The Silver Chain

My roommate and I just never hear knocks like that at this ungodly hour -- quick, loud, urgent.

And we never see girls like that when we open the door -- that familiar, frail frame, wretched. Reeling. Stumbling in like someone with too many tropical margaritas.

Only I know that's not why she's shaking and trembling, why her pretty face is red and hot under a film of salty tears.

We throw our arms around her as the tears course down. And in between the heaving and the choking she manages a weak wail that tells all we need to know.

He cheated.

And the room falls silent.

It's hard for her to speak about the text message that told it all -- a simple, gut-wrenching blurb that told of a dubious Christmas kiss and almost a year of lies. It's hard for her to know what to do or say or even think now.

It's hard because she's lived on this side of cheating before, some eighteen years ago when her mom found out about that other woman and her dad walked away, leaving gaping holes, slashing his daughters before she even took her first steps.

She never gets an answer when she asks why -- why she wasn't good enough to keep her daddy. Why she never will be.

And the last thing she needed was for this boy -- her everything, the only one in the world she knew she could trust -- to tell her by that kiss that she wasn't quite enough for him.

She's still now. She sits on the floor, shuddering, and she loosens the clasp on the delicate silver chain around her neck. It's the token he gave her of his love. And she runs her fingers over the diamond, the links, one by one.

And she silently bows her head and cries.