The Secret We Keep Between Us
Years have gone by before I could think about it without bitterness, without the tumultuous mix of shame and gratitude that, at nineteen, I couldn’t even understand. Now in my thirties, married with a daughter, life has put everything in its place. But that story, the secret that he and I still keep — I carry it in my heart as a reminder of my own mistakes… and of how important it is to have someone by your side who can save you — from others, from the world, and most importantly, from yourself.
When I was eighteen, I was head over heels for Andrew — my father’s best friend. He was nearly twenty years older, smart, calm, and refined. A typical man with a past: long divorced, worked in the local council in Brighton, and always smelled of fine cologne and coffee.
To me, he was like someone out of a film: gallant, attentive, with a soft voice and eyes you could get lost in. I dreamt of him, scribbled his surname next to mine in my diary, believing it was the same love they talked about in books.
He… he saw what was happening. And, thank heavens, he didn’t respond to my feelings with flirtation or gestures, or even a hint. He was discreet to the utmost degree. Never let himself cross a line, even when I, half-mad with youthful hormones, tried everything to provoke him.
When he distanced himself, I harbored resentment. I decided to get back at him, or so I thought then. And so, I got involved with Colin — a guy everyone knew: troublemaker from a family of drunks, a carouser, and a sweet-talker. My parents begged me to leave him, my mother cried, my father yelled. Even Andrew tried to intervene, explained I was heading for disaster. But I… I was furious. I thought he was jealous. That he wanted to control me. That everyone wanted to turn me into a “good girl.”
I ignored them all. And soon discovered I was pregnant.
Colin disappeared the day he found out. I was left alone, scared, angry, and humiliated. I couldn’t tell mum — she was barely holding it together herself, my father was already suffering from coronary issues. Any bad news could have broken him. I cried into my pillow at night, not knowing where to turn.
One day, mustering what was left of my courage, I went to Andrew’s door. He opened it, and I broke down in tears on his doorstep.
He didn’t ask questions. He simply said:
— Let’s sort this out.
And we did. His ex-wife, whom I had once judged, turned out to be a wonderful woman — an obstetrician-gynecologist with golden hands. She guided me from the first ultrasound to the end — which, sadly, for me was an abortion.
Andrew handled all the arrangements: booked the appointments, covered the costs, was there every step of the way. He didn’t judge, didn’t reproach, didn’t lecture. He just stayed by my side. Every single day.
I know he never breathed a word to my parents. He saved me and my family from horror, pain, disgrace, and sorrow. He acted with honor. Like a true gentleman.
A few months later, he took me to a café, where we sat in silence, and then he quietly said:
— Your father’s not doing well. Doctors hold no hope. Even if a donor is found — his heart won’t survive the surgery.
I felt something inside me die. Dad passed away the following week. And throughout it all, Andrew never left. He was with us, held my hand, spoke with my mum, helped with the funeral. He wasn’t afraid of my pain. He cried with me.
Many years have passed. Andrew moved away, settled in Bournemouth, married again. We don’t keep in touch, only exchanging short letters now and then. But I will always remember. For his silence. For his protection. For not giving in to my youthful infatuations and not ruining my life.
I don’t know exactly what I thought back then. Perhaps, I was looking for a father figure, or maybe a hero. But he didn’t let me fall face-first into the dirt. He kept both his honor and my dignity intact.
And to this day, we keep this secret. Nobody knows. Not my mother, not my husband, not even my closest friends. Just him and me.
Sometimes, I feel that this world is still held together by people like Andrew. People who can remain silent, understand, forgive, and just be there. Not out of pity — but out of love. Real love. Not the kind in novels. But the kind that saves lives.
This story could have torn me apart. Instead, it made me stronger. Thanks to one person, who simply remained human.
