We were inseparable.
Best friends since high school, married within a year of each other, and even lived just five minutes apart. We did everything together — from weekend coffee runs to late-night therapy sessions on parenting struggles. Our kids practically grew up in the same house.
So when she called me one afternoon asking if I could watch her two boys for “just an hour” while she ran an errand, I didn’t hesitate.
“No problem,” I said. “Come by whenever.”
But she never came back.
Not that day. Not the next. Not ever — for seven long years.
At first, I thought something had happened. A medical emergency? A car accident? I waited by the phone, expecting a call from her husband or a neighbor saying she was okay.
But no call came.
I texted. No reply.
I called. Went straight to voicemail.
I even stopped by her house — it was empty. Boxes half-packed. Toys still scattered across the floor like life had paused mid-sentence.
It wasn’t until a mutual friend mentioned offhandedly at a party that “She moved out of state with someone new…” that I realized the truth.
She hadn’t disappeared.
She had left — without saying goodbye.
No explanation. No apology. Just silence.
For seven years, I replayed it all in my head. Wondering what I had done wrong. Had I offended her? Did she grow tired of our friendship? Was I too much?
Then, out of nowhere, a message popped up on Facebook:
“Hey girl! How are you???”
Like nothing had happened.
I stared at the screen, heart pounding. So many emotions flooded through me — betrayal, anger, sadness… and oddly, relief.
I replied:
“Where the hell have you been?”
Her response?
“I needed space. It was a hard time for me. I’m sorry it went down like that.”
That’s it. That’s all.
No details. No tears. No real accountability.
I didn’t block her. But I didn’t run back into her arms either.
Because friendships shouldn’t end like that — with a void so deep it takes years to stop wondering if you were ever really important.
And now, every time I see those boys — who are practically my own — I feel that same ache.
The kind that comes from loving someone who forgot how to love you back.