My secret strength

My name is Evelyn.

There are three things you need to know about me—but the fourth will break you.

One: I always laugh at awkard situations.

Two: I cry when I am angry or frustrated.

Three: Losing my best friend broke something inside of me, something I’m afraid will never heal.

Most of my childhood, I was lonely. We moved constantly for my parents’ work, and I never had the chance to form real friendships. The other kids called me names because of it— strange, unusual, crazy even. I chose to call it unique.

I got to see the world, I guess, but no matter where I went, I never felt like I belonged. That all changed when I met Amanda.

Amanda was my everything. She knew me inside and out, could sense when I was hurting before I even recognised it myself. We’d been that way since we meet, when wevwere eleven — growing up together, learning each other in all the quiet, unspoken ways that matter.

She was my kindred spirit.

And now she’s gone.

I remember the day it happened all too clearly. I just don’t want to.

I remember the screech of tyres as the car lost control, the sudden crunch of metal, the sharp ringing in my ears. Pain spread through my body in waves. When I turned to Amanda, she was still — too still — her face streaked with blood, her eyes closed. Time slowed, then seemed to stop altogether.

My best friend… gone.

My world… shattered.

People said I was strong, that I was coping. They didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know the weight I carried, the guilt pressing in on me, quiet and relentless.

If only we hadn’t taken the long drive home.

If only I had reacted quicker.

If only we’d walked home from the movies.

Maybe — just maybe — things would have been different.

They told me it wasn’t my fault. But how could it not be? I remembered every detail. And no matter how many times I replayed it, one thought never left me: it should have been me.

Since then, I’ve been a shadow of my former self, haunted by all the possible alternatives, each one a weight pressing against my chest. Yet even under it all, something kept me moving — a presence that never left my side. My friend. A constant reminder of what I’d lost, of the events that had scarred my life, and still, the one thing holding me together.

The memories came flooding back, and I couldn’t help but smile as I thought about the countless times Amanda and I had belted out our favourite tunes in the car. Her off-key singing was legendary, but it was her infectious enthusiasm that made me laugh every time. The wind in our hair, the music blasting, and the freedom of the open road—those were moments I’d always treasure.

Amanda had a gift—a way of finding the happy side in any situation. She could spin a gloomy day into a celebration, and her laughter was the spark that lit up the room. I remembered the way she would make me smile, even on my worst days, and how she always knew exactly what to say to make me feel better.

As I looked through the old photos and videos on my phone, I found a video of us. I couldn’t help but laugh and cry at the same time, feeling a mix of emotions wash over me. I looped the video a few times before I finally let the loop end, but I still felt Amanda’s presence around me, smiling and singing along.

Even in silence, I felt her energy hovering around me.

She had this gentle influence, always nudging me toward something better, something brighter. My dress code, for one—always pushing me out of sweatpants and hoodies, trying something new. Amanda’s words echoed in my mind: “Get out of those sweatpants, Ev, we’re going out!” Her cheerful yet instructive tone would always snap me out of my cozy routine.

And just like that, she’d whisk me away on a spontaneous adventure, making memories I’d never thought Id come to cherish forever.

She pushed me to be a better version of myself, showing me I had the strength to do whatever I wanted. Amanda saw me, you know? She saw past all the labels, all the judgments, past the mask I wore to hide my insecurities. She saw the real me—and she loved me for it.

And I miss her.

We’d stay up late, talking about our dreams, our fears, our passions… even boys. She was the one person who truly understood me. I miss her laughter, her smile, but most of all—I miss her.

I still feel like Amanda is with me, guiding me, nudging me toward healing—not just physically, but mentally too.

How, you ask?

I know you think I’m crazy, heck even I think it sometimes but everything I do, she is there. It’s like I can feel her. Sometimes, I even think I can hear her voice, but I know they’re just echoes of past memories. Still, I like to think she’s still talking to me, so I answer back.

Silly, I know—but it gets me by.

Walking through the familiar streets, I felt Amanda’s presence with me. We used to walk these streets together, exploring every nook and cranny, sharing secrets and laughter. Now, it felt different. The silence was deafening, but I knew she was still with me.

I stopped in front of the park where we’d spent countless hours on the swings, talking about our dreams and aspirations. I remembered the way Amanda would push me higher and higher, her laughter crying in the wind. I closed my eyes, feeling the breeze on my face, and swore I heard her whisper, “You got this, Ev.”

As I stood there, the memories came flooding back—the sunlight filtering through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground; the sound of children laughing and swings creaking. A lump formed in my throat as I opened my eyes, half-expecting to see Amanda standing there, a huge smile on her face, urging me to take another swing.

The pain of her absence still lingered, but somehow, in that moment, it felt more like a gentle ache—a reminder of the good times, the laughter, and the memories we’d shared.

I took a deep breath, the pain of her not being there hitting me again, and whispered back, “I miss you, Mandy.”

Maybe it was just my imagination, or a soft whisper through the trees, but I felt a gentle calm wrap around me—as if she were embracing me in response.