What a desperate, pathetic fool I was. Time after time, my "friends" had shown me their true colors. Yet, I still wanted to believe they were sorry for causing me pain.
That was unexpected. I thought they'd be content to keep posting things about Sam on Survivors. I had never imagined they would make an entire web page about my brother somewhere off of Facebook. The bottom of the page had a section for comments, and the Disgruntled were already piling on. Obviously Reg had tipped them off to the page's existence, and maybe invited them to participate.
The comments abruptly cut off at that point, as if someone remembered that this discussion page, completely off of Facebook, was open to anyone. Maybe they had already moved on to their next attack, or maybe, just maybe, they had left that comment up as a warning to me. Right now, I really didn't care. None of this would have happened if I hadn't been friends with Reg, Katrina, Bonita and the others. None of it would have happened if I had just not talked to them about Sam, or given them private messages between me and Alecia and John. None of this would have happened if I had just pretended FCU never existed at all.
And now Sam, my sweet brother Sam, who had fought off bullies for me when I was getting picked on at school, who never forgot my birthday and sent each of my kids a new Christmas ornament with their picture on it every year, who had sinned, repented, and been fully restored—he was under attack. And pretty soon Lisa would find out about it, and she and Sam would have to live through the whole awful thing again. And then my parents—but I didn't even want to think about my parents. Sooner or later, they would all find out about this page, and they would start asking questions, and then they would find out what I had done. Would the Disgruntled really contact Sam's employer? Would they think to contact his church? I had to think that they probably would.
I put my head on the keyboard and started crying.