For many years, my best friend carried a quiet part of her life that she chose not to explain. She became a mother when we were sixteen, and she never spoke about who the father was. I didn’t press her. Some things are not hidden out of secrecy alone, but out of the need to protect what is still fragile. And friendship, at its best, knows when to stay close without asking too much. As time passed, her son Thomas grew from a small, uncertain beginning into a bright and thoughtful boy. I became part of his life in simple...
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