My Dead Friend Was Sexually Abused as a Child, and Only I Know Her Secret
This is a story of a short life filled with what-ifs
I first met Jane* as a classmate in middle school in the late 1980s. Having a serious personality, Jane would usually be the quietest in the class. That’s not to say she didn’t have her fun side, however. She was civil with everyone, but she seemed happy with her close-knit group of five friends — her clique, so to speak.
(*Not her real name)
I was one of those close friends. We became even closer in high school, having experienced blossoming into young ladies, encountering our first loves, suffering our first heartbreaks, and getting to know each other’s families.
Our group went our separate ways in college, since we took different courses and attended different schools. Some went into the sciences such as Biology and Chemistry. I went into language studies. Jane studied to be a teacher.
It was only after graduating when we had another chance encounter as a complete group, and we started hanging out more often during Fridays after work or during special events like birthdays. It was during one of these gatherings when Jane confided in me — and me alone — about something that had been bothering her for as long as she can remember.
