Love, Lies, and Loyalty

Chapter 15: Letting Go

The following weeks were filled with an awkward new normal for Mia. Every time she walked down the school halls, it felt as though a piece of her was missing. The absence of Sarah—her laughter, her inside jokes, her steady presence—created a void in Mia's life that nothing else could quite fill.

It wasn't that Mia was alone. She had Ryan, and their relationship was slowly finding its rhythm, even with the lingering complications. Yet, no matter how happy Mia was with him, there was always a part of her that couldn't fully celebrate—because she knew that her happiness had come at a cost.

One afternoon, as Mia sat by the window in the school library, the sunlight streaming through the glass, her phone buzzed with an unexpected message.

Sarah: Can we talk?

Mia stared at the screen, her heart pounding. It had been weeks since their last conversation in the park. Since then, they hadn't spoken at all. Mia had tried to respect Sarah's space, but she couldn't deny the hope that stirred at seeing Sarah reach out.

Mia: Sure. Where?

Sarah: The old tree by the soccer field. After school?

Mia's chest tightened. The old tree had been their spot since middle school, a place where they shared secrets, hopes, and dreams. Meeting there now felt like more than just a conversation—it felt like a reckoning.

After school, Mia made her way to the soccer field. The wind was brisk, carrying the scent of autumn leaves, and she pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders. As she approached the old oak tree, she saw Sarah already sitting beneath it, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring at the ground.

Mia walked over slowly, unsure of what to say or how to act. She sat down beside Sarah, the familiar bark of the tree rough against her back. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Sarah broke the silence. "I've been thinking a lot. About us. About everything."

Mia glanced at her, noticing the tiredness in Sarah's eyes, as if the past few weeks had worn her down just as much as they had worn Mia.

"I have too," Mia admitted softly. "I've missed you."

Sarah sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I miss you too. That's the worst part of all this. I thought cutting you out would make it easier, but it just made everything worse."

Mia's heart ached at Sarah's words, but she kept quiet, letting her friend speak.

"I was so angry," Sarah continued, her voice trembling. "I felt like I was losing you and Ryan all at once. And the more I tried to hold onto you, the more I pushed you away."

"I never wanted you to feel that way," Mia said, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn't know you were hurting so much. I didn't see it."

Sarah laughed bitterly. "Because I didn't let you see it. I didn't want to be the jealous best friend. But that's exactly what I became."

Mia looked down at her hands, unsure of how to respond. She wanted to tell Sarah that everything could go back to the way it was, that they could just hit reset, but she knew that wasn't true. Too much had happened.

"I don't know if we can fix this," Sarah said after a long pause. "But I don't want us to be enemies either."

Mia swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling the sting of Sarah's words. "Me neither."

"I guess what I'm trying to say is... I don't hate you, Mia. I don't even hate Ryan. I hate how things turned out, but I don't hate either of you."

Mia nodded, tears threatening to spill over. "I don't hate you either, Sarah. I never could."

They sat in silence for a while, the weight of everything hanging between them. For the first time, Mia didn't feel the need to fill the silence with words. She knew that some things couldn't be fully repaired, but maybe they could at least reach a place where the hurt didn't define them.

Sarah turned to her, her expression softer than it had been in weeks. "I'm going to need some time, though. I can't just pretend everything's okay. But I don't want to lose you completely."

Mia nodded. "I understand. Take as much time as you need."

They shared a small, tentative smile—one that wasn't filled with the same warmth as before but held a glimmer of hope. It wasn't a perfect resolution, but it was a start.