I froze when my friend finally confessed. “I’ve been lying to you for years,” she said calmly, almost casually.
For years. Years.
And just like that, the air shifted. My heart didn’t race, but something inside me sank. Because the truth is… I already knew. I had always known. Somewhere deep in my gut, I sensed it. The words that didn’t line up. The stories that shape-shifted. Her tone that danced around honesty like it was a dangerous fire.
But I never called her out. I told myself she wasn’t ready. I told myself she just needed to feel safe. And maybe I wasn’t wrong.
Still, hearing her confess it made something ache.
This was the lie.
Her lie.
And, as I would later come to realize—
Also, my lie.
