Essy and I were more than friends; we were like sisters. We shared everything: our dreams, our tears, our stories about parents and lovers. Wherever we went, we made memories.
Everything was perfect until Essy got pregnant, five months after my fallout with Deno, my ex. Deno and I dated when I worked for Mama Melody, a generous employer with a big house and even bigger tips. Deno worked in marketing for a major internet service provider, earning a good salary and commissions.
When his mother was hospitalized, he spent heavily on her treatment. At discharge, he was short 15,000 shillings and asked me for a loan, promising to repay with interest once his salary arrived. I trusted him and lent him the money without hesitation.
Days turned into weeks, and Deno didn’t repay me. Every time I asked, he had an excuse: “It’s just 15K. I’ll pay you back with interest. My mother needs medication, and you’re well-paid, so you can wait a bit.” Two months later, he blocked me. I was frustrated but decided not to chase him. The money wasn’t life-changing, and I could recover it over time. So, I let it go.
Meanwhile, Essy, my closest confidante, grew secretive about her pregnancy. She wouldn’t tell me who the father was, saying, “It’s complicated. I’ll tell you one day.” I respected her privacy and didn’t press further.
One midnight, Milly, a mutual friend, called me. “I hate to say this,” she said, “but I think Essy’s baby daddy is Deno. I’m almost certain.”
“Why do you think that?” I asked.
“I saw them leaving Salim’s pharmacy, holding hands. It was definitely Deno.”
I hesitated. Milly was known for jumping to conclusions, but her words lingered.
“Essy’s never hidden anything from me,” I said. “If she’s keeping her baby daddy a secret, it’s probably someone I know. Could it really be Deno?” The thought gnawed at me.
The next day off, Milly and I visited Essy to get answers. Essy was visibly uncomfortable as we asked about her pregnancy and her plans, especially since she’d resigned from her job without a clear path forward. She fumbled through her responses, avoiding eye contact.
Finally, I confronted her. “Essy, you’ve never hidden anything from me. The only reason you’d keep your baby daddy’s name a secret is if it’s someone I know. Is it Deno?” Tears welled in her eyes. After a long pause, she said, “Deno and I are in love. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d end our friendship. I didn’t know if I was doing the right thing.”
I stayed calm, but my heart sank. Her pregnancy wasn’t the issue; her secrecy and Deno’s betrayal were. “I don’t care about your relationship,” I said. “But Deno blocked me without repaying my money. Why didn’t you tell me you were with him? Why didn’t you urge him to pay me back? You know how hard we work for that money and how big Mama Melody’s house is. You sat there, pretending to be sad when I told you he blocked me, but you said nothing.” Essy had no response.
Milly and I stood up and left. That day marked the end of our friendship. Essy’s silence broke my trust. As for Deno, I had no words for him then and I still don’t.
Months later, an invitation to Essy’s baby shower arrived on WhatsApp. I didn’t join the group, and neither did Milly. We saw photos of the beautiful event online, with Essy and Deno looking genuinely happy as expectant parents. I forgave Essy, but our friendship died.