My Happy Ending: How I Helped a Friend in an Abusive Situation

I write this for the person who still believes in happily-ever-after endings. I write this for the person who is tirelessly hopeful. I write this for the person who will never stop believing in the good in people, regardless of how horrifically he or she is treated. I write this not to shatter your hope or to disillusion you, but to remind you that the term “a happy ending” is very subjective and can mean many things.

As a senior in a small private school, I was exactly that type of person. I was the girl who was always smiling, always laughing, and who always believed that deep down, people had good intentions. People took advantage of my niceness, but it didn’t bother me; all I cared about was being able to help them and if that meant letting them take advantage of me, that was fine.

Since I went to such a miniscule school, I knew nearly everyone there. There were only twelve students in our senior class and I had an intimate bond with each one. That was especially true of a girl I’ll call Julie, although that isn’t her real name.

Julie was a petite girl a few months older than I was. She had large, winsome hazel eyes under lightly arched brows, a delicately pointed chin, and a bright smile that could light up a room. She wasn’t particularly pretty, but she had an innocent and doe-eyed face that emitted friendliness and generosity. We became friends in the 6th or 7th grade, but during our senior year of high school, we were especially close.