She Was My Person — Until She Wasn’t
Rachel and I didn’t “become” friends.
We just always were.
We sat next to each other in elementary school because our last names were close in the alphabet.
By high school we shared clothes.
By college we shared bad apartments and worse boyfriend stories.
By the time we had kids, we shared calendars and carpools.
She had four.
I had two.
Rachel used to stand in my kitchen with a baby on her hip and another tugging on her leg and say, “This is the part they don’t tell you about.”
“The noise?” I’d ask.
“The love,” she’d say, beaming. “How it just keeps multiplying.”
She looked exhausted all the time…
but she glowed in a way that felt real.
I believed I knew her.
Twenty years of friendship will do that to you.
Now I look back and wonder how many times she almost told me the truth…
and decided I couldn’t handle it.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
