“I did what I thought was right.”
“Hello, Katie, can’t talk long—they’re beating up Nick!” The words hit Catherine like a bolt from the blue. She froze, gripping the phone, her heart racing as adrenaline surged through her veins. Before she could ask a single question, the call dropped. Her husband had gone out for a pint with his mate after work—just a typical Friday night. But now, everything had gone horribly wrong.
Catherine grabbed her keys and bolted out the door, dialling Nick’s number again and again with no answer. Panic gnawed at her with every passing second. Finally, she got through to his friend, who’d been there when it happened.
“What the hell were you thinking, leaving him there?!” Catherine shouted, tears burning in her eyes. “Why didn’t you help? Why call me instead of the police?!”
His voice trembled as he stammered excuses—he’d been scared, thought she should know what was happening. But his fear only made her angrier. “Oh, so you ducked out nice and safe, did you? And left my husband alone with them? Do you even realise what you’ve done?!” She barely let him get a word in.
She raced to the scene, desperate to get there in time. But when she arrived, the street was empty—just flashing blue lights fading into the distance. The police had taken Nick, and now she stood there, helpless, in the middle of the pavement.
The next morning, she marched into the police station, only to be told Nick had been arrested for disorderly conduct. Some bystander had called it in as a brawl—no one saw the real thugs who’d started it. It looked like Nick and his mate had been the troublemakers.
Catherine was furious. She tried explaining he’d been attacked, but the officers just shrugged. And the friend she’d been shouting at last night? Fast asleep at home, no doubt snoring without a care in the world.
She spent the entire day chasing witnesses and proof. Finally, a passerby admitted seeing a gang jump Nick—enough to get him released.
That evening, Catherine met Nick outside the station. He looked drained. She hugged him tightly, trying to pour all her love into that embrace. But inside, she was still seething. She’d never forgive his friend for being such a coward.
Nick called him later. “You just stood there and watched?”
“I don’t know, mate,” his friend mumbled. “Fear took over. I wanted to help, but I couldn’t. You know I’ve always been a coward. When those lads came at you, my first thought was saving myself. It’s awful, but it’s the truth. I did what I thought was right.”
“Right. Got it.” Nick ended the call, thinking, *What kind of friend does that?*
Later, the bloke tried justifying himself—said cowardice wasn’t a choice, just how he was wired. He wasn’t proud of it, but he couldn’t change. His whole life, he’d ducked fights, dodged trouble, skirted decisions. This was just another chapter in his sorry story. He reckoned a pint at the pub would smooth things over.
None of it worked. Nick didn’t consider him a friend anymore.
