**Diary Entry**
The phone rang sharply in the quiet of the evening. “Hello, Katie? Can’t talk long—they’re beating up Nick!” The words hit me like a bolt from the blue. My fingers tightened around the phone, my heart pounding as adrenaline flooded my veins. Before I could even ask what had happened, the line went dead. Nick had gone out for a pint with his mate after work—just a normal Friday night. Now everything had changed.
I grabbed my keys and ran outside, dialling Nick’s number over and over with no answer. Panic clawed at me with every passing second. Finally, I got through to his friend, who’d been there when it happened. “Why the hell did you leave him?!” I screamed down the phone, barely holding back tears. “Why call *me* instead of the police?!”
His friend stammered excuses—said he’d been scared, thought I should know. His trembling voice only made my fury burn hotter. “So you just backed off, did you? Left my husband there alone! What kind of coward does that?!”
I raced to the scene, desperate to get there in time. But when I arrived, the street was empty. A police car had already taken Nick away. I stood there, helpless, my hands shaking.
The next morning, I went to the station and learned Nick had been held for public disorder. Some passerby had called it in as a brawl—no one saw that he’d been jumped by a gang of lads, not the other way round. The officers just shrugged when I insisted he was the victim. His so-called friend? Fast asleep at home, like nothing had happened.
I spent the day hunting for witnesses, digging for proof. Eventually, a bloke who’d been there confirmed Nick had been attacked. That was enough to get him released.
When Nick finally walked out of the station that evening, he looked exhausted. I hugged him tight, pouring all my love into that embrace. But inside, anger still simmered. I couldn’t forgive his mate for his spinelessness. Nick was lucky it hadn’t been worse.
Later, Nick called him. “You just stood there and watched?”
“I dunno, mate,” his friend mumbled. “I froze. Wanted to help, but… I’ve always been a coward. First thing I thought was saving my own skin. Sounds rotten, but it’s the truth.”
“Right,” Nick said flatly, hanging up. What use was a friend like that?
The bloke kept trying to explain—cowardice wasn’t a choice, just how he was wired. Couldn’t change it. Always dodged fights, avoided trouble. That night just proved it again. He reckoned it shouldn’t matter between mates. Just grab a pint and move on.
But no excuses fixed it. Nick didn’t trust him anymore.
*Lesson learned: Courage isn’t just facing danger—it’s standing by the ones you love when they need you. A friend who won’t do that isn’t much of a friend at all.*
