The Secret We Keep Between Us
Years passed before I could think about it without bitterness, without that overwhelming mix of shame and gratitude that I couldn’t comprehend at nineteen. Now, in my thirties, I’m married, I have a daughter, and life has settled in its usual rhythm. Yet the story, the secret we still keep between us, lingers in my heart as a reminder of my missteps… and the importance of having someone there to save you—from others, 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 my senior, intelligent, calm, and sophisticated. A classic man with a history: long divorced, worked in the local government office in York, always smelled of refined cologne and coffee.
To me, he felt straight out of a film: charming, attentive, with a gentle voice and eyes you could get lost in. I dreamed about him, scribbled his last name next to mine in my diary, and believed this was the kind of love they talked about in books.
But he… he saw what was happening. And, thank God, he never responded to my feelings with flirtation, gesture, or even the slightest hint. He was courteous to a fault, never overstepping boundaries, even when I, driven by youthful hormones, did everything to provoke him.
When he withdrew, I held a grudge. I wanted revenge—or so I thought. Enter Chris—a guy everyone knew: from a family of drinkers, a troublemaker, full of all talk, no substance. My parents begged me to leave him, my mother cried, my father yelled. Even Andrew tried to step in, explaining I was headed for disaster. And I… I got angry. I thought he was jealous. That he wanted to control me. That everyone wanted to mold me into a “nice girl.”
I ignored them all. And soon I found out I was pregnant.
Chris vanished the day he found out. I was alone, scared, angry, and ashamed. I couldn’t tell my mom—she was barely holding it together, and my dad was already struggling with heart issues. Any news could have been too much for him. I cried into my pillow every night, not knowing where to turn.
Finally, mustering the remnants of 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 just said, “Let’s sort this out.”
And we did. His ex-wife, whom I had once judged harshly, turned out to be a wonderful woman—a midwife with golden hands. She guided me from the first scan to the very end—as, unfortunately in my case, it was an abortion.
Andrew took care of everything: he booked the appointment, paid for it, and stayed by my side. He didn’t judge or reprimand me, didn’t lecture me. He was simply there. Every day.
I know he never said a word to my parents. He saved me and my family from horror, pain, shame, and grief. He acted honorably. Like a true gentleman.
Several months later, he took me to a café where we sat in silence before he quietly said, “Your dad’s not doing well. The doctors don’t hold out much hope. Even if they find a donor, his heart won’t withstand the surgery.”
I felt something die inside. My dad passed away a week later. Through it all, Andrew never left us. He was with me, holding my hand, talking to my mom, helping with the funeral. He wasn’t intimidated by my pain. He cried with me.
Many years have passed. Andrew moved long ago, relocated to Brighton, remarried. We don’t keep in touch, except for the occasional short letters. But I’ll never forget. For his silence. For his protection. For not indulging my youthful crush and ruining my life.
I don’t know what I imagined then. Maybe I was looking for a father figure in him, or a hero. But he didn’t let me fall face down in the dirt. He preserved his integrity and my dignity.
To this day, we keep this secret. No one knows. Not my mom, not my husband, not even my closest friends. Just him and me.
Sometimes, I think the world still holds together because of people like Andrew. People who know how to be silent, understand, forgive, and be there. Not out of pity—but out of love. True love. Not the kind in novels, but the kind that saves lives.
This story could have destroyed me. Instead, it made me stronger. Thanks to one person who just remained a decent human being.
