MY BEST FRIEND LEFT HER DIARY OPEN ON THE TABLE — I SHOULDN’T HAVE LOOKED
I froze when I saw her handwriting staring back at me, the words “I’ll never forgive myself” scrawled across the page in jagged black ink. My throat tightened as I scanned the next sentence — “What happened with Mark was a mistake, but it’s her fault for being so naive.”
The room felt suddenly too small, the hum of the fridge buzzing in my ears like an alarm. I could still smell the lavender candle she’d lit earlier, but now it made me nauseous. My hands trembled as I flipped through more pages, each one peeling back another layer of her secrets.
“You’re home early,” her voice startled me from the doorway. I turned to face her, a cold sweat prickling my skin. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes dropping to the open diary in my hands.
“Mark?” I whispered, my voice barely audible. Her face went pale.
And then her phone buzzed — it was Mark’s name on the screen.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*The air crackled with unspoken tension. My best friend, Sarah, didn’t say a word. Her gaze flicked from the diary to me, then back to the phone vibrating insistently in her hand. It felt like an eternity before she finally reached for it, her movements slow and deliberate. She silenced the notification.
“It’s complicated,” she said finally, her voice flat. “Mark and I… we kissed. Once.”
“And?” I pressed, the knot in my stomach tightening. The diary entries had implied so much more.
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It was a stupid mistake. We were both drunk. It meant nothing.”
“Then why the diary entries?” I asked, gesturing towards the open pages. “Why ‘naive’?”
Sarah looked away, her eyes brimming with tears. “Because… I was angry. She was so happy with him. I was jealous. And, yes, I blamed her a little. I wanted Mark to… I don’t know… like me.”
My anger softened, replaced by a wave of sadness. I knew Sarah. She was kind and loyal, but also insecure, prone to impulsive actions. I understood the vulnerability that fueled her words, even if I didn’t condone them.
“What about her?” I finally asked, my voice gentle. “How does she feel?”
Sarah flinched. “I haven’t told her. I don’t know how.”
“You have to,” I said firmly. “You can’t hide this forever.”
We spent the next hour talking, the lavender scent of the candle slowly becoming less cloying. We talked about our shared history, our friendship, and how important honesty was. Finally, Sarah agreed. She would tell her.
The next day, I found Sarah sitting on the porch, looking pale but composed. I sat beside her, and she said softly, “I did it. She’s… she’s hurt, but she’s forgiven me. She said she’s thankful for the truth.”
I squeezed her hand, a wave of relief washing over me. The relief was quickly replaced by a sharp pang when I asked, “What about Mark?”
Sarah sighed, and a single tear escaped. “He was the one who told her about the kiss. He regretted it. She broke up with him.”
“Oh, Sarah…” I said quietly, as I put an arm around her. I knew things wouldn’t be simple. But I also knew, looking at my friend, that the truth, however painful, had set her free. The diary was closed, the air was clearer, and we had the chance to move forward, together.