I loved her since we were seven years old. We were best friends. We even made an agreement that we would get married if we were free by the age of thirty. I grew up thinking I would love her for the rest of my life. But I was wrong. Because the first time I made love to her, I hated her. It was the first time she hurt me and the first time I wanted nothing to do with her. And today, nine years after that day that broke us both, we are thirty and free, fate decided to intervene. I finally learned that the reasons that contributed to her betrayal were very different from those I had imagined and settled in my head many years ago. Now I am torn between hating the woman because of her wrongdoing and loving the girl who has been in my heart most of my life.