how to get over a friendship breakup

The phone rang while I was sorting through emails, and I saw his name flash on the screen—my best friend, the one I’d met years ago gaming online. We always called, every day, to tell each other the small things and the big things, to keep the thread of our friendship tight across state lines.

I could picture us: the first time we met in person, travel bags slung over our shoulders, both grinning at the airport arrivals like it was the most natural thing in the world. He’d met my boyfriend, my family, my friends. I’d met his. There was no part of my life he hadn’t been woven into.

There was also the part most people didn’t know. When we were both single, we’d sleep together. We always agreed it wasn’t romantic, just fun. It was our secret, but not a secret from my boyfriend. He knew, and it wasn’t an issue for him.

My friend had never really had much luck with women. He was always trying different dating sites, but nothing stuck. Then, about a month ago, he told me he’d met someone on a Christian dating site—Brenda. He was convinced she was the one. He talked about marrying her. I warned him not to rush, but I was glad he was happy.

Before Brenda came into the picture, we had planned a vacation—me, my boyfriend, my friend, and maybe this new girl if things went well. After three weeks of dating, my friend asked Brenda if she wanted to join us. She said yes. I was looking forward to meeting her, to having everyone together.

A few days ago, my friend called. His voice was tight, not like usual. He said Brenda had asked if he and I had ever been romantic. He told her the truth: that we’d slept together before, but it was never about feelings. Just fun.

Brenda’s response was to give him an ultimatum: block me and my boyfriend immediately or she would break up with him.

Within an hour, he messaged me. He said he was choosing her, that we could never talk again. Then he blocked me and my boyfriend on every platform. Years of friendship, gone in an instant.

Now, my boyfriend and I are scrambling—trying to cancel flights, get hotel refunds, fix our work schedules. The vacation, which was supposed to happen in two weeks, is off. The daily calls are over. I keep replaying everything—how quickly it all ended, how little our friendship seemed to matter when it came down to it.

Later, I learned Brenda had called me a "worthless w****" and said being friends with me would go against their religion, along with other things about my appearance. I can’t get those words out of my head.

I don’t know if he’ll ever reach out again. I can’t stop wondering what our friendship really meant to him, if it was as important as I thought. For now, all I can do is deal with the aftermath and try to make sense of how it all disappeared so suddenly.