betray yourself to stay close to someone who already walked away.
Losing her hurt more than losing him.
Because our love wasn’t romantic. It was foundational.
And when a foundation crumbles, it shakes everything.
But I’m still here.
Wiser. Softer.
Less afraid of letting go when it’s time.
Always,
Your Trusted Friend ❤
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