I let her down. Badly.

It's been almost ten years, and I still can't shake it. It's not like I murdered someone or anything, but… god, I feel like I killed something. Something important.

Her name was Emily. We were best friends in college, practically inseparable. Shared ramen noodles, stayed up all night talking about everything and nothing, dreamed about the future together. We were going to take over the world, Emily and me. She was the brains, the one with the ambition and the drive. I was… I don't know, the funny one? The supportive one? I thought I was being supportive, anyway.

Emily wanted to be a writer. She was good, really good. She wrote these amazing short stories, full of sharp observations and quirky characters. She submitted them to literary magazines, got a few rejections, but kept going. I was her cheerleader, always telling her to keep trying, that she was going to be famous someday.

Then life happened. Senior year, I met Mark. He was… safe. Reliable. He had a plan, a good job lined up after graduation. Emily thought he was boring. She told me I could do better, that I was settling. But I didn't listen. I wanted the security, the predictability.

After graduation, Mark and I moved in together. Emily moved to New York City to "make it" as a writer. We promised to stay in touch, to visit each other. But we didn't. Life got in the way. I was busy with Mark, with setting up our apartment, with getting a job. Emily was busy trying to survive in New York, working dead-end jobs and chasing her dream.

We talked on the phone a few times, but the calls got shorter and further apart. I could hear the frustration in her voice, the disappointment. She wasn't selling her stories. She was working as a waitress, barely scraping by. I tried to be encouraging, but I didn't really understand. I was comfortable, settled. She was struggling.

Then, one day, she called. She sounded defeated. She told me she was giving up on writing. She was moving back home, getting a job at her dad's accounting firm. I didn't try to talk her out of it. I told her it was probably the right decision, that it was good to have a stable job.

I regret that so much. I should have fought for her. I should have reminded her how talented she was, how much I believed in her. I should have been a better friend. But I didn't. I let her give up on her dream. And in a way, I gave up on her too.

We lost touch completely after that. I heard through mutual friends that she got married, had kids, seemed happy. But I always wondered… what if? What if I had been a better friend? What if I had encouraged her to keep writing? Would she be living a different life now? Would she be… happier?

I feel so much guilt. For not being there for her, for letting her down, for not believing in her enough. I hope, wherever she is, she's found some peace. And I hope she's forgiven me, even if I can't forgive myself.