We didn’t drift apart because of time or geography or the natural entropy of adulthood. We didn’t lose each other the way people like to pretend happens—slowly, blamelessly, no fingerprints left behind. We distanced because of me. That’s the truth, plain and ugly and necessary. I was the weather that kept canceling plans. I was the silence that followed invitations. I was the one who learned how to disappear without technically leaving. In college, we were inseparable in the casual, unexamined way that feels permanent until it isn’t. Adam, Alex, Dane, the Nu—names that once felt like a single sentence. We moved through those years shoulder to shoulder, arguing about nothing, caring about everything. We loved stories more than reality then, especially the kind where fellowship mattered. Adam and I loved The Lord of the Rings with a seriousness that bordered on devotion. We believed in chosen family. We believed in staying. I didn’t keep that belief. A...