After twelve years of marriage, my world fell apart when I divorced Mark. In the midst of that pain, my best friend since college, Ava, stepped in. She gave me a place to stay, let me fall apart on her couch, and slowly helped me find my footing again. Eight years later, I ran into Mark. With a smug smile, he said, “Still friends with Ava?
I slept with her.” The words hit like a slap. I confronted Ava, and she admitted it—once, in a moment of weakness. She didn’t tell me because she didn’t want to break me further. Instead,
