The Friend Who Saved Me When Love Left Me Broken

Bernard was there for me during my first breakup, providing a shoulder to cry on. I often sent him to plead my case, as if I were the one at fault. He did, but the boy never returned to me.

Then I started dating Martin, a well-known guy in the neighborhood. Bernard disapproved; he knew Martin too well and was aware of his potential for trouble. I ignored his warnings. I loved Martin, and he claimed to love me back. I believed him.

About a year into our relationship, I found out I was pregnant with Martin's child. I wasn't ready to be a mother, but if Martin wanted to keep the baby, I would have. He meant everything to me. When I broke the news, he asked, “Are you ready to be a mother?”

I replied, “I’m not, but I wouldn’t mind being a mother, just for you.” He cautioned me not to get ahead of myself and insisted that the timing wasn’t right for us to have a baby. We agreed to terminate the pregnancy.

That morning at the hospital, he held my hand and reassured me that everything would be fine. I believed him. After seeing the doctor, the procedure was completed, and Martin took me home.

That night, I was in excruciating pain and bleeding heavily. I called Martin, but he didn’t answer. The pain escalated, and fear set in. Despite my attempts to reach him, he never picked up or called back.

In desperation, I called Bernard. I explained everything, and within minutes, he was at my room. He helped me into the taxi he had brought and took me back to the hospital at midnight.

It turned out there had been a mistake during the first procedure, which was causing my pain and bleeding. The doctor who performed it was inexperienced and had made an error. The doctors later told me that if I had delayed any longer, I could have died.

I underwent another procedure to correct the mistake. It was painful and felt like a near-death experience, but I survived. I spent three days in the hospital, yet Martin never came to see me or answered my calls.

When I was discharged, I asked Bernard to take me to Martin’s house, but he refused and promised to speak to him on my behalf.

He did confront Martin, who claimed he wasn’t sure he was responsible for the pregnancy and had distanced himself due to suspicions of my infidelity. Bernard insulted him and nearly got into a fight.

When Bernard relayed Martin’s response to me, I wished I had died that night. I couldn’t believe Martin could be so heartless and inconsiderate. I called him repeatedly, but he never answered.

I decided to visit his house once I felt better. It was late at night, the only time I thought I might catch him at home. I stood outside his window and called his phone over fifteen times. I could hear it ringing, but he never picked up.

Then I heard a woman’s voice, followed by giggles. That triggered me, and I began knocking on his door, shouting his name: “Martin! I know you’re in there with someone. Open the door and face me!”

Silence followed. Not a word from him. I tried calling his phone again, but it was off. Neighbors came by, advising me to calm down. They even helped me knock, but he never came out. I broke down in tears and sank to the floor. That’s when I called Bernard.

“Bernard, I’m outside Martin’s door. He’s in there with another woman.”

“But he told you it was over?”

“He asked you to tell me, but I wanted to hear it from him directly.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“No, he won’t open the door or answer his phone, but I’m willing to wait here all night to confront the woman he’s with.”

I knew Bernard would come after our call, and he did. He talked to me about knowing my worth and letting go. Reluctantly, I agreed to leave with him.

That marked the end of Martin’s chapter in my life. I healed. Just as I was beginning to move on, Bernard proposed to me.

“Bernard, you’re a good person and the only man I trust right now. Please don’t jeopardize our friendship. Love could ruin us.”

He insisted he wanted to prove himself to me, that he could love me better than anyone else.

I told him, “I know you want to save me. You care so much that you’re afraid I’ll fall into bad hands again, but trust me, I’ll be careful this time. Just be my friend like you’ve always been.”

He didn’t want friendship anymore; he wanted more. He was persistent.

I kept saying no…no…no.

One day, he kissed me. I allowed it because I knew how much he wanted it. It felt ordinary to me, but he was overjoyed.

That didn’t change anything until he finally gave up on me. He fell in love with another woman and was so happy that he cut off contact with me for about a year.

One night, I heard a knock on my door. I opened it to find Bernard, holding a gift box in one hand and a pizza box in the other. I was thrilled to see him and started jumping with joy, but he stood still, looking directly at me, and asked, “Can I spend the night here? Just for tonight?”

I let him in, and he immediately sat down, placing his gifts aside. I asked, “You look worried. Is something wrong?”

He replied, “I paid a surprise visit to my girlfriend, bringing these gifts to impress her. But she wasn’t alone; she was lying naked with a man she always claimed was her uncle.”

We fell silent for a moment. I didn’t know how to console him. I said, “But you two seemed happy?” He nodded, saying, “Yeah, we were. I was so happy with her that I ignored the signs, but the truth caught up with me. I was just playing a losing game.”

He shed a few tears. I couldn’t help but laugh a little inside. At least one thing was right: my lost friend had found his way back home, and that felt good to me.

—Fafa  
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