Eight years passed before I unexpectedly ran into Mark. With a smug grin, he leaned in and said, “Still friends with Ava? I slept with her.” His words hit me like a slap. My chest tightened as though the ground beneath me had shifted.
I confronted Ava, praying it was a lie. But she admitted it—once, years ago, in what she called a “moment of weakness.” She confessed she hadn’t told me because she didn’t want to destroy me further while I was already drowning in divorce. Instead, she had spent years trying to be the kind of friend who could atone for that mistake.
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