You watch her walk away. She's crying, and try as you might, you can't do anything to stop the cascade of tears. You know absolutely miserable, and it's all his fault. You would love nothing more than to rip him limb from limb for hurting her, because you know that you could love her much more than he does now.

She comes to you because she trusts you. She tells you everything- how he yells at her when he's in a terrible mood, how he hits her and leaves bruises. She pleads with you to tell her how he could be so awful. You've told her repeatedly that he's no good, but she protests, saying that he is the best thing that ever happened to her, and that no other man would love her if she let him go.

This makes you furious. You don't want to tell her that you would be more than willing to be hers, for if you did, you know she would stop confiding in you. The most you can do is to try to support her while she goes back to him, apologizes for nothing, and kisses his lying lips. Your heart is breaking for her, because hers is too fragile to break for itself.

Later, you know she will call you to tell you that he said he was sorry for everything he did to her, and that he loves her. You also know that it will happen again, because it always does, and you will have to piece her back together again. When she calls, she will tell you that she loves him and hopes it will always stay that way, but you'll be able to hear the hesitance and doubt in your voice.

She calls, but it's different. She tells you that she went back to him, but found him on top of a voluptuous blonde beauty. He looked her in the eye, ignoring the girl writhing beneath him, and told her plainly that he had never wanted her. She's sobbing her little heart out, and you know that there is nothing for you to do but cry with her.

She tells you she loves you for helping her through this, and she's terribly sorry that it has to be this way. You ask her what she is sorry for, but she only whispers a faint goodbye. You realize what she's about to do, but it's too late.

The line goes dead.