The one I had known.
And the one that had really happened.
I said only one thing:
“You were right. That was our last picture.”
She left.
It’s been six months since that day.
We haven’t spoken.
She sent me two letters.
I didn’t answer either one.
But the strangest thing is that I still haven’t deleted our last photograph.
Sometimes I open it and stare at our smiling faces for a long time.
In that photograph, I am still the woman who believes that the person beside her is the most loyal friend she has ever had.
And Susan already knows that, within just a few hours, that entire life is going to change.
Sometimes people ask me if I can ever forgive her.
I don’t have an answer yet.
Because betrayal isn’t only about discovering that your best friend had an affair with your husband.
