Chapter 8 - THE BEST FRIEND WHO WANTED ME TO FORGIVE THE UNFORGIVABLE
Cecily requested a meeting in September.
By then, the wedding Preston and I had planned for October was officially canceled.
The venue had been notified.
The caterer released.
The flowers canceled.
The remaining financial matters handled through the appropriate contracts and advisers.
It was astonishing how many practical details came with the destruction of a future.
Deposits.
Guest lists.
Hotel reservations.
Travel arrangements.
A dress that would never be worn.
A honeymoon that would never happen.
Every canceled email felt like another small funeral.
But gradually, the work ended.
And the silence afterward became something I could live with.
Then Cecily sent a letter.
Not a text.
A handwritten letter.
Delivered through my attorney.
She asked whether we could meet once.
I didn't have to agree.
But there was something I wanted to understand.
Not why she wanted Preston.
Not whether he loved her more.
I was finished asking those questions.
I wanted to know how someone who called me her sister could stand beside me for months while secretly planning to become Preston's wife.
So I agreed to a conversation.
In a neutral office.
With clear boundaries.
---
Cecily arrived wearing a simple gray dress.
No designer coat.
No bright lipstick.
Her hair was pulled back.
The gold wedding ring remained on her finger.
For a moment, I looked at it.
Then I looked away.
She sat across from me.
"Althia."
I nodded.
"Cecily."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then she began crying.
"I'm sorry."
I stared.
She continued.
"I know that's not enough."
I remained quiet.
Cecily wiped her eyes.
"I never wanted to lose you."
For a moment, something inside me snapped.
I leaned forward.
"Then why did you marry my fiancé?"
She flinched.
I continued.
"You helped plan our wedding."
My voice broke.
"You went to fittings with me."
"You knew what my mother's dress meant."
Tears filled my eyes.
"And you married him while I was on another continent."
Cecily covered her mouth.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then whispered:
"I loved him."
I stared.
There it was.
Her explanation.
The one she'd apparently repeated to herself until it sounded like justification.
I took a breath.
"Then you should have told me."
She nodded through tears.
"I know."
"No."
I shook my head.
"You knew then."
A pause.
"You knew every time you hugged me."
"Every time you asked about October."
"Every time you helped me choose something for the wedding."
Cecily began crying harder.
For a moment, I almost wanted to stop.
But I'd spent months swallowing questions to protect other people's comfort.
Not anymore.
I looked directly at her.
"Did you ever plan to tell me?"
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
"Preston said he'd handle it."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Preston would handle it.
Preston would explain.
Preston would decide when I deserved to know my engagement was over.
I took a breath.
"And you believed him?"
Cecily looked down.
"I wanted to."
I nodded.
That was the truth.
She wanted the outcome badly enough to accept the lies that made it possible.
---
Then I asked about the foundation.
"Did you know my name was used in the vendor endorsement?"
Cecily's expression changed.
She looked toward the table.
Then whispered:
"I knew your earlier medical letter was being used as a reference."
My stomach tightened.
"Who told you that?"
"Preston."
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I asked:
"Did you know it was being presented as a specific endorsement?"
Cecily hesitated.
"I didn't review every version."
I stared.
Then she continued.
"But I knew the proposal said you supported the program."
My voice became very quiet.
"Cecily, you knew I'd never evaluated your company's platform."
She looked down.
"Yes."
For a moment, I felt something colder than anger.
Disappointment so complete it almost resembled relief.
Because I'd spent months wondering whether there was some explanation that would make the betrayal less deliberate.
Now I understood.
They had relied on the same thing.
My trust.
Preston knew I trusted him.
Cecily knew I trusted her.
And both believed that trust would protect them long enough to get what they wanted.
I leaned back.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Cecily whispered:
"Preston told me the hospital program could change our lives."
I looked at her.
She continued.
"He said the foundation was going to support a major expansion."
"And that Blair Integrated Solutions could become an important partner."
Her eyes filled.
"I wanted to build something of my own."
I nodded slowly.
"And you thought using my professional reputation was acceptable?"
Cecily began crying.
"No."
Then she corrected herself.
"I told myself it was acceptable."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then she whispered:
"I was wrong."
I looked down.
I believed she regretted what had happened.
But regret didn't erase her choices.
And it certainly didn't restore the trust she'd destroyed.
---
Before the meeting ended, Cecily asked one final question.
"Do you think we'll ever be friends again?"
I stared.
For a moment, memories flooded back.
College graduation.
Late-night pizza.
The time she drove four hours to sit beside me after my mother died.
Our first apartments.
Our birthdays.
The countless ordinary days when I believed she'd always be in my life.
I felt grief rise.
Because those memories had been real.
At least to me.
I took a breath.
"I don't know whether I'll ever forgive everything."
Cecily nodded.
Tears falling.
Then I continued.
"But I know I don't want this friendship anymore."
Her expression collapsed.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then whispered:
"Althia..."
I shook my head.
"You were the person I told my secrets to."
My voice broke.
"And you used that closeness to make sure I never knew yours."
Cecily covered her face.
I stood.
For a moment, I considered hugging her.
The old instinct.
The one that used to come naturally whenever she cried.
Then I stopped.
I didn't owe her comfort.
Not today.
Not at the cost of my own peace.
I picked up my handbag.
Then said quietly:
"I hope you learn how to be honest with people who love you."
She looked up.
For a moment, she seemed to want to say something.
Then lowered her eyes.
I walked out.
And the friendship that had defined so much of my adult life was finally over.
---
That evening, Richard called.
He had been doing better.
Walking farther.
Regaining strength.
Learning to live with the reality of a major operation and a recovery that demanded patience.
When I answered, he sounded unusually cheerful.
"Althia!"
I smiled.
"Richard."
"Guess what?"
I laughed.
"What?"
"I walked the entire garden path today."
My eyes filled.
"That's wonderful."
He sounded proud.
"My physical therapist said I should stop trying to race her."
I laughed.
"She's probably right."
"She's definitely wrong."
For a moment, we both laughed.
Then Richard became quiet.
"How are you, sweetheart?"
I considered.
For the first time, I didn't automatically say fine.
"I'm sad."
He was quiet.
"And relieved."
Another pause.
"Sometimes I'm angry."
Richard listened.
Then said:
"That sounds like someone who's recovering."
I smiled faintly.
"From what?"
He answered gently.
"Not every wound requires surgery, Althia."
My eyes filled.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then he asked:
"Have you decided about Boston?"
I looked toward the folder on my desk.
The job offer.
The program proposal.
The possibility of a new life.
"I'm close."
Richard smiled through the phone.
"Good."
I swallowed.
"Would you be upset if I left?"
For a moment, he was silent.
Then he laughed softly.
"Althia, I didn't survive all that surgery just to become another man telling you where your life belongs."
I began crying.
He continued.
"I'll miss you."
A pause.
"But I want you happy."
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then whispered:
"Thank you."
Richard's voice softened.
"Your mother would have wanted that too."
I closed my eyes.
May you like
And for the first time since Paris, I began imagining a future that wasn't simply the absence of Preston.
It was a future I might actually love.