After twelve years of marriage, my world collapsed when I divorced Mark. In my darkest moments, my best friend since college, Ava, was there—offering me a place to stay and helping me rebuild my life.
Eight years later, I unexpectedly ran into Mark. With a smug grin, he asked, “Still friends with Ava? I slept with her.” His words shattered me. When I confronted Ava, she confessed. It happened once—during a moment of weakness. She hadn’t told me, fearing it would break me further.
Instead, she spent the years since trying to be the best friend she could, making up for the betrayal in silence. I was devastated—torn between the pain of the past and the loyalty she had shown ever since.
A few days later, we met at the park where our friendship began. I told her, “I can’t forget… but I don’t want to lose you either.” Some wounds leave scars, but not all broken things stay broken.
Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting—it means choosing love and healing over anger and loss. And sometimes, grace is what helps us carry both pain and love at once.
