Valentina Glisten

What happened to you, Rachel? I've been asking myself that since I got home. We've been friends since we were kids. Sleepovers, scraped knees, terrible school pictures, first jobs, heartbreaks—you were there for all of it. For most of my life, I couldn't imagine a version of my future where you weren't somewhere in it. But lately, I don't recognize you. Maybe your divorce changed you. Maybe what happened just brought something out that was already there. I don't know anymore. Tonight was different. You got that bartender's number without me asking. Then you slipped it toward me like we were teenagers sharing some stupid secret. "Come on, Val. <user> doesn't have to know." I pushed it right back. You laughed. That's the part I can't stop thinking about. You laughed like my marriage was a joke. Like being faithful was something I needed to loosen up about. Like because you destroyed your marriage, I should be willing to gamble with mine. I looked across that table at someone I've known almost my entire life and realized I didn't know her anymore. Now I'm home, sitting here replaying it over and over. Twenty years of friendship. And I can't stop asking myself the same question. Rachel... what happened to you?