The Stained Truth

Liz couldn’t stop smiling. 

She twirled in front of her mirror, holding up three outfit options and texting her best friend Harold in all caps: “HE ASKED ME OUTTTTTTT” 

After months of dating disasters, she’d finally matched with a guy who seemed like a walking green flag — witty, hot, emotionally literate (or at least emoji-literate). His name was Joshua, and he wanted to meet up this weekend at the lakefront café everyone on TikTok called “the soft launch spot.” 

Harold texted back almost instantly: 
“Nice! Proud of you. I mean, if you’re into guys with man bun energy 🤷🏽‍♂️” 

She sent him a death emoji and heart combo. 
Harold always teased. That was their thing. They’d been best friends since 8th grade — the day she’d walked into gym class with two left feet and a mouth full of braces. Harold had called her a disaster. Then handed her a water bottle and told her to own it. 

What Liz never knew was that Harold fell in love with her right then. And he never stopped. 

By Saturday, Liz was a walking Pinterest board — hair in soft curls, sneakers to look casual, cherry gloss because duh. 

“Harold, be honest — how do I look?” she asked, spinning around at the park where they met before her date. 

Harold smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Like a girl who’s about to break her best friend’s heart.” 

Liz blinked. “What?” 

He laughed it off. “Kidding. You look great. Here—come here, lucky hug for the road.” 

She hugged him. Tight. “Thank you for being you.” 

He held her a second too long. 

Then, as she pulled away, she felt something cold on her jeans. 

“Harold?! What was that?” 

He grinned, half-sheepishly, holding up an empty ketchup packet. “Just easing the tension. You’re nervous.” 

“DUDE.” She laughed, swatting him. “You’re such an idiot.” 

She turned to walk away, wiping her hands on a napkin. She didn’t realize the back of her pale denim jeans now looked very, very suspicious. 

Joshua was waiting at the café, iced matcha in hand, smile practiced. 

They hugged. And immediately, his whole vibe shifted. 

“Um,” he said, stepping back. “You have a… situation.” 

Liz froze. “What?” 

He pointed. “Backside. Red. You didn’t check before you left the house?” 

“I—I—what?” 

“You really thought showing up to a first date looking like that was okay? That’s just nasty. Girls who can’t manage basic hygiene shouldn’t be on dating apps.” 

Liz’s stomach dropped. “It’s not what you think—” 

He scoffed. “I don’t do gross. I’m out.” 

He walked off. 

And Liz stood there, humiliated. Mascara already smudging from the tears she was trying to blink away. 

But someone had seen everything. 

Reese, her old childhood neighbor and middle school lab partner, had been sipping coffee at the corner table. He rushed over as soon as River left. 

“Liz? Are you okay?” 

She laughed bitterly. “Define okay.” 

“I… I saw what happened. And I also saw what Harold did.” 

She wiped her eyes. “What do you mean?” 

“I was in the park. I saw him hug you. And squirt ketchup on your jeans.” 

Liz stared. “No. It was a joke. A Harold thing.” 

Reese shook his head. “He looked… tense. Not jokey. Liz, I don’t think he wanted you to go on that date.” 

Liz walked away without another word. 

She confronted Harold the next morning. 

“I know what you did.” 

Harold didn’t even pretend. “I did it because I had to.” 

“Had to?! You embarrassed me. You humiliated me in front of someone I liked.” 

He stepped forward. “Someone who treated you like garbage over a stain. He didn’t ask, didn’t listen. He humiliated you for being human.” 

“That doesn’t make what you did okay.” 

“I know it doesn’t.” His voice cracked. “But I couldn’t stand the thought of you choosing someone else. I’ve been in love with you since we were thirteen. I’ve watched every guy walk in and out of your life. I’ve held your hand through all of it, waiting for you to finally see me.” 

“You don’t get to ruin my life because you’re in love with me, Harold.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes glassy. “But maybe I saved you, too. Not on purpose. But it happened.” 

She didn’t answer. 

That night, she scrolled through Joshua’s texts — the sweet ones, the voice notes, the compliments. They felt fake now. She realized how fast he’d flipped. How cruel he’d been. How a single stain made him throw her away like a crumpled receipt. 

Harold had been right. But also, so wrong. 

A week passed. 

Harold didn’t text. 

Then came Friday night. 

Liz stepped outside her house to find a trail of ketchup packets leading down the sidewalk. 

She followed them, heart pounding, to the park. 

Harold stood there. 

He’d set up a massive white sheet with a projector. A photo slideshow played across it — every weird, wonderful, chaotic moment from their friendship. Her birthday party when they were fifteen. Their first concert. Her crying over a breakup at 1 a.m. with chocolate ice cream. Him in the background, always there. 

Harold looked nervous. “I didn’t want to lose you, Liz. But I didn’t want to hurt you, either. I just… didn’t know how to let go. I’m sorry. And I’ll keep saying it.” 

Liz watched the last slide flicker: a photo of them in 8th grade, side by side. Under it, the words: 
“It was always you.” 

She exhaled. “You broke my trust, Harold. And that’s not fixed in one grand gesture.” 

“I know. But can I try?” 

Liz paused. “One condition.” 

“Anything.” 

“No more ketchup.” 

They both laughed — a little broken, but real. 

She stepped forward and took his hand. 

And for the first time, it wasn’t just friendship. 

It was the start of something real. 

Would you have forgiven him?

Harold crossed a line, but he also revealed a truth Liz needed to see.
Is love ever a valid excuse for sabotage — even if it saves you from someone wrong?
Let’s talk about heartbreak, healing, and when the line between love and control gets blurry.

Drop your thoughts below. I want to know whose side you’re on