It’s Sunday night and I am sitting in front of three girls whom I used to live with. They are taking turns speaking and saying their personal version of an apology and their roles in a situation. It’s Sunday night and I am listening to this, wide-eyed. One of them taps on my shoulder as I’m filling up my metal water bottle with Powerade.

“May you come sit and talk with us for a bit?” she asks. I agree.

A week before Thanksgiving, I couldn’t eat solid foods. I was too stressed, too upset to even stomach anything except for a cold glass of ginger ale. I survived on a carbonated drink to fill me up and when I ate the ice cubes it would trick my body into thinking it was actual food. I was told that I stole money from my friends, was told to call my friends bitches, was told to just move out, and I was told to not let them get to me. I told them in more ways than one that I didn’t steal the money.

“Who do you think stole the money?” One of the three asks.

“I still don’t know,” I reply. “Who?”

The rich girl had done it. My mouth hangs open before I smile in sheer elation. They now know I never did it. I never took the forty dollars from one girl and the one hundred fifteen from another. These girls now know that when I said, “You guys are my friends, I would never violate your trust nor your belongings,” it was with utter sincerity.

These girls, all of whom I considered friends, doubted my honesty and integrity. I had given them my complete trust and loyalty as a friend because I was elated that the girls I lived with weren’t mean or catty like I’ve heard about the other suites. These girls were nice, relatable, and apologetic. I felt like they were going to now become my lifelong friends after this year because of how much time we spent together having heart-to-hearts and supporting each other with our darkest secrets and inner demons. We were a sisterhood.

They know that I didn’t steal from them, now. There’s sorrow in their eyes. They each played a part in me moving out of the suite due to this girl. Their doubtfulness made me cry. Their inability to remember that just a few days ago, we were friends and I was telling them about a guy that I liked. There’s sorrow in their eyes because they were deceived by a pretty girl with more money than all of us who was irresponsible with her jewelry.

So, in their own way, they tell me that they’re sorry for the role they played in me moving out—something that I’m grateful for although I know that I deserve the apologies. It makes me cry. I tell them that what hurt the most was how they flipped on me and how they doubted my story when I was always close to them.

Don’t ever doubt my honesty. I am as honest as I would like you to be with me. I own up to my wrongdoings with grace and apologize with immense sincerity. I don’t lie unless it is for good reason. I don’t take things that are not mine and blame someone else as I manipulate those around me to think I didn’t do it. I never take advantage of anyone’s trust. When I say, I did not do something, believe me because what’s in the dark always comes to light. My honesty to you is my word to you as a friend and I don’t take dishonesty lightly.

I’m glad that they know this now.