**Diary Entry – 20th May**
The phone rang, and Olivia’s world shattered in an instant. *”Liv, I can’t talk long—they’re beating up James!”* The words hit like a bolt from the blue. Her grip tightened around the phone, heart hammering as adrenaline surged through her. She barely had time to speak before the line went dead. James had gone out for pints with his mate at the local after work—just a typical Friday night. But everything had changed.
Olivia flung on her coat, snatched her keys, and dashed outside. She dialled James again and again, but no answer. Dread coiled tighter with each passing minute. Finally, she reached his friend, who’d witnessed it all. *”What the hell were you thinking, leaving him there?!”* Her voice cracked, tears burning behind her eyes. *”Why didn’t you help? Why call *me* instead of the police?!”*
His excuses were a jumbled mess—fear had paralysed him, he’d panicked, wanted her to know. The tremor in his voice only stoked her fury. *”Oh, so you just stepped back, did you? Left my husband to take it alone? Do you even hear yourself?!”* She barely let him get a word in.
She raced to the scene, praying she wasn’t too late. But by the time she got there, the street was empty. A police car had already taken James away. Olivia stood there, stranded, helpless.
The next morning, she marched into the station, only to learn James had been arrested for *”disorderly conduct.”* Some passerby had reported a brawl, but no one mentioned the lads who’d jumped him—only that he and his friend had been involved. The whole thing looked like they’d started it.
Olivia seethed. She argued with the officers, insisting James was the victim, but they just shrugged. As for his so-called friend? He’d gone home and slept soundly, no remorse in sight.
It took all day gathering evidence, hunting down witnesses. Finally, a bloke who’d seen it confirmed: James had been set upon by a group. That was enough. By evening, Olivia met James outside the station—exhausted, bruised, but free. She pulled him into a fierce embrace, pouring every ounce of love into it. But inside, rage still simmered. She’d never forgive that coward of a friend.
James rang him later. *”You just stood there and watched?”*
*”I don’t know, mate,”* the friend mumbled. *”Fear took over. I wanted to help—couldn’t. You know I’ve always been a coward. First thing I thought was saving my own skin. Sounds pathetic, but it’s the truth. I did what I thought was right.”*
*”Right,”* James cut in coldly. The line went dead.
Later, the friend tried justifying himself—cowardice wasn’t a choice, just *who he was.* He’d spent his whole life dodging trouble, avoiding conflict. That night just proved it. He swore it shouldn’t end their friendship. *”We’ll grab a pint, sort it out.”*
But no excuses mattered. James didn’t want a friend like that. Not anymore.
