“I can’t believe she told me that!” she cried. “Why did she have to say that to me!” I had heard my daughter sobbing quietly in the bathroom. She didn’t tell me anything when I asked, only repeating these few phrases.
I asked her as calmly as I could for her to open the door, and while she initially refused, after several minutes of offering condolences and food, she shakily walked into my arms. Her tears didn’t stop, but she felt a little more relaxed, knowing that everything would turn out alright.
“Why would she say that to me,” she asked again, her waning willpower holding back a flood of tears. As she struggled to breathe between heavy heaves, her sobs began to seep into my shoulder, and I pressed my arms around her a little tighter.
I tried my best to comfort her with words, telling her, “you know she doesn’t mean it,” and “you’ve both been friends forever.”
“A friend that lied to me.”
She told me about how the years they spent together meant nothing anymore: when they would go to each other’s house and play on a swing set, or try a sport together. About how you don’t lie directly to someone’s face. About how you don’t kiss someone else’s boyfriend. About how even when she confronted her friend about it, she denied it – only to later go into details about what happened, and rub salt on a fresh wound.
“Why would she tell me that” she cried as the pain slowly turned toward anger, “I knew she did it, and she knew it happened too, so why did she tell me everything!” She was pacing around the house now, her eyes glowing a faint red from her tears.
“She probably wanted you to feel bad, but nothing that happened is because of you.” I tried remedying the situation, only to be met with the whys and buts of how it could be my daughter’s fault. I tried reassuring her, and how she was only in middle school and had a life ahead of her, only to be rebutted with “he’s the one.”
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She was hesitant, but after a long pause, she chose her favorite: a Chinese place down the road.