. . . an old friend, who has been aware of my history nearly from the start - though she never really understood our situation very well, for which I've always made allowances because, after all, who would want to? - calls the house and opens the conversation with, "I'm sorry, I know this is going to sound awkward, but I needed to talk with you instead of your wife because you're the only person I know who," and proceeds to name the worst possible truth about me using the most legally inaccurate descriptor possible. I let this pass, too, as she was clearly distraught and struggling. She then followed up by describing a family situation that must be reported to the authorities.
Must.
It makes me grateful, for the moment, to be in my own shoes, to be able to speak clarity into the muddiness of their lives, to expose the thinking errors that will otherwise keep her from doing what she must.
But if she won't, then I must.
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