As the River Flows, I’ll Find My Spring

I was with my best friend when she had an abortion. She clung to me, her body wracked with sobs. My heart ached for her, for her foolishness and her pain. I took care of her for a week, meticulously preparing light, nourishing soups for her each day, trying to coax the color back into her cheeks.
It wasn't until the week before my own engagement that I found out.
The embryo she had terminated… had been my fiancé's.

1
A week before our engagement party, a group of us from college were crammed into a booth at a noisy bar, deep into a game of Truth or Dare. The energy was electric, fueled by cheap beer and years of friendship.
After a few rounds, the bottle spun and landed squarely on Dan.
He offered a resigned smile. "Truth, I guess."
A round of mischievous glances passed between our friends. Someone piped up, grinning, "Alright, since the big day is next week, let's make this topical. Have you two thought of any baby names yet?"
Heat instantly flooded my ears. I couldn't help but look up at Dan, a shy smile on my face. But the expression I met was not one of shared joy. He was staring into space, a strange, unreadable emotion clouding his eyes. It was a look so complex I couldn't begin to decipher it.
He quickly looked down, lost in thought for a few seconds before shaking himself out of it. When he looked up again, his face was arranged into a warm, wistful smile. "We haven't decided on a proper name yet, but I've always liked the nickname Sol."
The table erupted.
Someone slammed their hand down in excitement. "That's so sweet! You guys have already thought that far ahead!"
Annabelle, sitting beside me, joined in the laughter. "Sol… like a wish granted by the sun. It's a beautiful name."
I glanced shyly at Dan. For a split second, his gaze rested on Annabelle before flicking away. She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, a familiar gesture of shared happiness. But I felt her fingers tighten, just slightly, against my side.
I turned to look at her, thinking she was perhaps feeling sad about her own recent experience. I squeezed her back, trying to comfort her as I casually changed the subject. The party roared back to life.
Later that night, Dan and I went home. I was still basking in the warm glow of his quiet, long-term planning for our future together.
As we were getting ready for bed, I couldn't resist asking again. "When did you come up with that name? You never told me."
The rhythm of his breathing beside me hitched for a moment. Then he rolled over, pulling me into his arms. His familiar scent filled my senses as he whispered against my neck, "We're getting engaged, Clara. It's normal to think about things like that, isn't it?"
"I know, but it's such a lovely name. How did you think of it?" I murmured into his chest, feeling a blush creep up my neck.
He didn't answer right away, just held me tighter. "We can talk about it later. Get some sleep. We have our engagement photoshoot tomorrow."
He was right, he was probably exhausted from the party. I didn't press him, and closed my eyes.
But later, a cold sweat slicked my back and I jolted awake, ripped from a nightmare. I sat up, my hand pressed against my racing heart, trying to calm myself. That’s when I noticed it. In the dim light of our bedroom, the screen of Dan's phone kept lighting up, pulsing with a steady stream of incoming messages.
"Always check your boyfriend's phone before the wedding."
A stupid meme I’d scrolled past earlier that day slammed into my mind.
I never checked his phone. In seven years, I'd never felt the need. I trusted him. I felt cherished by him. But now, watching that insistent, glowing screen, a dark whisper of doubt coiled in my gut. My fingers moved, seemingly of their own accord.
Before I could even unlock it, another message preview flashed onto the screen.
I only needed a single glance for my blood to turn to ice. The numbness started in my fingertips and shot up my spine, paralyzing me.

2
He must have thought I would never look. The password was still my birthday.
The moment the screen lit up, my hand began to tremble uncontrollably. The chat history had clearly been tampered with; only the last two weeks remained. As I scrolled up from the bottom, a fresh wave of cold sweat broke out across my back.
She had sent him a picture of herself in a lace nightgown. Dan’s reply: You’re so beautiful, baby. Kisses.
Further down, a message from her, complaining about period cramps.
Dan’s reply was short and swift: I'm on my way.
A roaring filled my ears. My hands shaking, I pulled up my own phone, checking the date and time of that exchange. It was sent five minutes after I had texted Dan a picture of myself with an IV in my arm, telling him my stomach flu was so bad I was in the ER and asking if he could come.
He had replied an hour later. Sorry, was in a meeting. Can't make it.
And I, ever understanding, had told him not to worry. I’d managed the check-in, the forms, the waiting, all while doubled over in pain.
It was the middle of summer, but I was shivering as if I’d been plunged into a frozen lake.
I kept scrolling, my movements stiff and robotic.
Then I reached the most recent message.
"I miss our Sol, Dan. I'm in so much pain."
And just like that, I knew. The seven-year love story I had built my life around was a lie, rotten to the core.
Annabelle and I had been college roommates, inseparable from the first day of freshman year. We’d watched sunrises from our dorm window and talked late into the night about our dreams, our futures, our hearts. I trusted her completely. She was my person. I introduced her to Dan not long after we all started school.
Dan and I had been together since we were sixteen, high school sweethearts who had miraculously ended up at the same university. The day I introduced them, they seemed to hate each other on sight. Annabelle would even pick the food Dan put on my plate and replace it with something she had chosen. I’d brushed it off as the classic "best friend disapproves of the boyfriend" routine and spent the whole dinner trying to keep the peace.
Afterward, she’d told me he was nothing but a pretty face, that he didn't deserve me. Dan, for his part, had seemed equally disgusted by her. We tried gaming as a trio a few times, but they argued so much I eventually stopped inviting them to play at the same time.
Then, during our senior year, Annabelle came to me, shaking, and told me she was pregnant. She refused to explain what had happened, who the father was. All I could do was hold her.
"Don't be scared," I promised. "I'll go with you."
Terrified of being seen by someone we knew, she refused to go to the reputable, top-tier hospital I had researched. We ended up at a small, anonymous clinic across town.
During her recovery, my heart broke for her pale face and hollow eyes. I made her different soups every day. I’d find her staring blankly at the ceiling and quietly place a cup of warm milk in her hands.
Now, I gripped my phone, my nails digging into my palm.
The message at the bottom of the screen was a dagger twisting in my gut.
I couldn’t breathe. Choking back a sob, I stumbled into the bathroom. Every happy memory we had ever shared shattered like a mirror, the sharp, glittering pieces raining down on me.

3
I stared at my disheveled reflection, my knuckles white as I gripped the edges of the sink. I had to be calm. I had to think.
What do I do?
Our families had already bought our marital home together. They’d met, they’d celebrated, they’d planned. Every friend, every relative knew we were getting engaged. The appointment for our engagement photos was tomorrow. How could I possibly untangle this mess?
My eyes were drawn back to the sickening, illicit chat on the phone. My hand shaking, I tapped on Annabelle’s profile picture.
Of course. Her feed was filled with posts I had never seen.
A private feed, visible only to Dan.
It was a meticulous record of their secret love affair.
The first post was a screenshot from a video game. The caption read: So much more fun playing with you without a third wheel in the way.
Dan had liked it and commented: Stick with me, kid. I'll carry you to victory every time.
Another weekend, a photo of their hands intertwined, showing off matching rings. A pink heart emoji at the end of the caption: They say that making rings with the one you love means you’ll be together forever. ?
I remembered asking Dan, so many times, if we could do something fun like that. What had he said? It was childish? Pointless?
I zoomed in on the rings in the photo and a cold wave of realization washed over me. For a while, he had worn a silver chain around his neck. The pendant… it was that ring. When I’d asked him where he got it, he’d stammered something vague.
He never wore it again after that.
On Valentine's Day, while I was overjoyed by the single, wilting rose he’d bought me from a street vendor, she had posted a picture of a massive bouquet of ninety-nine red roses. Her caption: Sometimes I get so jealous of the person who got to have you all those years before me.
Dan had commented with a kissing-face emoji. I'll use our future to make it up to you.
I scrolled further. Annabelle's birthday. On her public profile, she had posted a standard nine-photo grid of her party. Dan, to avoid suspicion, hadn't even liked it.
But here, on their private feed, was a single, intimate photo.
The caption: The best birthday gift ever.
Next to a rumpled sheet was the profile of a man, his eyes closed in sleep.
It was Dan.
I couldn't hold it in anymore. I clutched the phone, gasping for air.
That night, Annabelle had thrown a birthday party. Afterward, she was quite drunk, and I’d been worried about her getting home safely. I had asked Dan to drive her. I remember being concerned he would refuse, given how much they supposedly disliked each other. He had made a few token protests, but eventually agreed.
After dropping her off, he’d called to say he had an urgent work issue and had to go to the office.
He never came home that night.
How could I have been so blind? The two people I loved most in the world, the two people who supposedly couldn't stand each other, had been betraying me all along. Her feed was a diary of their secret life, lived in the shadows of mine. They were like a real couple, deeply in love.
It made me feel like the intruder.
Her profile was set to show posts from the last year. I had no idea how long their affair had truly been going on. This ugly, secret relationship had been allowed to fester and grow in the dark, hidden in plain sight.

4
The day I won a national award for a competition, I took my best friend and my boyfriend out to celebrate. In her private feed, I now saw the photo taken under the table: her high heel hooked around his pant leg. I saw the picture of her planting a soft kiss on his cheek while I was at the counter paying the bill. When I returned to the table, they were back to ignoring each other, the picture of mutual dislike.
They were enjoying the thrill of the forbidden.
On her birthday, while I was at home waiting for my boyfriend to return from his "emergency" at work, she was receiving what she called the best gift ever. Such a flimsy excuse, and yet my trust in them had been so absolute that I had never questioned it.
A wave of nausea hit me, and I retched into the sink.
And then, the worst of it. The week I took off from work to take care of her. The week I spent counseling her, comforting her, helping her curse the name of the shameless man who had abandoned her.
Was she just watching a clown perform?
That week, Annabelle had posted: You promised me Sol, my shining wish, and Annabelle, your peace. But in the end, I couldn't keep him.
Dan hadn't commented, but the deleted chat logs had surely been filled with his condolences.
Every word was a nail in my heart, but I forced myself to keep reading.
The name he had chosen had never been for me. The embryo I had accompanied my best friend to abort, that was Sol.
The irony was crushing. If I had never found out, would he have given our future child that same name?
I slid down to the cold tile floor of the bathroom, a war of rage and despair raging inside me. The last seven years of my life flashed before my eyes, a highlight reel of my own foolishness. It was so absurd I almost wanted to laugh.
It's over.
With numb fingers, I typed out a brief message to my parents. Then I canceled the appointment for the photoshoot. Each tap of the screen felt like the strike of a gavel, delivering a final, heavy judgment.
As I stared blankly at my phone, another message from Annabelle popped up on Dan's screen.
"I'm so sad. Can you come be with me?"
Even knowing everything, seeing it happen in real-time was a fresh agony. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. I scrambled to the sink and turned on the cold water, splashing it on my face. The roar of the water and my own choked sobs filled my ears.
The noise finally woke Dan.
"Clara? Clare? What's wrong?"
I heard his footsteps approaching the bathroom door.
I wiped my face, smoothed my clothes, and ran a hand through my hair. Then I opened the door, looked straight at Dan, and pressed the voice message button on his phone.
"Of course, baby. I'm on my way. And just so you know, there are no refunds on secondhand goods."

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